Hollywood Underworld: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller (The Hollywood Alphabet Series Book 21)

by M. Z. Kelly

  “I understand. That’s not a problem.”

  Joe called over to me and motioned that he was entering the museum. I told Cynthia, “I’ll need to join the others. I’m afraid you’ll need to move back behind the perimeter.”

  “No problem. There’s one other thing I should mention.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The caller. He sounded older and had a New England accent, like someone from Boston.”

  I thanked her for the information, knowing it was something the investigators didn’t have, since the only communication with Phaedrus had been via emails and written messages. “I’ll call you later.”

  After moving back across the street and inside the museum, I found that Brie Henner had arrived. The deputy coroner and I were friends. She was a cancer survivor, in remission thanks to being in a clinical trial for a new drug protocol.

  We exchanged greetings. After I introduced Joe, he said to Brie, “We need you to take a preliminary look, tell us if there’s anything out of the ordinary. Our forensic people and profilers are on the way.”

  My phone rang while Brie acknowledged what he’d said and gloved up. I moved away from our victim and found an alcove to answer the call. My heart raced when I heard the voice of the man we knew as Phaedrus.

  “I left a little present for you, Detective.”

  I moved toward the museum’s lobby, where I could survey the crowd on the street, thinking maybe the caller was close by. His accent was consistent with what Cynthia had said about him possibly being from New England.

  “Who is this?” I said.

  “You can call me Phaedrus. I’m the one who sent the message ‘Live Free or Die.’”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s self-explanatory.” He paused, then said, “The girl’s name is Noel Sanford. She was a pre-law major at UCLA. I believe she wanted to make her mother proud.”

  I took a breath and walked back inside the building, where I caught Joe’s attention. I covered the mouthpiece on my phone and mouthed the words it’s him.

  Joe came over and listened in, as I went on, asking the caller, “What else can you tell me about the girl?”

  “Her mother is Dani Sanford, your state’s newest senator.”

  My heart sank. If he was telling the truth, it was a devastating blow. Dani Sanford was the first African-American senator from California. She was vibrant, articulate, and caring. There was even talk about her running for president someday.

  The caller went on. “I’m afraid I’d better be going, but I wanted to be sure that you find my message.”

  “We saw what was written on the girl’s body.”

  “I’m afraid you misunderstand. Keep looking. I’m sure you’ll find it soon enough.” There was a pause, before he said. “Just so you know, Kate. This is a game. It’s called Underworld.

  The line went dead, even as I pleaded with him not to end the call.

  Joe had listened in and said, “See if you can get one of your technical geeks to ping the call’s location. He might be close by.”

  I did as he asked, finding a techie to take a look at my phone. I said to Joe, “What do you think he meant about a message?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure. Let’s tell the coroner and take a closer look.”

  We went over to Brie, who was just beginning her preliminary examination. Our victim’s body was still trussed up on wires.

  “It looks like the wound to her throat was fatal,” Brie said. “The other cuts were pre-mortem.”

  “Torture,” I said.

  She nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Kate just had a call from the killer,” Joe told Brie. “He told her he left a message, apparently something other than what’s been written on the girl’s body. Have you seen anything besides the writing on the body?”

  Brie glanced at our victim. “No, but I’m just start...” She took a step back and stopped talking in mid-sentence as her eyes registered shock. She finally recovered enough to say, “There’s something inside...” She put on her glasses, taking a closer look at the victim. “It...it’s in her mouth.”

  “Damn,” Joe said, as we both turned our attention to the victim. “It looks like some kind of...” He didn’t finish his sentence either, maybe out of either shock or revulsion. Or both.

  Brie called over to an assistant. “I’m going to need an evidence bag.”

  The assistant complied with her request. Brie took the bag and placed it over the victim’s head. She then used an instrument, working it under the bag and up to the victim’s mouth.

  We all watched, horrified and fascinated, as the girl’s mouth was opened wider, and a creature emerged, dropping into the evidence bag.

  “Why?” I said, sickened by what I was seeing.

  Brie twisted the bag closed and held up the finding for us all to examine. I knew we had found the second message that Phaedrus had left for us. The creature that had slithered from the victim’s mouth was a large black snake.

  THREE

  “What the hell kind of message is that?” Joe asked.

  “Do you think it’s poisonous?” I asked Brie.

  Brie and I exchanged glances. “Doubtful, but we’ll have an expert weigh in.” She said to Joe, “I’ve had other cases where insects were placed in the victim’s mouth, but this...” She looked at the bag. “...it’s a first.” She gave us her thoughts on the possible meaning behind the finding. “We all know the symbolism of a serpent being in the Garden of Eden. It represents evil, power, and chaos. It’s also a symbol of death.”

  Joe shook his head in dismay. “Yeah, well I think this guy’s a freak of the worst kind. He’s crazy and sick.”

  Brie nodded, glanced back at our victim. “So it would seem.”

  Joe and I moved back, so that Brie could resume her work. We made our way into the interior of the museum, where several wax figures, including Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley, were staged for the upcoming grand opening of the museum.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Joe said, looking at the wax figures. “It feels like a bunch of dead stars are watching us.”

  I agreed with him, then said, “What do you think he meant?”

  “Come again?”

  “Phaedrus. He said we’re playing a game. He called it Underworld.”

  Joe’s gaze wandered among the multitude of dead Hollywood actors. “Maybe it’s another message. The Underworld probably represents death, just like the snake. It’s his calling card. It would also fit with these wax figures of dead people.”

  “What do you think he has in mind next?”

  Joe brushed a hand across his strong chin. “Probably more of what we saw today, along with public hysteria. This is going to be all over the media outlets. He’s definitely upping his game.”

  Officer Wagner had come in from the street and walked over to us. “A friend of the victim’s parents just dropped them off up the street. They’re wanting to see their daughter.”

  “No way,” Joe said. He looked at me. “Let’s see if we can find someplace nearby, so we can sit them down and talk.”

  Joe and I went up the street, where we found two officers with Dani and Terrence Sanford. After brief introductions, the victim’s mother, a slender woman with short dark hair, made her desires clear.

  “I’ve already seen the images of my daughter on the Internet,” Dani Sanford said. “I want to see her for myself.”

  I looked at Joe and raised a brow. “Not a good idea,” he said. “Let’s go down the street, and...”

  The victim’s mother pushed past the officers and headed up the street, with her husband following. Joe and I caught up with them and tried to stop them, but they continued moving forward. The press was calling out from behind the police line as they made their way over to the sidewalk near the museum.

  When the couple got to the lobby of the museum and saw their daughter, they stopped, staring in disbelief. The grisly scene was made even worse by fo
rensic staff, who had set up portable lights that brightly illuminated the victim. The entire scene was both horrifying and heartbreaking. The couple fell into one another’s arms, sobbing.

  It took us several minutes, but we finally managed to move the couple into an interior office of the building after making promises they would be able to see their daughter once the scene was processed. What we purposely hadn’t mentioned is that an autopsy would need to be completed before that was possible. Joe and I held off, not questioning the couple until they regained some semblance of control.

  “I know this is extremely difficult,” I began, when they had found some composure, “but we need to ask a few questions about your daughter.”

  Dani Sanford’s dark eyes lifted. Her voice was subdued. “Of course.”

  “Can you tell us when you last saw Noel?”

  She dabbed her tears with a tissue. “It was last night. She said she was going out with some friends from school.” She looked at her husband. “I think she left just after eight.”

  Terrence Sanford was a handsome man, with a shaved head and a solid build. He nodded as his tears started again.

  His wife took his hand as I said, “Did you see her after that?”

  Dani shook her head. “She left a message on my phone a little after midnight, saying she was spending the night with Grace. We were asleep.”

  “Grace was a friend?”

  She nodded. “They had some classes together. Noel had invited her to our house a couple times.”

  “I called her,” Terrence said, finding a watery voice.

  “Grace?”

  He sniffed. “I was concerned about Noel. Grace said she left her place around ten this morning. That’s the last time...” He didn’t go on, his emotions on overload again.

  I gave him a moment. “Did either of you recently see a man, maybe an older man, in your neighborhood?” I got head shakes, so I added, “He might have had a New England accent, like you might hear in Boston.”

  Dani said, “Is that the man you think...?”

  “I talked to him,” Terrence said, interrupting her. His wife looked at him as he went on. “He came to the door...” He took a breath. “I think it was the day before yesterday. He asked if we were interested in selling our house.”

  “He was a Realtor?” Joe asked.

  “That’s what I thought, but he didn’t have a card. I told him we weren’t selling, and closed the door.”

  “And he had a New England accent?” I asked.

  A nod. “He said something about his father owning a house that reminded him of ours. I remember the way he pronounced ‘father’ was distinctive, along with the way he said other words.” He exhaled, his gaze moving off. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Do you think you could work with a sketch artist to develop a likeness of him?” Joe asked.

  There was resolve in his voice. “Of course. I’ll do whatever’s necessary to catch the monster.”

  We spent the next hour with the Sanfords, learning their daughter was planning to teach school, maybe someday follow in her mother’s footsteps and go into politics.

  “Noel wanted to make a difference in people’s lives,” Dani told us. “I have no doubt that would have happened.” She took a moment, tamping down her emotions. “I want you to know her dream will be fulfilled. I’m going to start the Noel Sanford Foundation, to help the families of other girls like ours.”

  “That’s a wonderful tribute,” Joe said, taking in a breath.

  My FBI partner seldom showed his emotions, but I could tell he was genuinely impacted by the day’s events and what Dani Sanford had said.

  We spent another half hour with our victim’s parents, asking about boyfriends and acquaintances who might have had contact with our suspect. After explaining that they would need to wait until after the autopsy to see their daughter’s body, we made arrangements for a uniformed officer to drive them home.

  Before they left, I said to the couple, “I want you to know we’re going to find him. We’ll find justice for Noel. I promise.”

  Dani came closer and hugged me. Just before we parted, she whispered, “Thank you.”

  Darkness was settling in by the time we saw that the Sanfords had safely left the area. We then met up with Brie at the crime scene and asked for her findings.

  My friend was thin because of her illness, and looked tired as she answered. “She bled out from the incision to her jugular vein. The wound was likely caused by a sharp knife, the same instrument that inflicted the pre-mortem wounds that weren’t fatal. No prints, or DNA that we’re aware of, but we’ll get a closer look during the autopsy.” She sighed. “He was meticulous in his methodology.”

  “Any thoughts on why he tortured her?” Joe asked.

  Brie shrugged. “Just a guess, but I think this was all about sending a message. The Swarm wants to overthrow society. Taking a senator’s daughter and torturing her would have been their way of emphasizing that they mean business.” She glanced at the victim again. “Then there are the other messages that we’ve already seen.”

  “Weren’t a couple of the other victims also tortured?” I asked Joe.

  He exhaled. “Yeah, but nothing as bad as this.”

  I looked at Brie. “Anything else?”

  “Just the staging, the wires used to prop her up. The logistics are noteworthy. It would have taken time.”

  “You think he might have had help?” Joe asked.

  Brie exhaled. “I can’t say for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  As we left Brie and walked back toward the front of the building, we stopped, seeing that the rain was coming down harder. I looked at Joe. “Maybe we should hold off on dinner and that walk until tomorrow night.”

  He nodded but didn’t say anything. I could tell he was still impacted by the killing and our meeting with the Sanfords. “You okay?”

  He shook his head, not looking at me. “I’m gonna pull the plug.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His glassy eyes found me for the first time. “It’s all caught up with me, Kate. I can’t do this any longer. I’m going to retire.”

  FOUR

  Joe and I didn’t leave the crime scene until almost midnight. I wasn’t sure if he was serious about retiring, but it was obvious the work had caught up with him. I suggested that maybe he should consider a lengthy leave before permanently cutting his ties with the FBI. He said he would give it some thought, and that we could talk more about it over dinner tomorrow night.

  When I got home, I was surprised to find my friends still up, along with my canine partner, Bernie, who came over and practically tackled me when I came through the door. Maybe it was his way of telling me he needed to get back to work and away from Natalie and Mo.

  My friends and I had recently moved into the Craven House in the Hollywood Hills. The residence was a landmark because the former owner’s son had murdered the entire family there one night. The dilapidated, sprawling house was now sometimes used as a backdrop for movies. We had negotiated reduced rent on the place in return for Natalie and Mo working security. It was a little bit like living in a haunted house, but I’d grown accustomed to the place in a short period of time.

  “We saw the girl that was murdered at the wax museum,” Mo said, coming over to me. My African-American friend was in her thirties, heavyset, with a wig addiction. Tonight, she wore a black and white creation that nearly covered her face like a curtain, something that would probably make the singer Sia proud.

  “They’re sayin’ it was the work of that dirty wanker they call Phaedrus.” Natalie added. My British friend was in her twenties, blonde, and beautiful, but with a vocabulary that could make a sailor blush. “People are startin’ to panic.”

  “We also heard the victim had a snake in her mouth,” Mo added, sweeping her wig out of her face. “I seen my share of crazy shit, but your guy is a meat patty short of a Happy Meal.”

  I started to ask them how they knew t
he details about our victim, but remembered they had more sources and informants than a Hollywood gossip columnist.

  “I think I could use a drink,” I said, putting my bag down.

  “Otto, we need some weed tea,” Natalie said, calling over to our butler.

  “Right away, madam,” Otto said, moving toward the kitchen.

  Our manservant was in his fifties, a bit on the heavy side, with thinning dark hair. He came with our house. To be precise, the one-time headmaster of an east coast boys’ school was hiding in our attic when we moved in; a homeless leftover from the former renters. He’d agreed to work for us gratis, in exchange for allowing him to continue as our attic-dweller.

  I followed my friends into our family room, saying, “Weed tea?”

  “It’s not what you think,” Mo said. “Baby sis is on a vegan diet. It tastes like weeds in a blender mixed with rum.”

  “Otto and me came up with some new ingredients,” Natalie said. “I guarantee you’re gonna like it.”

  I sighed, wishing I could just have a glass of wine, but not wanting to offend her. “No doubt.”

  “You seem pretty down,” Mo told me, flopping down in a chair across from me. She apparently had grown tired of the wig covering her face and removed it. “You got the homicide blues?”

  “Something like that. Joe told me tonight that he wants to retire.”

  Natalie took a seat on the sofa next to me. “He can’t do that. He’s like one of them caped crusaders. Gotham City won’t survive without him.”

  “I think if there is such a thing as the homicide blues, Joe’s got them.”

  “Maybe you just need to cheer him up, as in wonk the willy.”

  I chuckled. “We’re just friends, so there won’t be any willy-wonking.”

  “But he told you he loves you,” Mo said.

  I now regretted confiding in them what Joe had recently said to me. “I think he meant that he loves me as a friend. We’ve known one another a long time and have been through a lot together.”

  “He’s not talkin’ ‘bout friendship,” Natalie said, as Otto brought in a tray of drinks. “He’s carryin’ ‘round a ball bag, so that precludes friendship.” She smiled. “And I’m not talkin’ ‘bout bowling.”