Hollywood Homicide: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  Fred Conrad looked to be in his early forties. He was about my height and bald, with an aquiline nose set over blue-gray eyes that reminded me of a bird, maybe a vulture, looking for carrion. His grating, derisive voice was reminiscent of a high school history teacher that made a habit of sending me to detention for talking in class.

  “Listen up, people,” Conrad said, taking a seat at the head of the table. “As you probably know I’m your new lieutenant. I don’t go by Fred or Conrad, The Terminator, Asshole, or any other idiotic nickname someone’s hung on me.” He glanced over as Selfie, as though he’d overheard what she’d called him. “Get rid of the metal and try to look like a human being instead of purple pin cushion.” He looked back at the rest of us. “You call me LT, nothing else.”

  LT abruptly halted his discourse, his eyes fixing on the two detectives that I recognized coming through the door. “Glad you could make it, gentlemen. You’re five minutes late.”

  “Sorry, there was an accident and we got stuck in traffic,” Harry Braden said as he and Woody Horton took seats at the table.

  “Excuses are like assholes,” Conrad said. “There’s another one coming along any minute.” His angry bird eyes bounced between the two detectives. “Don’t be late again.”

  The lieutenant then went back to his lecture. “As you probably know, Section One is the chief’s baby. He expects results and I’m the guy who will deliver it. I want long hours, outstanding work, and we need to close more cases than any other unit in the department.”

  After Conrad got head nods all around, he turned to Molly Wingate. “Where the hell are my other two detectives?”

  “I’ll make some calls,” Molly said, excusing herself and rushing out of the room.

  “While we’re waiting,” Conrad went on, “let’s hear what you each have to say for yourselves, what you’re going to add to Section One.”

  We learned that Harry Braden had sixteen years with the department and had last worked out of Rampart Division. He was about forty, heavyset, with a face that gave me the impression he’d been in more than a few fights over the years.

  Braden finished introducing himself by saying, “I’m divorced, trying to raise a sixteen year old daughter who thinks her old man is dumb as a rock, so I’ll probably spend a lot of time here just trying to hide out.”

  “There will be no hiding out in these offices,” Conrad said. “When your butt is in that chair I expect you to go balls to the walls, every day, all day.”

  Braden’s partner, Woody Horton was much younger, probably in his early thirties. He had a five hundred watt smile and an easy way about himself that had made me instantly like him when I’d met him before in a couple of training classes.

  “Just so you know,” Horton added after giving us a little background and pushing a stick of gum into his mouth. “I’m here to work, not to promote, kiss any ass, or make a name for myself. Mama didn’t raise no Einstein, but I’m not lazy.”

  “Then smarten up,” Conrad growled. “I don’t want any dumb cops, making stupid decisions on my watch.”

  The room fell silent, maybe because we were all shell-shocked by our new lieutenant. My spirits then sank lower than the Titanic, when I turned and saw the other two detectives assigned to Section One walk through the door. Our other new unit members were none other than Christine Belmont and Alex Hardy.

  Conrad took five minutes to go off on another rant about lateness being a sin, one that he said he wouldn’t tolerate, while I took the time to glance at the two detectives and contemplate shooting myself.

  Christine Belmont was about my age, slender and attractive, with a deep voice that made me think she spent a lot of time in bars. Her raven hair and dark eyes reminded me of an evil soap opera diva who could best be described as headstrong and selfish; a bitch-goddess who made a practice of getting her way at the expense of anyone in her path. As far as I knew, Christine was divorced but always looking.

  Alex Hardy was her opposite; a big marshmallow in his forties with a bushy moustache and no sense of humor. I’d tangled with the arrogant detective before. The only rewarding part of our interaction had been watching him squirm with embarrassment when I’d called him out on his bad behavior.

  As Belmont and Lardy, sorry I mean Hardy, introduced themselves I took a moment and glanced at Ted. The thought of working with Fred “The Terminator” Conrad and the two arrogant detectives was enough to make me contemplate quitting the department again. But then I remembered that I’d given Captain Dembowski a one year commitment to work Section One. There was no way I could go back on that now.

  I watched as Ted’s gaze came over and found me. He nodded and a thin smile found his lips, maybe his way of offering support. I took a breath, returned his nod, and accepted our fate.

  After the other introductions were complete, Ted and I turn took our turns, each of us giving the others a brief overview of our years with the department and assignments.

  “I thought you quit,” Christine Belmont said to me, after I finished my introduction.

  I leveled my eyes on her. “It was just a leave. I’ve been back on the job fulltime for a few weeks.”

  Belmont turned to Conrad. “I don’t understand. Section One is supposed to be the department’s best officers.” She cut her eyes to me. “We all know about her past, the murder of her father and boyfriend. Sexton’s a liability. It doesn’t add up.”

  Conrad looked like he’d just swallowed something rotten. “She’s had a couple of scores on big cases. The chief thinks she and the dog will help the new unit get some positive press.”

  “A dog has no business working homicide,” Alex Hardy chimed in. “Everyone knows it’s a liability.”

  The big cop had unknowingly just popped my impulse control button. “Bernie is not an it, he’s an essential member of a department that’s spent years trying to fix a big mistake.”

  “What mistake are you talking about?”

  “A few years back they hired a mean pit bull named Hardy. They thought Bernie could show everyone how real police work is done.”

  That was a cue for the two detectives to go off on me. They spent five minutes verbally disparaging both Bernie and me as Conrad listened patiently, maybe secretly enjoying what they had to say, before finally cutting them off.

  “Listen up. I personally don’t think the dog’s worth a shit but it’s not my call. He and Sexton are part of Section One. We make this work or else.”

  SIXTEEN

  MSL,

  It seems like forever since we were together at The Pantry. I miss you and we need to talk. Maybe it’s my imagination but I think someone’s…I know this sounds crazy but I don’t feel safe anymore. Last week there was…

  Pearce Landon had been studying Scarlett’s unfinished letter in his home office for the better part of an hour, coming up empty. There were only two things he knew from reading the letter. Scarlett Endicott was involved with someone, maybe Tom Sterling, whom she’d gotten together with at The Pantry, whatever that was. She was also afraid of someone, maybe somebody who was stalking her.

  He worked off a copy of the letter and circled the initials MSL, deciding to concentrate on the letters. At first he’d thought they might be somebody’s initials, someone other than Tom Sterling. Then he had another thought. The letters could be an acronym. He went on-line and searched for common abbreviations, coming up with mostly scientific names like, Maximum Stress Load and Mean Sea Level. Then his eyes fixed on another acronym: My Secret Lover.

  Maybe it was as simple as that, Scarlett referring to whomever she was involved with as, My Secret Lover. If that was the case it would seem to rule out her writing to Tom Sterling. It could be that Scarlett had been involved in a clandestine affair, maybe with someone who was married.

  After turning the possibilities over in his mind for a few minutes, Landon decided to concentrate on The Pantry, the place where Scarlett said she’d last been together with whomever she’d been seeing. There were seve
ral Internet listings for the name, including references to restaurants and convenience stores. He decided it was possible that she had met someone at a restaurant called, The Pantry, in Los Angeles.

  He spent the next hour continuing to Google the name and scrolling through dozens of pages until something caught his eye. There was an upscale resort in southern Arizona. According to the website The Pantry catered to “exclusive clientele” with the promise of discrete accommodations, gourmet food, and a guarantee of absolute privacy. He closed the laptop, deciding it was a longshot, but maybe Scarlett was having an affair and had met with her secret lover at The Pantry in Arizona.

  Whatever happened, Landon knew that he had to trace the last few weeks of Scarlett’s life. If she and her secret lover, if she in fact had one, had a falling out, maybe it was as simple as the two of them going to the Rosewood, making love, and then getting into an argument before whomever she was involved with turned on her in a violent rage.

  The other possibility was that Scarlett was indeed being stalked, at the same time she was having an affair. Maybe the stalker was jealous of her not-so-secret relationship and took the opportunity at the Rosewood to end her life, maybe after her lover had left. Whoever the killer was, he had decided that he needed a fixer, someone to clean the scene and also someone that he could set up for the killing.

  Landon racked his brain, trying to come up with anyone he’d worked for who might want to set him up. He’d had his problems with several wealthy clients over the years, but nothing serious enough to make him think someone would set him up for murder.

  It also occurred to him that maybe someone he’d known was friends with the killer and had said he would be good for the set-up. There were dozens of possibilities. All Landon knew was that he was missing something. The problem was, he had no idea what that something might be.

  Landon pushed back in his chair, walked over to a window, and pulled out his cell phone. Even though it had been almost a month since he’d called Madison he knew her number by heart and didn’t bother to use the phone’s memory.

  When his daughter answered, something in her voice still reminded him of when she was a little girl. He used that memory to try and put the awful photographs out of his mind as they exchanged greetings. “How’s everything with you, sweetheart?”

  “Just busy with classes and a few small acting jobs here and there, nothing too exciting. How about you, Dad?”

  “The usual, babysitting a bunch of snobs and trying to keep them out of trouble.”

  She laughed. “When I tell my friends about your job they think it sounds glamorous, like that guy on TV.”

  “Ran Donovan.”

  “Yeah, they think you’re some kind of badass who protects the celebs.”

  “My badass days are rapidly coming to an end. I’m not getting any younger.” He paused and started to bring up the photographs but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he finally said, “I guess you heard about Scarlett.”

  “Scarlett…you mean Scarlett Endicott? What about her?”

  “You must have been away from the TV, Internet.”

  “I’ve been trying to stay disconnected, at least part of the day, trying to get back to living in the real world. What’s going on?”

  Landon took a few minutes, giving his daughter only the barest details, telling her that her childhood friend was dead. As he consoled Madison, he made sure to leave out any mention of his involvement in the aftermath of the murder. When she’d finally regained some composure he decided that he needed to bring up the photographs with her face to face.

  “Would you have some time to meet for dinner tomorrow night? It will give us some time to talk through what happened, catch up on a few things.”

  Madison’s voice was still full of emotion. “I still can’t believe Scarlett’s dead. It’s unreal.”

  “What do you say? We could meet at The Magic Castle at around 7:30, if that works.”

  “I haven’t been to that place since I was a little girl.”

  “You always loved the magic acts. It will be like old times.”

  “Okay, Daddy. I think I’d like that. I’m so upset about Scarlett and I do miss you.” Her voice became thin and watery again. “See you tomorrow night.”

  When Landon ended the call, a buzzer sounded. He left his office, taking the short walk down the hallway to his sister’s room. He found Jilly’s elderly aide, Monica, at her side.

  “Everything okay?” he asked Monica.

  “Just having a little trouble clearing her airways.” The elderly woman met Landon’s eyes. “She has a diminished cough reflex, so I have to use suction. It happens now and then. She’ll be okay—for now.”

  He looked over and found his sister’s watery blue eyes. Her skin was sallow, her face emaciated like she’d simply sink into the bed one of these days and disappear. The progression of the disease had worsened over the past month, his sister growing weaker every day.

  Landon looked at his sister’s aide. “Do we need to call her doctor?”

  Monica’s eyes focused on Jilly. She nodded. “Probably.” She pushed the gray hair off her forehead, and then found Landon’s eyes again. “I wouldn’t wait too much longer.”

  The unspoken message had been sent. Landon knew the end wasn’t too far away. He reached over and kissed Jilly on the forehead, something he did every night without fail.

  After getting ready for bed, Pearce Landon sat alone in the darkness for several minutes. The thoughts tumbled through his mind and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. The irony of what was happening seemed almost too much to bear.

  There were two silent killers out there somewhere in the darkness. One had murdered Scarlett Endicott and was setting him up for the killing. The other was coming for his sister using an acronym of its own, one that was all too familiar. It was called ALS.

  SEVENTEEN

  I was mad as hell and needed a drink by the time I’d left the station and my new co-workers in Section One. Maybe it was my imagination, but Lieutenant Fred Conrad seemed to spend the afternoon offending everyone in the unit with the exception of Christine Belmont and Alex Hardy.

  As the meeting had progressed, Ted and I had updated everyone on our case. Selfie had then taken over after removing her piercings as the lieutenant had ordered. She gave Conrad a death stare as she went over a list of known fixers and bodyguards who worked in the city.

  Conrad had said he expected interviews tomorrow with the director of Scarlett’s film, Zig Steinberg, as well as her boyfriend, Donny Kessler, and her best friend, Lauren Hayden. Our new lieutenant had suggested that he might put other detectives on the case with Ted and me unless we made some quick progress. The thought of possibly working the case with Belmont and Hardy had sent my blood pressure soaring.

  “You look like you could use a drink or several,” Natalie said, as I took a seat across from her and Mo at a lounge called, The Red O, on Melrose. I’d dropped Bernie at home with orders to bite my mother, or the woman who called herself Rose, if either one tried anything stupid.

  I ordered something called a Casa Blanca Margarita. After the server left I said to my friends, “Long day at work. Our vacation on Catalina Island already seems like it was a lifetime ago.”

  “Problem is,” Mo said, after tipping up her vodka martini, “you’ve been thrown out of the saddle and landed back in the big city. It’s gonna take a while to adjust to reality.”

  Her reference to “the saddle” was my unsettled relationship with Buck McCade. It was also apparently Natalie’s cue to take up the cause. “Maybe it is time to move on, Kate. Find yourself a hunky fireman or maybe even a rich bloke so you can move outta your mom’s place, just in case you don’t wanna live with Mo and me again.”

  The waiter brought over my drink as I thought about my living arrangements. I knew I couldn’t stand living with my mother much longer, but I also wasn’t sure if I wanted to live with Natalie and Mo again. The more I thought about my living situation
and relationships, the more depressed I became.

  I took a sip of my drink, then said, “I’m off the market and not looking.”

  Natalie’s big hazel eyes swung over in Mo’s direction. “This is serious. Maybe Kate busted her vagina when she was thrown from her horse. She’ll end up an old lady with a trophy.”

  My friends had never heard of the term tact, but I wasn’t sure about what Natalie meant. “A trophy?”

  “It’s when you vagina dries up like an old cabbage.”

  “I think baby sis means, atrophy” Mo said. “In other words, you gotta use it or lose it.”

  I took another sip of my drink and laughed, maybe a little too loudly. “I think there are more important things to worry about than my vagina.”

  Natalie’s gorgeous face twisted up in apparent genuine confusion. “Like what?”

  I took a minute, but couldn’t come up with anything. The server saved me by coming over. We ordered a guacamole appetizer and he left.

  “Your copper buddies haven’t been around Ravenswood for a few days,” Natalie said, changing the subject. “Maybe they’ve given up finding Shirley Welch’s killer.”

  Nothing was breaking on the dead actress’ murder and I saw no reason to deny it, given that my friends had been involved in helping find the actress’s body. “As far as I know nothing’s new. The case has gone cold again.”

  I finished my martini and ordered another. Apparently it was enough to raise some eyebrows.

  “You don’t seem right to me,” Mo said. “You need to snap out of it, start to put your life back on track.”

  “When Mo and me find a place, I think you should move in with us,” Natalie said. “We’re what you call good therapy for you…not to mention, karma.”

  I laughed, then took a sip of my drink. “I’ll think it over.”

  Mo stirred her own drink and regarded me. “Baby sis and Sonny are planning another fantasy. I think you should go with us.”