Hollywood Homicide: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “Scarlett Endicott?”

  Smith shook his head. “That’s been over for…” His granite eyes fixed on Landon. “You do know that your name’s been mentioned, along with others.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Word has it the murder scene was being cleaned when the police arrived.” Smith downed the rest of the beer Landon had paid for and signaled a server for another. “They haven’t forgotten about Koch, his connection to Beal and to you.”

  “Speaking of Scarlett, since she and Sterling are history, who was she seeing before she died?”

  “As far as I know, nobody. I heard there was a writer for a while but he’s also out of the picture.” The waiter came over with Smith’s beer. After he was gone the reporter fixed his dark eyes on Landon and lowered his voice. “Let’s put our cards on the table. What do you know about Endicott’s murder?”

  Landon’s blue eyes locked onto his friend. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Our conversation is past the event horizon?”

  It was a code phrase they used because of Smith’s interest in astrophysics, meaning their conversation was in a black hole and never happened.

  The reporter nodded and Landon went on, “Someone blackmailed me to do the clean-up. I started the process but the police arrived. I had to leave in a hurry.”

  “There’s some other rumors circulating. The crime scene was…”

  “It was bad.”

  Smith glanced around the bar, lowering his voice even further. “You know about her movie?”

  Landon nodded. “Maybe there was a connection.” He paused, his gaze taking in the other patrons for a moment. He then found Smith’s eyes again. “What do you have for me?”

  Smith drained half the beer, set the mug down. He met Landon’s blue eyes. “All I know is that Endicott supposedly got in the middle of something and paid for it.”

  “In the middle. What exactly does that mean?”

  Smith shrugged. “That’s all I know. I’ll use my sources, see what I can turn up.”

  Landon stood and tossed some bills on the table. There were two hundreds, along with the money for their drinks. “I need you to work fast while I still have my freedom.”

  TWENTY THREE

  “Conrad wants me out of Section One,” I said to Ted as he drove us to the Coroner’s Office in downtown Los Angeles. We planned to meet with Brie Henner and go over Scarlett’s autopsy results before trying to locate her therapist. “I made an off-handed comment to Jessica Barlow about having homicidal thoughts and she’s dragged my ex-partner into things, claiming it was harassment aimed at her.”

  “Heard her name mentioned a couple of times when I was working at Homicide Special downtown. Everyone knows she’s got zero credibility.”

  “Apparently everyone except our lieutenant.” I rolled down the back window a couple of inches so that Bernie could have some air. “Speaking of Conrad, any thoughts on how we deal with him?”

  Ted smiled over at me. “I think this is one instance where meditation, theories, and talk won’t change anything. We’ve got to pound the pavement until we break the case.”

  I blew out a lungful of air. “Unfortunately, we’ve got some company on the pavement. Belmont and Hardy are going to second guess our every move.”

  Ted pulled off the freeway at Mission Road, where the Coroner’s Department was located. “I guess that means we can’t give them anything to second guess us about.”

  We met with Brie in a small office near the autopsy suite, where the remains of Scarlett Endicott had been examined. Brie had Scarlett’s file open on her desk in front of her, but didn’t reference it as she spoke.

  “As we know, the ultimate cause of death was the severing of her carotid artery, after the other lacerations and defensive wounds were inflicted.” My friend paused, brushed her long dark hair from her eyes. “Our suspect took his time with her. Scarlett was tortured, maybe for hours, before the fatal injury occurred. Nothing about her death was quick or merciful.”

  “Any trace, DNA, signs of sexual assault?” I asked.

  “There were signs of forced penetration, and a fair amount of bruising that was premortem. We took swabs, of course, but it doesn’t look there’s anything in the way of semen. As far as we know, our victim wasn’t in a relationship prior to her death. It looks like Scarlett was raped but a condom was used.”

  “Anything else?” Ted asked, making notes on a pad.

  “Off the record?”

  Ted stopped writing, nodded.

  “Just a guess on my part but I think this was an orchestrated killing. The suspect took his time, following a pattern of torture that he’d set out beforehand.”

  “You mean as in the crime being premeditated,” I said, restating the obvious.

  “Yes, but I think it’s more than that.” Brie took a moment, maybe trying to find the words to express what she was thinking. “It’s one thing to plan out a murder and carry it out. It’s another to follow a deliberate pattern of specific detail, in this case one that involves using lots of blood and torture as a signature. My impression is, despite what it might look like on the surface, this wasn’t a frenzied act of rage by a deranged killer.

  “Like I said, this is off the record, but I think this was a premeditated act that involved lots of planning and might even have been perpetrated by more than one person.”

  “Do you think we’re looking at two people acting in concert?” Ted asked.

  “Maybe…it could also be that someone helped plan the murder but only one person carried it out.”

  I decided I needed to give voice to what I’d been thinking since we’d learned about Scarlett’s unfinished film. I looked at Ted. “Do you think this could be a ritualistic killing, perpetrated by someone holding beliefs about Satan, maybe even somebody connected with the movie Scarlett was making?”

  Ted scratched his big head, looked at Brie, raising his brows. “Hard to say at this point.”

  Brie nodded and looked at both of us. “I think when we have an answer to your question we’ll be a lot closer to knowing who murdered Scarlett.”

  We discussed the possibilities a few minutes more before Ted excused himself to take a call. I asked Brie how things were going at Ravenswood Manor.

  “Phyllis and I have found our own place and should be moving out in a couple of weeks. It’s probably a good thing considering the estate has been settled.”

  “What? I had no idea.”

  “We just got notice yesterday. The property’s been awarded to Claude Whipple. He wants everyone out as soon as possible, except…” Brie’s lips turned up, she giggled, and seemed unable to continue.

  Claude Whipple was a strange little man who had been secretly living at the estate when I moved in with my friends. Natalie and Mo swore he was a vampire, both because of his appearance and manner, and I had to admit I sometimes had similar thoughts.

  “Except what?” I asked Brie.

  My friend finally controlled herself. “Apparently your ex-landlady and Claude have hit it off pretty well. They’re going to live together at Ravenswood.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  Brie shook her head. “According to Natalie and Mo, Nana has been…” She brushed back her hair, smiled. “Pretty active with Claude, if you get my meaning.”

  I not only got her meaning but I had a horrifying image of Nana and a vampire having sex. Our former landlady was in a clinical trial for a sexual rejuvenation drug and was taking full advantage of its benefits. Her former boyfriend, an Elvis impersonator, had in the words of Mo, “gone belly up while Nana was in the saddle.”

  I stood up, tugged on Bernie’s leash, and said, “All things considered, I guess it’s a good thing you found your own place. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  ***

  Ted and I had lunch at Mel’s Drive-In on North Highland. The restaurant was located in the historic Max Factor building, where the stars of old Hollywood were said to have had their hair an
d makeup done. Mel’s now shared space with the Hollywood History Museum. I’d never been to the museum, but if what I’d heard was accurate, Ted and I were eating lunch a few yards from Hannibal Lecter’s prison cell.

  I got a call from Selfie as we were finishing up. “Richard ‘The Hawk’ Hawkins is reportedly staying at the Tau Domain in Calabasas. According to the person I talked to, Hawkins is being cleansed by Harlan Ryland himself. I’m not sure how cooperative he’ll be, given both his personality and being at the retreat.”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” I said, ending the call.

  I told Ted what Selfie had said as I let Bernie tend to a flower bed before we got in the car. I then added, “I’ve heard that the Domain is full of zombies.”

  “Then let’s go talk to the dead.”

  ***

  “Tau is the nineteenth letter in the Greek alphabet,” I said to Ted, reading from what I’d Googled on my iPhone as he drove us to Calabasas, about forty minutes north of Hollywood. “The ancients considered Tau to be a symbol for life and resurrection. The word and symbol have most recently been associated with Tauism, a belief developed by Harlan Ryland in the 1950’s. Tauists believe in the power to cleanse and heal the body and spirit, thereby returning adherents to a natural state of spiritual harmony.”

  I put my phone away. “What do you know about their beliefs?”

  “Not a whole lot. Just some rumors that some of their believers have been pretty extreme in seeking converts. They’ve had some of their so called priests working the streets in Hollywood from time to time.”

  “If Hawkins is a convert, it makes me wonder how that might have affected his psychiatric practice and his work with patients.”

  Ted shrugged as we pulled up at the vine covered gate to an estate with the letter T carved into each side of the supporting rock columns. “Let’s go ask him.”

  It took us a half hour and lots of discussion with people who were referred to as guides, before we were allowed to enter the main Tauist temple, a massive building that looked remarkably like something the ancient Greeks might have built, with stone columns and decorative friezes. As our guide, a woman named Umbra, led us through the temple and into an adjoining courtyard, we were given a brief introduction to Tauist philosophy.

  “Each of us is reincarnated countless times into a natural state of wonder and beauty,” Umbra explained. She was attractive and pleasant, nothing like the zombie we’d expected. “That state is corrupted by negative energies, violence, and impure thoughts. Once the body and spirit are cleansed our natural state of harmony returns.”

  Our guide stopped, met our eyes, and smiled. “If you’re interested, I’d be happy to give you a personal tour and schedule you for a preliminary cleansing.”

  “We’ll let you know,” I said. “Mr. Hawkins? Is he…”

  Umbra pointed out a small cottage down a stone pathway. “He’s expecting you.”

  Richard Hawkins apparently hadn’t yet fully availed himself of the cleansing Umbra and others at the Tauist retreat had experienced. The shrink to the stars was angry about our visit and made that clear as he led us to a patio that was adjacent to his cottage.

  “I heard about Scarlett’s death. It’s a tragedy but I can’t help you.”

  We took seats as Bernie settled on the stone floor next to me. “You were her therapist, correct?”

  Hawkins had eyes like coal and a shock of gray hair that stood on end like he’d just gotten out of bed. It was probably the result of an expensive styling gel. “I can’t answer your questions.” His black eyes drilled into me. “You have heard of the term doctor-patient confidentiality, haven’t you?”

  Ted must have seen my irritation and took over. “Your client is dead, senselessly slaughtered by an unknown assailant. Confidentiality shouldn’t be an issue.”

  “The doctor-patient relationship still prevails. I have nothing to say.”

  “Fine,” I said, standing up. “You can come with us to Hollywood Station where you can assert your right to say nothing while we formally get that on the record. That process is likely going to take several hours.”

  Hawkins’ voice pitched higher with anger. “This is nothing but harassment and I won’t stand for it.”

  I felt heat spreading across my cheeks as I regarded the arrogant shrink. “Maybe you just need a little more spiritual cleansing.” I took a step closer to him. “Let’s go.”

  Hawkins released some air, his gaze moving off for a moment before coming back to me. “Okay, let’s just speak in generalities for a moment.” I took a seat as he went on, “If Scarlett was seeing me, there was nothing that occurred during those sessions that had any bearing on what happened to her.”

  I leveled my eyes on him. “According to her mother and her aunt, Scarlett was very depressed and even talked of suicide.”

  “That might have been the case but…if she was, in fact, depressed, she was maintaining.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She was coping.” He huffed out a breath. “Listen. Scarlett was depressed but you need to listen to me carefully, Detective. That fact had nothing to do with her murder.”

  “How do you know that?” I glanced at Ted in frustration when he didn’t answer.

  “What about her relationships?” Ted asked. “We know that she was no longer seeing Donny Kessler. Was there anyone else in her life?”

  Hawkins didn’t respond right away. It gave me the impression he was deciding how much to tell us. And then I had another thought. Maybe Hawkins was afraid of someone finding out he’d talked to the police.

  He finally said, “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “What about the movie Scarlett was working on, her relationship with the director, Zig Steinberg? Did she ever mention that?”

  Hawkins met my eyes, looked away. “I don’t think she was happy with the movie. I don’t know about Steinberg.”

  “What gave you the impression she was unhappy?” I asked, still angry about his stonewalling.

  “The content was…” His dark eyes found me. “It was something that made Scarlett uncomfortable.”

  After spending another half hour with Hawkins, Ted and I shared a look, deciding that we weren’t going to get anything more from the shrink. As we stood to leave, something occurred to me about the so-called shrink to the stars. “Tell me something, do you know Zig Steinberg?”

  Hawkins regarded me. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.”

  “I think we met once or twice at a couple of social gatherings. I can’t say that I really know him.”

  As Ted and I were leaving, I glanced around the grounds of the Tauist Domain and then over at my new partner. “I wonder if Harlan Ryland is around here somewhere.”

  “I heard he hasn’t been seen in public in a couple of decades. Nobody even knows what he looks like.”

  What Ted had said seemed to fit with the secretive compound. While I’d heard a lot about Tauism in recent years, how it had gained a lot of converts, it was also steeped in secrecy. And Richard Hawkins, the shrink to the stars, having a connection to the belief, raised all my red flags.

  When we got to our car, I told Ted, “I took one of those classes a few months back about how to spot deception when talking with a subject.”

  He glanced at me. “And?”

  “When I asked Hawkins if he knew Zig Steinberg there was a leak.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s when a lie leaks through what appears generally to be truthful responses.” I took my phone out of my purse. “Let’s see if Selfie can establish any relationship between Steinberg and Hawkins.”

  TWENTY FOUR

  “I haven’t been to this place in over a decade.”

  “You were eleven, to be exact,” Pearce Landon said to his daughter, Madison. They were in a restaurant and performance venue called The Magic Castle in the foothills of Hollywood. The chateau featured a Victorian dining room and several performance rooms where magic act
s from some of the most famous magicians in the world were performed. Landon and his daughter had finished eating, watched a performance, and were having coffee on a terrace.

  “I remember thinking at the time I wanted to be a magician,” Madison said, giggling.

  Landon’s daughter was twenty-four, with long brown hair and dark eyes enhanced by unnaturally thick lashes. He remembered that when Madison was little he thought she looked like a doll, almost too perfect to believe. He still thought the same way about her even though he’d come here to discuss the ugly photographs in his coat pocket. He pushed the thought away for a moment, deciding he needed to know more about his daughter’s relationship with Scarlett first.

  “I know it’s a painful subject, but I was just wondering with everything that’s happened how close you were to Scarlett in recent years.”

  Madison’s beautiful dark eyes turned inward for a moment. She released a breath. “We talked every now and then but weren’t close.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to her?”

  “Probably a little over a year ago. She and her boyfriend were splitting up. I think she was lonely and needed someone to talk to.”

  “Are you talking about Donny Kessler?”

  Madison nodded, her brows becoming pinched. “Are you looking into what happened to her?”

  Landon nodded. “It’s nothing formal. Just be sure that you don’t mention it to anyone, including the police, if they come around asking.”

  Madison brushed back her long dark hair. “The police? They don’t think you…”

  “You never know.”

  His daughter met his eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

  Landon sipped his coffee, then set the cup aside, and tried to keep his voice even. “There’s something else I need to ask you about.” Madison’s eyes came up to him. If she was concerned about what he might say, she gave nothing up. “There were some pictures taken. They were of you and Scarlett with a couple of men.”

  His daughter’s eyes rounded, her voice pitching higher. “What?”