by M. Z. Kelly
“There’s been a shooting at the Starlight Dome Theater on Hollywood Boulevard, Kate. They’re transporting one of the shooters to UCLA Medical Center now. We think he’s Joaquin Rush.”
I immediately made the connection that the assassin had probably gone after our suspect. “Any sign of Landon?”
“Witnesses described a man matching his description as the shooter. They said it was self-defense. Apparently Rush opened fire on Landon before he returned the fire. He then slipped out of the theater through an emergency exit and disappeared.”
Forty minutes later, Bernie and I met Ted at the hospital, where we confirmed our injured subject was Joaquin Rush.
“He’s in bad shape with multiple gunshot wounds that pierced his spleen and liver.” an ER doctor who looked like a teenager told us. “We’re prepping him for surgery but it doesn’t look promising.”
“Can we talk to him?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You can try, but, so far, he hasn’t been responsive.”
After leaving Bernie with a uniformed officer who was following up on the shooting, Ted and I found the badly injured assassin hooked up to a host of medical devices. A nurse hovered nearby as I said, “Mr. Rush, tell us what happened.”
The hit man’s dark eyes rolled in my direction but didn’t focus.”
I tried again. “Were you sent by Zig Steinberg to kill Pearce Landon?”
Nothing.
Ted took up the cause. “Did you kill Richard Hawkins, Landon’s sister, and her aide?”
Rush’s eyes opened wider. They tried to focus as he spoke to us. “Heeees…not…”
“Who? Ted demanded. “Are you talking about Pearce Landon?”
It occurred to me that maybe Rush wanted to set the record straight before he succumbed to his injuries as he went on, “Ziggg…he’s…nooo…the one who…kkkilled her…”
I glanced at Ted, looked back at Rush. “Are you trying to tell us that Zig Steinberg didn’t kill Scarlett Endicott?”
Rush’s eyes made another attempt to focus and then closed. There was a nod of his head before an alarm sounded. Medical staff rushed into the room, pushing us out of the way. Ted and I watched as drugs were administered and attempts were made to restore the assassin’s heartbeat. We left the room as there was another flurry of activity and more medical staff rushed into the room.
Twenty minutes later, the same ER doctor we’d talked to when we arrived, came out of the Rush’s room and made the announcement. “He’s gone.”
I turned to Ted. “With Joaquin Rush out of the way, Pearce Landon will be gunning for Zig Steinberg.”
FIFTY SEVEN
Ted, Bernie, and I rolled up to the guard shack at Zig Steinberg’s estate a half hour later. It was still a couple of hours before dawn. A cool breeze stirred the air as we rolled down the window and told the gate guard we needed to talk to the movie director.
“He’s turned in for the night and can’t be disturbed,” the guard said.
The night’s events and early morning hour had left me with little patience. “This is a police emergency. You either open the gate or we’ll knock it down.”
The guard complied but was calling the residence as Ted jammed his foot on the gas pedal. Armed security guards met us in front of the house. Bernie released a low growl as a big guy stepped out ahead of the other guards on the front porch. Based on the size of his gun he looked like he was compensating for a small penis.
The guarded folded his arms across his chest and said, “Mr. Steinberg’s asleep. You’ll have to come back later.”
I reached into my purse and retrieved a pair of handcuffs. “We can do that, but in the meantime we’ll be booking you into jail.”
A scowl. “For what?”
“Disturbing the peace.”
“I ain’t disturbed nothing.”
I turned to Ted. “Do you know what will happen if I give my dog the attack command.”
He smiled. “Just a wild guess but I’d say the peace would be disturbed.”
I turned back to the guard. “You make the call, big shot.”
The guard regarded Bernie who was straining on his leash, all teeth and muscle. The man grimaced but stepped aside and nodded to the others. In a moment we were let inside the residence by a maid where I saw Alysha Roberts coming in our direction. She was in a dress and heels. Maybe she’d been up all night, also with orders to guard her boss.
“Mr. Steinberg has taken some medication,” Roberts said. “He’s asleep.”
“Then throw some water in his face and wake him up,” I said, raising my voice. “His hired gun was just killed.”
Roberts blanched, took a step back, and nodded her head. “Give me a couple of minutes.”
We waited for fifteen minutes until the director appeared on the upstairs landing. He was groggy and incoherent. It took his assistant a couple of minutes more to lead her wobbly, confused boss downstairs.
Steinberg collapsed into a chair in the living room and growled “Wha…what’s the…meaning of…th..this?” He stared at us, unblinking.
I’d seen other suspects under the influence of sleep medications. Anything Steinberg told us would be scrutinized in court regarding coercion, along with impaired judgment. I didn’t care. What I did care about was preventing another homicide and getting to the truth.
“Joaquin Rush was killed in a shootout with Pearce Landon tonight,” I said.
“Wh…what?” Steinberg might have been half asleep but what I’d said seemed to affect him. He looked over at Roberts. “What happens now?”
His assistant shrugged and looked over at us, apparently at a loss as to how to answer. If she was involved in Steinberg’s crime spree or had knowledge of it, she gave nothing away.
“You need to tell us the truth about what’s been happening,” I said. “It’s the only way to save yourself. Tell us what happened with Scarlett Endicott.”
Steinberg caught a breath and ran a hand over his hair. He said to Roberts, “Get me some water.” While she scurried off, he looked back at me and said, “I did…didn’t k…kill her.”
“Then tell us who did.”
He took another breath, his chest rattling. “I got a c…call…from Rush the day she was k…killed. He gave me in…instructions about how to pro…proceed. I did what…I was told.”
I looked at Ted, back at Steinberg, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “I don’t understand. Why did Joaquin Rush call you?”
“He said S…Scarlett was dead…and evidence linking me to the m…murder had been planted at the scene. I was told the only way I could save myself…was to call Pearce Landon…convince him to clean the murder s…scene.” Roberts finally arrived with his water. He gulped down most of it and then caught his breath and said, “I did the only thing I could.”
“And you gave Landon instructions about what to do?”
He nodded. “There was some…money. When he refused…the photographs of his daughter and Scarlett were there. He was told they would imm…immediately be released unless he cleaned the mur…murder scene.”
“Did Rush tell you he killed Scarlett?”
Steinberg shook his head. “I’m sure he was wor…working for somebody else, I don’t know who.”
“What about Richard Hawkins?” Ted asked. “We know that he was having an affair with Scarlett. Was he involved in her death?”
A shrug. “He used Scarlett and her friend in one of his sex parties but…I don’t think he murdered her….not his style.”
“Did Joaquin Rush murder Hawkins?”
He nodded. “He met me at…at my studio, drove home with me. He said…I had to keep quiet about…making Landon fix Scarlett’s murder scene. Whoever killed S…Scarlett was going to have him take care of Haw…Hawkins so he wouldn’t talk.”
“And what about Pearce Landon’s family, did Rush kill them?”
Steinberg stood. He wobbled and Roberts came over to his side. “I have no idea. All I know is that whoever Rush
was w…working for was trying to cover his tracks…and it wasn’t me.” He turned toward the stairway. “If there’s no…nothing else, I need my sleep.”
I stood up and came over to him. “Actually, there is one other thing.” I pulled out my handcuffs. “You’re under arrest.”
“For what?”
“For conspiracy to tamper with the evidence at a crime scene.”
FIFTY EIGHT
Bernie and I went home to catch a couple of hours sleep. I’d made arrangements to move what few possessions I owned into the Barkley Bungalows later that morning before going into the office at noon. I was restless, unable to sleep, maybe because I again heard Mom and Buzz in the bedroom next door. I covered my head with a pillow as I tossed and turned. Buck came to mind, and I even contemplated calling him, but then decided that would be a mistake.
I finally drifted off into a restless sleep, but was awakened just after dawn when my phone rang. It was Pearce Landon.
“What did Steinberg tell you?”
I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a hand through my hair, realizing that Landon had probably been watching Steinberg’s estate and saw us arrive there.
“He said that false evidence linking him to Scarlett’s murder was left at the crime scene. He claims he was setup by some unknown party who hired Joaquin Rush. He was told by Rush that he had to call you to fix the scene and if you refused the photos of your daughter and Scarlett would be released.”
“You didn’t believe him, did you?”
I filled my lungs, released the air. “Steinberg was half asleep from some medication he took. I’m not sure we got the whole story, but there did seem to be some credibility to what he said.”
The line was quiet for a minute. Maybe Landon was turning over what I’d told him. Finally, he said, “What about Hawkins?”
“He thinks he was the one behind the photographs and Rush killed him to keep him quiet, framing you.” I paused and drew in a ragged breath. “He thinks Rush probably decided the frame wasn’t enough and he went to your house…” I released the breath. “You know the rest.”
“I still believe that Steinberg had a hand in everything.”
“That might be the case, but you need to back off and let us work the case.”
“That’s a little difficult considering I’m now wanted for two murders.”
“We have witnesses who said the shooting of Rush was self-defense. Let us find Scarlett’s killer and you might still walk away from everything a free man.” When Landon didn’t respond right away I added, “Better yet, turn yourself in.”
He laughed. “If I make that decision, you’ll be the first to know. I’m going to work a couple of things from this end. I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead. I continued to sit in bed for several minutes. I was now more convinced than ever that Pearce Landon was innocent of Scarlett’s murder. If there was any truth to what Steinberg had told us, both he and Landon were victims, set up by someone who’d hired Joaquin Rush. As I continued to push the pieces of the puzzle around in my head, it again hit me that there was one piece we were still missing—the person Scarlett had been writing her letter to.
I texted Ted and told him I’d be in at noon and that we needed to go back to Scarlett’s mother and aunt and see if we’d missed something. In the meantime, I decided to give up on getting any sleep and packed my belongings for my move.
When I finished packing, I found Mom alone in the kitchen sipping her coffee.
“Where’s Buzz?” I asked after I’d fed the dogs and poured myself some coffee.
Mom, or Rose, gave me a death stare when I sat down across from her. “We had an argument. He left.”
I didn’t respond for a moment, hearing the crunch of Bernie and Bubba wolfing down their kibble in the corner. I finally said, “Maybe it’s for the best. I think you can do better.”
“What?” She scoffed. “Like you’re an expert on the subject.”
“I don’t claim to be an expert on anything.” I took a breath, blew it out slowly through my nostrils. “I’ve made us another appointment with Dr. Chan. I think there are some things we need to talk about.”
“I’m not seeing that quack again.” Mom sipped her coffee. “I think my chakras are just out of balance. I have an expert coming by later today.”
“Chakras.” I regarded her for a long moment and decided to level with her. “I don’t think your chakras have anything to do with what’s going on.”
Her thin brows pinched together. “What do you mean?”
“I think you feel guilty about the way you handled everything with Dad’s death.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“We’ve gone over this before and I understand your decision not to tell me but…”
“I won’t…”
I reached across the table and took her hand. “You will listen to me.” She held on my eyes as I went on, “I understand you were trying to protect me by not telling me about my birthmother, but it was a decision that had repercussions for all of us. Your decision affected me when I was a girl and it continues to affect our relationship. That’s why we need professional help.”
Mom finally unlocked her gaze, pushed my hand away, and stood up. “I did the right thing. If you can’t accept that, then you’re the one who needs professional help. Not me.”
***
I was so angry over the conversation with my mother that it was still affecting me as Bernie and I moved our belongings into my new apartment. After I’d finished doing what I could with my tiny place, I looked out the window and forgot all about Mom, if only for a few minutes.
“What’s going on out there?” I asked after Bernie and I went over to Natalie and Mo’s new apartment that was adjacent to mine. I took a seat across from my friends on their patio that faced the Barkley’s courtyard and swimming pool.
“Seems like the Munchkin wasn’t completely forthcoming with us,” Mo said, motioning to our new neighbors.
“That little knob-head lied is more like it,” Natalie grumbled. “Looks like a bloody circus ‘round here.”
Her description wasn’t far off the mark. It wasn’t just the fact that all the other vacant apartments were filling up, despite the dilapidated condition of the buildings. There was an odd assortment of characters milling around the grounds, some who looked like they just might be able to juggle or swallow fire.
“There’s Bub,” I said, pointing out our little landlord. “Let’s ask him what’s going on.
Mo put two fingers to her lips and did the Munchkin whistle. The little man came over with a woman who I realized that my friends already knew.
“This is Carly Hogg,” Mo said. “She’s our co-star on Hollywood Girlz. Baby sis and me got word we got parts on the show this afternoon. Carly’s gonna live here at the Barkley with us.”
Carly, a large woman with big features, came over to me and worked my hand like it was a pump handle and she wanted fresh water for the swimming pool. She had on a T-shirt that read, Big Girls Don’t Cry, They Get Even.
“Heard you’re a cop,” Carly said with a serious expression. “I want you to know I’ll go quietly.”
My brows knitted. I thought maybe she had a warrant. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Carly’s heavy jowls lifted. “I’ll come clean. The truth is I ran into my ex the other day, put it in reverse, and hit him again.” She belly laughed.
Natalie took a moment, explaining about Carly’s odd sense of humor, and then their Internet sit-com. “Carly’s the star of our show. She plays an actress and Mo and me are supposed to be her bumbling roommates. There’s also some hot guys who live next door to us. It’s kinda like that old TV show, Friends, only with lotsa attitude.”
Carly’s fleshy face contorted into what I think was supposed to be a smile. She motioned to my friends. “And these two got bumbling down to a science.”
I was about to say I understood exactly what she meant, but then saw the scowl on
Mo’s face and thought better of it.
Natalie went on, “Carly gives us a lot of lip and attitude on the show, but it’s all just an act. It’s not easy, but Mo and me gotta learn to play dumb.”
“I’d be happy to give you all some acting tips,” Bub chimed in. He panted at Natalie. “I’ve got some special acting methods that I can show you.”
“God made actors, God made Bub, and we all make mistakes,” Carly said with a hand-slap to the little man’s shoulder. Bub wobbled, nearly fell over, and bit his tongue.
“What’s with all these people moving in?” I asked our landlord. “I thought we had the place to ourselves.”
Bub righted himself and cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I was having a bit of a cash flow problem and had to rent out the other units to some local actors.”
“All the world’s a stage,” Carly said. “We’re going to have soap stars, a couple of sit-com actors, and some of the cast of HW living here with us.” She must have seen my confusion. “Hollywood Walkers. It’s a new TV show that’s all the rage.” She smiled. “Even zombies gotta live somewhere.”
“Zombies,” I said, my gaze drifting back over the grounds of our apartment complex. Bernie whined as we took in the odd assortment of “Walkers.” I turned to everyone and said, “I’ve got to go to work. I’ll see you and the living dead later.”
FIFTY NINE
When Bernie and I got to the station, Ted was already at his desk.
“I called Scarlett’s mother and her aunt, asked about Scarlett’s relationships,” Ted told me after I took a seat across from him. “Neither woman knew anything about Scarlett being bisexual. They both said that they thought Donny Kessler was the only real boyfriend Scarlett had in the past year.”
“If she was involved with another woman, maybe she kept it a secret, not knowing how her mother would respond. I know that when my brother came out as gay a few years ago, it was a difficult conversation for him to have with my mother.”
Ted scratched his big head. “Maybe Scarlett confided in her friend. Why don’t we try Lauren Hayden.”
