by M. Z. Kelly
From somewhere beneath the stage, air blew up Natalie’s dress like something out of, The Seven Year Itch. I saw several women in the crowd leading their husbands away like wayward puppy dogs. Most of them continued to crane their necks back toward the stage and drool.
As the strange, warbling music blared, Natalie put on a cap, cocked it to one side, took the microphone, and began her nerdcore performance. My friend’s fruit rap explained how fruit can solve almost any human ailment, including some not so subtle references to the aphrodisiac benefits of everything from bananas to zucchini.
I was feeling drained by the time the performance finally ended and Electric Hair headed for home—my home.
I didn’t know if I was ready for another evening of screaming orgasms, Nanadonna, and Nerdcore. I knew from experience that trauma can have long-lasting effects, and decided to take Bernie for a walk in the park before going home.
The images of the day, starting with Jimmy Marcello making a reference to my father’s death, Jessica’s complaint about being cut out of the investigation, and ending with Electric Hair, had all left me on edgy and exhausted. Then my phone rang.
“Kate, it’s Jack. I thought I’d better check on you.”
It had been days since he’d abruptly left me, saying something about his ex living in DC.
“I’m doing okay,” I said, hesitating before asking, “How are things in the beltway?”
“Busy. We’re going down south for a few days and then I should be able fly back to LA.”
“I’m not sure...”
“I need to explain something. I didn’t handle things very well the other day when I left.”
I walked Bernie over to a stand of trees, away from the crowd. “I’m listening.”
“I mentioned that my ex lives here, in DC. What I didn’t say is that she has some medical issues.”
“What kind of issues?”
He exhaled. “She’s been diagnosed with MS. I’m trying to help get her some medical care and a home health aide. It hasn’t been easy for her.”
“I understand.” I walked over to a pond just beyond the trees, feeling sad about his ex-wife’s condition. I realized that I’d been selfish, feeling sorry for myself, about my father, my failed marriage, and now a relationship that was becoming increasing problematic.
“I don’t know what else to say about the situation,” Jack went on. “But I can’t just walk away and not help her.”
“No, I wouldn’t want you to do that. You need to be there for her.” We were both quiet for a moment, searching for what to say next.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you in a few days,” he finally said.
“Maybe...” I drew in a breath, trying to find words to express what I was feeling. “Maybe we should give it some time.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I think our lives are complicated right now and I’m not sure how I feel about everything. I need time to sort through my feelings.”
He was silent for a moment. “Okay, I understand. How about if I call you in a couple of days?”
“That would be good, Jack. You call me.”
I ended the call, turned and looked above the tree line where a full moon had risen. The moon was golden and beautiful and melting. Tears flooded from my eyes until the shimmering orb disappeared behind a veil of water.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I awoke the next day to a phone call that completely changed the direction of our case. It was from Brie Henner at the coroner’s office.
“Kate, we just got a ballistics match through NIBIN on the bullets that killed Michael Clinton and China Warner. The rounds were matched to one that’s in the database catalogued from a nightclub shooting in Las Vegas a few years back. The shooting was determined to be self-defense, so no charges were filed.”
“Do we know the name of the nightclub shooter?” I asked.
“Harmon Sanders.”
***
When Bernie and I got to the station, I called everyone into the conference room. Edna was already upset because he’d just opened a box of business cards someone ordered for him.
“Would you look at this shit.” The lieutenant tossed a card to each of us and I saw why he was so angry. “Lieutenant Henrietta,” he fumed, indicating the name on the cards. “I’m gonna trace these cards back to the SOB that ordered them and kick his fucking ass down the street.”
After Edna finished his rant, I filled everyone in on Brie’s phone call. We then got a second round of the lieutenant’s coitus interrupt-us because he said that Mayor Caine, who was already fighting for his political life, would go crazy when he learned Sanders’s gun was used in the wedding murders.
When Edna finally calmed down, Pearl suggested how we proceed. “We need to take Sanders into custody, maybe at home. We should do it quietly, keep the press out of it.”
“You got that right,” Edna said. “When the press and the mayor find out about this, all hell’s gonna break loose. Caine’s already come unglued over Sanders’s solicitation arrest. I’m surprised he hasn’t already fired the fuck.”
“Maybe we should call Sanders and give him a chance to turn himself in,” Jessica suggested.
“It would give him an opportunity to destroy any evidence,” I said. “We need to get a warrant and search his house at the same time we take him down. There could be clothes or other evidence that further ties him to the wedding murders.”
After lots of discussion and planning, we decided to get a warrant to search Sanders’s house and arrest him at home that evening.
***
Pearl and I took a separate car with Bernie and followed Lieutenant Edna and Jessica to Sanders’s house in Hancock Park.
I’d spent most of the day thinking about both Jack’s phone call and our case. I decided I was right about needing more time to sort through my feelings about Jack. As for the case, I was hitting a wall and needed to run some things past Pearl.
“I’ve spent all day trying to piece together a motive—why Sanders would have murdered China and Michael,” I said. “We know that he used Discrete escorts and other working girls. Maybe he also had a relationship with China.”
“Could be. China was a beautiful woman. Maybe they dated, he fell hard for her, and the motive was jealousy.”
I followed his line of reasoning. “In order to make the crime look like a murder-suicide he had to leave a weapon at the crime scene. And he had an unregistered gun that he didn’t know was in a ballistics database.”
I continued turning the scenario over as Pearl drove. When we were close to Sanders’s house I said, “No matter how I try to make the puzzle pieces fit so that Sanders is guilty, based on what we know, it just doesn’t completely add up. Sanders might be involved, but I still think there’s a bigger picture involving Marcello and his ties to Clinton.”
“Maybe Sanders will talk when we arrest him and...”
We came around the corner and saw that the street in front of Sanders’s house was filling up with satellite vans and reporters. They were setting up directly in front of his Dutch colonial revival two-story.
“Shit, somebody tipped them off,” I said. “What a mess.”
We met up with Edna and Jessica on the sidewalk. The lieutenant had already called for additional patrol units to do crowd control. Overhead, we heard the roar of helicopters from the local TV stations.
“Fucking buzzards,” Edna yelled, noticing the airships. He turned to a couple of uniforms. “We need to clear the street, now.”
A moment later, I turned and saw Haley Tristan coming in our direction. The reporter was with her slutty assistant, Cher.
“Detective Sexton,” Tristan said, sticking a microphone in my face. “What can you tell us about Harmon Sanders being wanted for the murders of China Warner and Michael Clinton?”
“You’ll have to speak to the lieutenant.” I motioned to Edna who was still giving orders to the uniforms.
Tristan and he
r aide walked over to my boss. I saw that her camera crew was rolling as she said, “Lieutenant Henrietta, can you tell us what’s happening here? Is Harmon Sanders wanted for murder?”
Edna turned bright red. I think I saw foam coming from his mouth as he answered, “Listen to me. My name is Henry Edna, that’s two separate names. And, no I’m not at liberty to talk. You people need to clear this fucking area now.”
“How do we proceed now?” Jessica asked after the lieutenant had come over to us and unleashed a profane rant about the press. “Do we just knock on the door and ask Sanders to come quietly.”
“We need to get in the fucking house now,” Edna said, “before any evidence is lost.” He motioned to our car. “Bring the dog.”
We massed at the front door with two uniformed cops. Just as we were about to make entry, a woman opened the door. Her makeup was smeared. She’d obviously been crying.
“He’s upstairs,” the woman said. “He’s locked himself in the master bedroom and won’t come out.” She burst into tears. “My husband is innocent.”
Pearl asked, “Is your husband armed?”
She nodded.
“What about a phone? Does he have a phone?”
“There’s a phone in the bedroom.”
Five minutes later, we marshaled at the foot of the stairway inside Sanders’s house. Pearl got the mayor’s assistant on the line and put him on speaker while one of the uniforms escorted his wife to a patrol car.
“I didn’t do this,” Sanders said, his voice breaking with emotion. “Somebody took my gun. They’re trying to frame me.”
“Come down so we can talk about it,” Pearl said. “We believe you, but we’ve got to clear things up.”
“Nobody will believe me, especially after my arrest.” We heard sobs coming over the line. When he spoke again, there was a desperate quality to his voice. “Marla West. She knew everything that happened. That’s why she was killed.”
“What do you mean?” Pearl asked. “What did she know?”
A garbled response came back, something about a cover up, before the line went dead.
“Mr. Sanders, we need...”
Pearl’s words were interrupted by the all too familiar popping sound of a gun being discharged. Edna motioned for us to follow him up the stairs. Bernie strained against his leash, pulling me forward into the upstairs hallway. When Edna tried the door, it was locked.
We moved back a step, guns drawn, as one of the uniforms used his body to break down the door. Once we got inside the bedroom, we found the body on the bed. The bullet had entered Harmon Sanders’s mouth and exited through the back of his head, taking with it a large portion of his brain and all the secrets that it held.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Why did it take so long for the bullets to come back to Sanders’s gun?” The Wolf asks, looking down on Hollywood.
At night, from the empty high-rise, the city looks like a glittering jewel box. It’s a relief not having to deal with the elderly mob boss. But this man, the one with the silver hair, can also be dangerous.
“Some kind of glitch in the system involving software,” the man says. “But the match is solid. It was a smart decision to take his gun and use it as a backup. I got word that the mayor’s assistant blew his brains out a couple of hours ago. The heat will finally be off and the political fallout will probably bring down the mayor. All things considered, it should benefit us.”
“And I can go back into retirement?”
“For the time being. You’ll still be on retainer if there are complications.”
“What kind of complications?”
The man walks over to the windows, his dark eyes scanning the city as he speaks. “As you know, Malik Brown was killed because he was blackmailing China over her past relationship with Discrete. China knew about our involvement in Michael’s business affairs. We couldn’t risk that she told Brown what she knew.”
“The little piece of scum got what he deserved.”
“And, as it turned out, our employee, Marla West, was a little too money hungry. She was arranging dates and then videotaping some of the agency’s more powerful clients and blackmailing them. Harmon Sanders was just the latest of several. We couldn’t take a chance word would get out about her side business, someone would complain, and she’d tell the authorities what she knew.”
“So we’re covered. I don’t see how there could be any blowback.”
The man folds his arms, looks back at The Wolf. “Even though we got rid of Brown and West, things have unraveled. The department’s onto the boss’s involvement with Clinton.”
“Shit.” There’s a pause before a thought surfaces. “But they also know about the fallout with Drummond and his past relationship with China. Maybe they think he was behind everything.”
The man shrugs. “It should all be academic since Sanders’s gun was found at the crime scene. The mayor’s chief of staff goes down for the murder and the investigation goes away.”
The Wolf releases a long breath. “Unless the feds get involved. If that happens, I’m not sure any of us will be safe.”
The man smiles. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. The investigation will be closed.” He turns away from The Wolf. “Our tracks are covered. You can go back to your quiet little life, for now. If I need something, I’ll be in touch.”
The Wolf watches as the silver-haired man walks away but stops for a moment before heading down the stairway, catching his reflection in the steel-framed windows. He sees the man pulling his suit coat together and buttoning it so that no one can see he carries a badge and a gun.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It was almost midnight by the time I left the Harmon Sanders suicide scene. We’d searched Sanders’s home, but didn’t find anything more that linked him to the wedding murders.
On the way back to the station, Pearl and I discussed what we thought Sanders had meant about Marla West being killed as a cover-up. We both agreed that West probably knew something that Jimmy Marcello wanted kept quiet, but we didn’t know if it was something about the escort business or his ties to Michael Clinton. We agreed to discuss the case further in the morning.
I found that Natalie and Mo were still awake when Bernie and I got home. Natalie was sipping tea, while Mo was in her nightgown painting her toenails with something called Magenta Madness.
“I think Electric Hair is gonna get another gig,” Mo said. “There’s talk that the video we posted on YouTube could go viral. We gotta give ‘em somethin’ different every time, just like Lady Gaga. We can’t let the band get complacent.”
“Hey, I saw on the news that rat turd, Harmon Sanders, ate his gun tonight,” Natalie said to me. “It’ll save me from havin’ to testify against the wank.”
I opened a bag of Fugs and popped one of the cheesy delights into my mouth. My Fug addiction began in college when a roommate introduced me to the carbohydrate bomb. Over the years I’ve even learned to make my own Fugs. The recipe involves a deep fryer and tons of calories, chased by a bottle of wine.
I knew I shouldn’t be discussing the case with my friends, but I was tired and my defenses were down. I’d also poured myself a glass of wine.
“Before he died,” I said, “Sanders mentioned something about Marla West being killed to keep things covered up.”
“You ask me, West knew every john in Hollywood,” Mo said. “She probably had a blackmail list longer than Michael Clinton’s wiener.”
“Mo’s right,” Natalie said. “I’ll bet some shark way up in the food chain was afraid his extra marital aerobics would be discovered.”
“Maybe,” I said, running a hand through my messy hair. I’d called Robin and rescheduled our appointment for tomorrow night, hoping for a miracle. “Or West knew something else.”
Mo blew on her toes, trying to dry them. “Like what?”
I popped a Fug into my mouth and chewed. “Either of you ever heard of a guy named, Jimmy Marcello?”
Na
talie shook her head while Mo came up from her toe blow.
“He’s only the biggest mobster in Hollywood,” Mo said. “What’s he got to do with everything?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Just keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear anything about him, would you let me know?”
Mo looked over at Natalie. “You wanna tell Kate about our plans or should I.” They had that conspiratorial look that always reminds me of Lucy and Ethel.
Natalie said, “Mo and me are thinkin’ ‘bout going to a meetin’, doing a little snoop’n. We were wonderin’ if you’d like to tag along.”
Natalie was starting to make me nervous, so I took another sip of wine. “What kind of meeting?”
“It’s somethin’ called Fetishes Anonymous,” Natalie said. “It’s where you stand up and say, ‘My name is Charlie and I got a fetish.’ You then go on and tell the audience how you porked your Aunt Mable and used a whip on her.”
I laughed and thought maybe Charlie should go to one of the meetings. “I didn’t know you two were sex addicts.” Even as I said it, I wondered if maybe Natalie did meet the criteria.
Mo said, “It’s for our investigation. We found out that Michael was going to the meetings before he was murdered. Maybe somebody there can give us some information about who might have wanted him dead.”
“I guess you haven’t heard?” I said. “Harmon Sanders has been linked to the crimes.”
Mo stretched out, admiring her magenta toes, before her gaze came over to me. “What? Sanders was a little cockroach who stepped on his dick, but he’s no killer. What’s the evidence against him?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“We’re still plannin’ on attendin’ FA,” Natalie said. “That’s Fetishes Anonymous, in case you’re not up on the lingo. Wanna come?”
They both had that look that always precedes trouble. Maybe if I went with them I could head something off. I was also convinced that if he was involved in the wedding murders, Harmon Sanders hadn’t acted alone. There was also the remote possibility that someone at the meeting might know something about Michael’s death.
