by M. Z. Kelly
“What exactly do you have planned?”
His small teeth had shone in the dim light. “After the Halgen staff leave, Mr. Brown will assist me in gaining my freedom. We then have a little excursion to make. It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
“You know that I can’t allow you to leave. I’m responsible for anything you do.”
Macy’s amber eyes had fixed on her. “You still don’t understand. You don’t have a choice.”
Ellen’s heart had pounded in her chest as she asked, “What do you mean?”
“Do you know what happened to Dr. Javier?”
“He…I was told he committed suicide.”
“I’m afraid it was what you might call an assisted suicide.” Her patient’s odd smile had grown wider. “Nine o’clock tomorrow night, Ellen. I expect that you will have relieved the nurse and taken custody of me by then. If you don’t do as instructed, you will find that what I did to April Lynn Thomas will seem like a picnic in comparison to what happens to Eric and Jennifer.”
Ellen had done her best, but she’d found tears streaming down her face as she’d pleaded with him. “Please, don’t do this. I can’t…”
“Their fate is in your hands, Ellen. Tomorrow night they will either suffer a horrible, painful death, or you can watch them grow and thrive over the coming years. It’s your choice.”
After that, she’d mumbled something about doing as she’d been instructed and left the room. There was nothing in this world more important to her than the safety of her children. While it went against everything she knew was right, she would give her patient his freedom. She said a silent prayer, asking God to protect anyone who crossed the path of Quinton Macy.
TWENTY-TWO
I was ten minutes late for work the next morning because I spent twenty minutes on my hair. I finally gave up on it, deciding that Nana was right. I did look like an electrified version of a crazed killer. I ended the session by calling my brother, waking him up, and getting him to agree to squeeze me into his schedule before tonight’s dinner meeting with Dr. Castillo.
“Ozzie wants to meet in his office,” Leo said after Bernie and I arrived at the station and I got to my desk. His eyes held on me for a moment. “You okay?”
I felt out of breath from rushing around all morning. I began walking to the lieutenant’s office with him and said, “Just call me Norman from now on.” His silver brows inched together. “Don’t ask.”
Darby and Buck were already in the bat cave, along with Selfie and Molly. Buck had brought in coffee and cinnamon rolls, making me realize that my morning wasn’t a complete waste.
“I saw you on one of your commercials for that stupid TV show last night,” Darby said as I sipped my coffee and we waited for the lieutenant. “Maybe you should put in a transfer to the department’s zombie section.”
I met his murky eyes. “I was planning on doing just that, but was told the last spot was just taken. Congrats on the transfer.”
“Funny.” He looked at Buck. “What did you ever see in her?”
Buck put a big hand on Darby’s shoulder. “You’d have to be a man to understand that.”
Selfie and Molly laughed, only infuriating Darby further. He went on a mini-rant about a lack of professionalism as Oz arrived. The pudgy detective ended it by looking at me and saying, “Even that fat ex-partner of yours said you were out of control.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Winkler. He’s back working part time and told everyone in the breakroom yesterday that he had to carry you.”
I glanced at Oz as he said, “Afraid he’s right—about Charlie being back, I mean.”
I glared at Darby, but didn’t respond to what he’d said. If anyone had done the carrying, it was me covering for my former, out of control partner. I decided to confront Charlie about what he’d said when I saw him.
“Okay, let’s get down to business,” Oz said, after tossing Bernie a treat. “I wanna start with the Slade murder. What’s the latest?”
Buck gave us the update. “We talked to his mother and a couple of his friends yesterday. Even his mama said no one had much use for the guy. Seems that Slade incurred a lot of debts to a lot of people, including what he owed Gooseberry.” He held up a notepad. “We’ve got a list of names.”
“Anyone look like they were mad enough to kill him?”
“Not sure. There’s an ex, and a couple of other guys that look like they’re worth checking out.”
“By the way, Gooseberry’s out of jail,” Darby added. “You ask me, his fat ass is still good for Slade’s murder.”
“What about the hooker alibi?” Buck asked.
Darby looked at his partner like he was clueless. “If you pay someone for sex, you can also pay them to lie.”
Oz cut them off before things could heat up. “Divide up the names and let’s take a run at everyone who Slade owed money.” He then mentioned the two dead rappers. “Where are we on Duncan and Hanks?”
“We talked to their family and friends. Other than the two of them having issues with Gooseberry, no one looks good for it.”
After Buck agreed with what Darby had said, Oz turned to me and Leo. “What about our other little case—the one that’s making national headlines?”
“Brie’s scheduled the autopsy on the Osgoods for later today,” Leo said. “There was no security system at the house, so not much to go on. Nothing in the way of prints or trace at the scene, either.”
Oz looked at me, raising his brows. “Any thoughts on why they were targeted?”
“It might have been a crime of opportunity. Our killer could have been looking for a computer to download his work to and happened upon our victims a couple of blocks from the cemetery.”
Oz looked at Selfie and Molly. “Still nothing in the databases that comes close to our crime?”
Selfie’s morning ensemble consisted of yellow hair and a matching blouse. Something about her reminded me of a duck with piercings as she answered.
“Molly and I compiled a list of girls who have been murdered and posed. It’s organized by date and location.” She worked a remote and we saw a list of the murder victims’ names. There were over fifty subjects throughout the United States. “The crimes that are highlighted in red are unsolved. As you can see, there’s over a dozen unsolved cases, a couple of them occurred in California.”
“When you say these victims were posed, does anything come close to what was done to our victim?” Leo asked.
“Not in the recent cases.” Selfie looked at Molly. “But there is a case that’s about a decade old that has some similarities.”
Molly took over, using another remote to provide details of the crime on another monitor. A photograph of a young girl appeared on the screen as she said, “This is April Lynn Thomas. Her killer…” She glanced at her notes. “…Quinton Macy. He’s a 1026, committed to Berkshire State in 2006.” Molly took a breath as a series of horrific crime scene images appeared on the monitor. “He held the girl prisoner for months and starved her. She weighed less than sixty pounds when she was found. Her killer was a suspect in other killings, most of them throughout the southwest, but nothing ever stuck.”
I leaned closer to the monitor and examined the images. The victim had been posed on a bed of flowers. Her face had been painted and she was wearing a dress. There were similarities to what had been done to Sylvia Lacroix, but the display wasn’t as elaborate.
“Was the victim’s heart removed?” Leo asked.
“No, and…” Molly blinked a couple of times, probably impacted by the images on the screen, “there was no acid used, either.”
“What did…I think you said his name was Macy,” I said. “What did he have to say about the crime?”
“He never really said anything that made sense. The investigators described him as delusional and uncooperative. After a couple of years in pre-trial motions, the court-appointed psychiatrists found him mentally incompetent to stand tri
al.”
“The guy’s in the nut house, so why does any of this matter?” Darby said.
“Maybe there’s a copycat at work,” Leo suggested.
“And maybe I’m Elvis. The guy’s been locked up for almost twenty years. No one probably even remembers his crimes, let alone copying them.”
“I think it’s probably a long shot,” Oz agreed. He looked at Molly. “Anything else?”
After Molly and Selfie said none of the other cases appeared to fit with our crime, something occurred to me. I’d worked with an FBI agent named Joe Dawson in the past. He had a lot of contacts and experience working cases.
I mentioned Dawson to the others, adding, “I could give him a call and ask him to do some digging.”
“It’s worth a try,” Oz agreed. “In the meantime, let’s work on the murders of Slade and our two rappers. Divide up duties, talk to anyone left on your list.”
We were gathering up our belongings, getting ready to leave, when Oz stopped us. “Everybody needs to meet downtown at ten tomorrow morning for a dog and pony show.”
My spirits sank at the prospect of going back to Media Relations. Then Oz launched a torpedo at my emotional boat.
“The chief is doing a Q & A with Carmine Feckle and a couple of other reporters.”
After the meeting with Oz ended, we divided up duties, with Leo and me agreeing to talk to Howard Slade’s ex-wife and his best friend. I then went back to my desk and got Joe Dawson on the line.
“Hey, Buttercup,” Dawson said when he answered. “Have they given you a star on the Walk of Fame yet?”
After butting heads on earlier cases, I’d grown used to Dawson’s nickname for me and his over-the-top bluster.
I chuckled. “Still working on it. How are things with you, Joe?”
“Just dragging monsters out of their holes and putting up with a bunch of federal idiots who are dumb enough to be in congress.”
“Speaking of monsters, I have a case I want to run by you.” I took a few minutes, going over the details of what we knew about Sylvia Lacroix’s murder and how it was tied to the Day of the Dead ritual. I ended by saying, “You might have seen from the news reports that our suspect broke into a house near the cemetery, murdered the couple living there, and downloaded his work to the Internet.”
Joe said he’d heard about the case, adding, “No matches in the databases, I take it?”
“Nothing recent. I thought maybe you could take a look in your spare time, see if there’s anything we missed, maybe run it past some of the old timers.”
“I’m about as old time as you can get, but consider it done.”
He was about to end the call when I held my breath and asked him what was really on my mind. “Lindsay. Is there anything…”
My half-sister, Lindsay, had been taken in by a group of radicalized killers who called themselves The Swarm. What had begun as a kidnapping, had turned into Lindsay willingly becoming a part of the group that had gone underground. The phenomenon was known as capture bonding, and I knew it was a matter of time until the group surfaced again and probably tried to use my sister in their deadly schemes.
“I’m working a couple of leads behind the scenes, also leaning on a guy we took into custody that has some connections to the group. If I get anywhere, you’ll be the first to know.”
I released a breath. “Thanks, Joe. Let me know if you turn up anything on our current case.”
I was about to end the call when he asked, “How are things with you and…”
“Noah.” We’d grown close over the years, and Joe knew about both my family and relationships.
“Yeah. He treating you good?”
“We’re fine,” I lied. “Talk to you soon.”
***
“According to what Selfie gave me, Howard Slade’s ex-wife, Mia, lives off Sunset,” I said, thumbing through my paperwork as Leo pulled out of Hollywood Station. “It’s just above the Chateau Marmont.”
The Marmont was a famous Hollywood landmark; the place where John Belushi had died of a drug overdose and Lindsay Lohan had been banned for running a tab for thousands of dollars that she didn’t pay.
“Mia must have done well in the divorce,” Leo said.
“I don’t think it was the divorce. The summary Selfie gave me says she remarried. Her husband’s a venture capitalist, worth millions.” I glanced up from the paperwork. “Why can’t I meet a guy like that?”
“Maybe you’re forgetting, there’s a guy named Noah that you’re seeing.”
“We’re having some problems. He thinks I need to back off on finding my love-dad’s killer.” Noah had called me a couple of times, leaving messages that he wanted to talk, but I hadn’t called him back.
Leo glanced at me. “If that’s the case, he doesn’t know you very well.”
What he’d said registered with me. Noah and I had only been dating a few weeks and there was probably a lot we didn’t know about one another. I again wondered if I’d rushed into a relationship.
I looked at Leo as the light turned red. “Tell me the truth. Do you think I’m obsessed with my love-dad’s murder?”
He shook his head. “Driven, yes. Obsessed, no.”
“But do you think I need to back off on everything, give it some time?”
“I think you need to do what feels right. And, you’re the only one who knows what that is.”
I chuckled. “You should be a lawyer.”
His ever-present smile widened. “Speaking of that, what’s the latest with…was it Klump?”
“Krump. I’m supposed to meet him and my friends at the courthouse today at one. He should be drunk by then.”
He glanced at me again. “Does he have a drinking problem?”
“I’d call it a medical problem. He has panic attacks. And, to make matters worse, Natalie’s cocktails are the only cure.”
Leo laughed. “Really?”
I sighed. “Really. Do you think my life is just one big train wreck?”
“I plead the fifth.”
“Maybe you are a lawyer.”
Twenty minutes later, Leo and I stood on Howard Slade’s ex-wife’s porch and rang the bell. An older Filipino housekeeper answered. We showed ID’s and explained the reason for our visit before she disappeared to find her boss.
After a ten minute wait, the heavyset housekeeper returned. She was out of breath and said, “Ms. Mia is in back yard. I show you.”
We followed her through the spacious house to a patio and then into a garden. She stopped and opened a gate to an area with a path that led down a hill. “Ms. Mia is in her teepee. She said come see her.”
Leo glanced at me and then thanked her before we headed down the stone path. “A teepee,” he said. “Only in Hollywood.”
We stopped in front of what looked like an authentic replica of an Indian teepee.
“Not sure about the protocol,” I said. “There’s no doorbell.”
After considering our options for a moment, Leo decided to call out, announcing ourselves.
“Come in,” we heard a woman say.
We pushed a flap open and entered, finding Slade’s ex-wife wrapped in a blanket. Steam was coming off some rocks in the center of the structure. Leo made introductions, before Mia Frances said, “Please have a seat. Sorry about the heat, but I’m doing a purification.”
Her purification involved wrapping herself in a wool blanket in conditions that were comparable to a sauna. I removed my jacket as we took seats on the floor near her, at the same time Bernie began panting.
“We’re looking into the death of your ex-husband,” Leo said, getting right to the point and using a handkerchief to wipe perspiration off his shaved head. “We believe it may have been a deliberate act.”
Frances, who looked like she was in her mid-thirties, blond, and would probably have been attractive if she wasn’t sweating like an NBA player, laughed. “If you ask me, Howard finally got what he deserved.”
“Any idea who might
have killed him?” I asked.
She adjusted her blanket. “It could have been any one of a half dozen women, or even someone he did business with. Maybe even his lawyer.”
“What’s his beef with his lawyer?”
“Jimmy Jones was on retainer and represented Howard on several cases until he fell behind on his payments. From what I heard, he owed him a couple hundred grand.”
I glanced at Leo, at the same time wiping the sweat off my forehead. I was wearing a dark blue blouse and had a thought that it would be soaked before we got out of the teepee. “What about Harry Gooseberry? From what we heard, your ex also owed him money.”
Frances nodded. “He and the Godfather had some kind of falling out, but I don’t know much about it. Howard and I hadn’t spoken in about six months before he died.”
“Did he ever mention a couple of rappers named Jerry Duncan and Marvin Hanks?”
We got a headshake. “They don’t sound familiar. You might ask Jimmy about them.” She reached over and ladled water on the glowing rocks. Steam rose through the opening in the teepee. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I really need to get back to my therapy.”
“Just one more question,” I said. “Howard was killed last Sunday night, at approximately eight-fifteen in the evening. Where were you at the time?”
She laughed. “You really think I murdered the asshole? Do you have any idea what my husband is worth?”
“Please, just answer the question,” Leo said.
Mia looked at me. “Have you ever done something in your life that you wish could be erased?”
I brushed the sweat off my forehead. Yeah, sitting in a sweltering teepee in the middle of Hollywood. “I think we all have.”
“Howard Slade was my something.” She looked at Leo. “I was shopping on Rodeo with my sister. I remember because I got a call about Howard’s death about an hour after it happened. Georgia and I celebrated by having a drink.”
***
Leo dropped me back at the station and agreed to keep Bernie until I got back from court. I was running late and cursed the fact that I didn’t have time to change my clothes. My blouse was soaking wet from being in Mia Frances’ purification teepee, so I put on my blazer, hoping to hide the fact that I looked like I’d fallen into a river of sweat.
