Hollywood Lust

by M. Z. Kelly

  Our unit consisted of three teams of detectives. Woody Horton and Harry Braden made up one team. They were both easygoing and hardworking. I respected their dedication to a job that was never easy.

  I’d recently been told that Darby Hall and Mel Peters had been assigned to the unit. I only knew the detectives, who had previously worked out of the Rampart Division, by reputation. I’d heard that Darby was a tough cop who had paid his dues, but had a cynical streak. Mel, or Melvina, was said to be in her thirties with the ambition to someday be a part of LAPD’s command staff—never a good thing, in my opinion. My retired partner, Charlie Winkler, knew Mel and once described her as a rung humper, someone who didn’t mind using her sex to jump a rung or two on the promotional ladder.

  When I arrived, I saw that my temporary new partner Alex Hardy was already seated at the table in the bat cave across from Selfie and Molly. Hardy’s former partner, Christine Belmont, had been killed in a shootout during the last case we’d worked together. The lieutenant had promised that my partnership with Alex would only last until he could arrange a new partner for me, and find someone desperate enough to work with Alex. I’d previously been partnered with Pearl Kramer, a semi-retired detective who worked cases part time, but I’d been told he’d recently gone back into retirement.

  I learned that the other teams were working their own cases this morning, which only left me with the Alex problem. The big cop wasted no time irritating me.

  “You up to this?” Alex asked me.

  My new partner was a big marshmallow who was in his forties, with a bushy mustache and no sense of humor. I’d had some past issues with the arrogant detective and he hadn’t taken it well when I called him out on his bad behavior.

  I met his murky eyes as I settled in at the table. “What do you mean?”

  “The work. After what happened, I thought you might be looking for another line of work.”

  I drew in a breath, released it slowly, and locked eyes with him. “It’s history. I’m ready to roll.”

  A big smile found his mushy face. “What I meant is that I thought maybe you were ready to start a more glamorous career.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Everyone saw your performance as a Hollywood madam on that TV show. It looked like you were a natural for the part.”

  His reference was to the bet I’d lost with my friends when I’d been forced to be in an episode of their TV show and portray a madam. It had been one of the most embarrassing nights of my life.

  Selfie and Molly also made comments about seeing the show. There was little I could do to defend myself so I simply said, “I think my acting career is history.”

  Alex made a scoffing sound but otherwise didn’t respond. I knew it was just a matter of time before we got into it again and it wouldn’t be pretty.

  Bernie wandered off to a corner as our lieutenant got down to business. Oz was pushing sixty, with snow white hair and piercing blue eyes. He had almost forty years on the job and was one of the good guys in a department that too often neglected those who did the heavy lifting in a sometimes thankless job. After officially welcoming me back, he told us about our new case.

  “A girl was murdered in MacArthur Park the night before last. It’s now our case.” Oz turned to Selfie and Molly. “I’ll let you two use your toys to get them up to speed.”

  I knew MacArthur Park by reputation. It was in the Westlake District of Los Angeles, named after the World War II general. The park had been the scene of lots of crime and gang activity over the years. There had been some attempts to revitalize the area in recent years, not all of them successful.

  Selfie, who today had yellow hair and eyebrows, used a remote control and we saw video of the crime scene appear in the glass tabletop. “The victim is Carla Hodge, age twenty-four.” The video zoomed in and we saw the girl’s body on the ground. She wore a jogging suit and there was lots of blood. “Multiple stab wounds to the upper torso. A witness, Roberto Hernandez, told the responding officers that he saw a man leaving the area in a hurry just after seven. No real description of the suspect.”

  “What about surveillance video?” Alex asked.

  “Nothing. The victim was in a dead zone between the cameras.”

  We saw several more images of the victim, shot from various angles before we saw a close up of the knife that was used in the attack.

  Molly took up the story. “The murder weapon was found on the walkway a few yards from the girl, probably dropped as our suspect made a hasty retreat. It’s a replica of a knife carried by German paratroopers in World War II. It’s opened by pulling the handles apart, allowing the blade to slide through the slot in the end of the handle. As you can see, it’s got a swastika and SS markings.”

  “Maybe our suspect is a one of those neo-Nazi nut jobs,” Alex speculated.

  Oz shook his head. “It’s more complicated.” He lifted his brows as he turned back to his civilian employees.

  “SID was able to identify the knife by a small chip in the blade,” Selfie said.

  SID was the department’s Scientific Investigation Division. It was LAPD’s version of a typical police department’s crime scene investigation division, only much larger, with laboratories, specialized equipment, and a host of both sworn and civilian employees.

  We saw a close up, showing there was a tiny piece of the knife’s blade missing as Selfie went on. “Computer analysis shows it’s an exact match to the knife that was used to murder a movie producer named Bruce Reeder back in 2005.” Images of the deceased producer appeared on the screen, including scenes of a bedroom where the body was on the floor. The knife, apparently also used in the attack on Carla Hodge, was beside the body.”

  Oz took up the story. “Reeder’s murder was never solved. The knife was supposed to be with R&I, in storage, along with the murder file.”

  R&I was the department’s Records and Identification Division in Los Angeles. Evidence, especially property related to an unsolved homicide, should have been kept there indefinitely.

  Alex’s dark eyes lifted from the table monitor and he looked at Oz. “A knife like this might have been a temptation for someone in charge of the evidence. Do we think it might have been taken by an employee?”

  Oz shrugged. “Since you and Kate just caught a suddenly hot cold case, along with Hodge’s murder, that will be part of the investigation.”

  “Let’s go back over what we know about the victims,” I said. “Maybe there’s some kind of connection between them.”

  “And pigs fly,” Alex said. “Somebody stole the knife and used it on Hodge. There’s no connection.”

  “We’ll see.” I turned to Selfie and Molly, pushing down my irritation with the arrogant ball of lard. “Fill us in, starting with what we know about Reeder.”

  Selfie used another remote and an overhead monitor appeared with several photographs and identifying information about our first victim. “Bruce Anthony Reeder was age forty-three when he was murdered. He was married, but had been separated for about three years. His condo was located in Baldwin Hills, about a block from Bernstein Studios where he worked. He was working on a documentary about the war in Afghanistan at the time of his death. The investigators basically came up empty, no trace, prints, or DNA, and no real suspects or even a motive. The case has been with the cold case unit, but there’s been nothing active on it in recent years.”

  Bruce Reeder had been a handsome man, with short blond hair and blue eyes. “I vaguely remember the news coverage about his murder,” I said. “It’s amazing how these stories fall off the radar so quickly.”

  “No drama, no news,” Alex said. “There are dozens of cases out there just like it that nobody’s working.”

  I did an eye roll, irritated by the way he minimized the taking of another person’s life. I said to Selfie, “And Carla Hodge?”

  “I’ve got the background,” Molly said, as some photographs of our second victim appeared on a monitor. Hodge was thin an
d pale. She looked like she was barely out of high school. “Carla rented an apartment near the Westlake District and lived alone. She worked as a secretary for Wakefield Insurance. Her mom told the original investigators that she wasn’t dating and didn’t have much of a social life.” Our secretary drew in a breath, released it slowly, and looked at me. “It’s just a guess on my part, but I’ve got a suspicion from the reports and the way her mother talked about her, that Carla might have been gay, but hadn’t come out.” She brushed the auburn hair off her forehead. “Like I said, it’s just a suspicion. You might want to follow up with her mom.”

  I nodded. “We’ll also need the contact information on the witness who saw our suspect leaving the park.”

  I got a stack of paperwork with copies of all the reports from both her and Molly as Oz told us how the investigation would proceed. “Both cases are now assigned to Section One, with the big question being how did a murder weapon get out of our evidence room and end up in the homicide of two separate victims a decade apart.”

  “There must be some big eyes on this one,” Alex said. “I’m assuming the information about the knife is being withheld from the press.”

  Oz nodded. “For now. It’s not the kind of thing the department wants to publicize.”

  “Luckily, the girl’s a nobody. There won’t be much coverage.”

  Alex had just hit a nerve with me. “You’re wrong. Carla Hodge was a somebody, especially to her mother. You need to keep that in mind.”

  “Excuse me. I forgot you were the Section One social worker.”

  “And I forgot you were a know-it-all who jumps to conclusions without evidence.”

  “You’re full of…”

  “Enough.” Oz said. “You two need to find a way to bury your differences and work these cases.” He fixed his gaze on us as he went on, “Since the Reeder case was technically assigned to the Cold Case Unit, you’re both going to be working with one of their own on this. Leo Kingsley is being temporarily assigned to Section One.”

  I noticed that Alex’s face was red as he turned away from me and said, “I hear the beast is a hothead.”

  “You two should become best buds then,” I said. I turned to Oz before Lardy, I mean Hardy, could respond. “Why do they call him the beast?”

  “It’s a play on his name—Leo. While the lion is considered the king of beasts, in some divisions Leo’s known as the king of all detectives. He’s got a pretty impressive track record to back it up.” The lieutenant looked at Alex. “And I would suggest you keep the nicknames to yourself. Leo and I go way back, used to work patrol together when the dinosaurs roamed Hollywood. I know he’s not fond of the moniker.”

  “What can you tell us about him?” I asked.

  “Leo’s a legend, assigned to cold cases because he’s closing in on retirement. The guy’s got an amazing memory for details and is probably the most determined cop I ever met.” Oz checked his watch. “You might want to head out in a few. You’re supposed to meet with him downtown within the hour.”

  As the others wandered off, Oz asked me to stay for a moment. He took a couple of minutes, telling me he was happy I was back at work. He then said something that made me wish I hadn’t come back.

  “The brass is considering allowing one of the studios in on our cases. I’ve made it clear that I don’t want any part of it, but the decision is coming from the top.

  “Hollywood Detective. My friends work for the studio and I heard something about it last night. I don’t want any part of it either.”

  “Understood.” He took a moment, brushing a hand through his white hair and gathering his thoughts. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and, if they do agree to do the show, one of the other units will be chosen.”

  I exhaled. “I’m not feeling very lucky these days.”

  “How was the time off?”

  Oz was like a father to me and I knew he was genuinely concerned. “Actually, it was good. It gave me some time to decompress. I also talked to the man I thought might be my father.” Oz knew all about my family history and I’d previously told him about Collin Russell.

  “How did it go?”

  “He wasn’t my dad, just a good friend of my bio-mom when she was alive. He gave me a letter she’d written to me. I haven’t read it yet.” I smiled, trying to make light of the subject. “I’m not sure I’m ready to hear my mother speaking to me from the grave.”

  Oz smiled. “When the time’s right, you’ll know it.” His phone was ringing as he added, “Just remember, if you ever need to talk, I’m always here for you.”

  I was grateful and told him I’d see him later. Bernie and I then left his office. I took a breath, mentally preparing myself to do battle with a bastard and a beast.

  SIX

  As it turned out, the bastard wasted no time attacking me.

  “Let’s get some ground rules straight,” Alex said as he drove Bernie and me to the Police Administration Building, or PAB, in downtown Los Angeles where the cold case unit worked. “You stay out of my way, out of my face, and follow orders. Any deviation and I report it up the chain.”

  I glanced at him, thinking that his mushy profile looked a little like the famous movie director, Alfred Hitchcock. “The last time I checked, we were the same rank and pay grade.”

  “I was working the streets when you were still in high school.”

  “So what.”

  “So, I’m the lead. You’re just along for the ride.” His dark eyes found me. “Besides, everyone knows you’re a jinx.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about cases that go sideways and about your crazy family.”

  I was never big on impulse control and what he’d said popped my cork. “My cases that went sideways, as you call it, did so because of the suspects’ actions. It had nothing to do with my work. As for my family…” I took a breath, searching for something positive to say. I finally gave up and just said, “Just shut the fuck up and leave my personal life out of things.”

  He laughed. “Are we a little sensitive? First your old man, who wasn’t your old man from what I heard, gets wasted. Then your mother also gets whacked.” He finger-combed his mustache and glanced at me. “And then there’s your adoptive mother. I hear she’s also a nut job. I could go on and on about your friends and….”

  “And I could talk about your mother, tell you how she gave birth to a human asshole that behind his back everyone calls the Pillsbury Doughboy with a mustache.”

  “You just…”

  I was on a roll. “And then there’s your father. I heard the big ball of lard did some hard time for assault. He probably bashed baby boy in his big stupid head, taught him everything he knew.”

  His voice pitched higher, telling me that I’d hit a nerve. “My family’s none of your business.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “And mine is none of yours.” I took several even breaths, brushed my sweaty palms on my pants. “Tell you what, let’s just agree to put our personal feelings aside while we’re at work. Once we’re no longer partners, we can go back to mutual hatred.”

  A couple of breaths rattled in his throat. “Whatever.”

  We rode the rest of the way in silence. I wasn’t sure if it was what he’d said about my family or me being a jinx that irritated me the most. I couldn’t change my family, but if there was a perception out there that I might be a problem for other cops, I needed to deal with that before it got worse. A lot of cops are superstitious and easily mistake innuendo and rumor for the truth. I was determined not to let that happen.

  The cold case unit, officially known as Cold Case Homicide Special Section, handled homicide cases that were committed more than five years ago with no significant leads. The unit mainly worked cases where there was the potential for a DNA match to the evidence, or SID came up with something that potentially increased what were called solvability factors. A lot of the work involved pushing paperwork. Some of the detectives even spent their time applyin
g for federal grants for funding to work the cases.

  There was nothing about the job that seemed interesting to me and I wondered why Leo Kingsley had taken the assignment. After we met our new partner in his office I was even more curious. Kingsley was African-American and looked to be in his mid-fifties. He was big and muscular, with a shaved head that gave him an intimidating look. His voice was deep, but there was an easy way about him that I immediately liked. If he was a hothead, as my new partner had said, it was lost on me. Of course, Alex Hardy probably wrote the book on the subject.

  “The Reeder case has been assigned to me for the past couple of years,” Leo told us after he spent some time with Bernie, nuzzling him. “I developed a few leads, but nothing significant enough to break anything loose.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Alex said. My partner was in his take charge mode and had a notepad out.

  Leo studied him, his eyes shifting in my direction for a moment. He looked back at Alex and smiled. “Bruce Reeder was secretly gay, he was broke, and his ex-wife hated his guts.”

  “Did you take a good look at his ex?”

  “Of course. She had an alibi and I don’t think…

  “What’s her address?”

  Leo’s smile grew wider. He reached behind him and pulled a file off the counter. He tossed it on his desk in front of Alex. “It’s all in there.”

  Alex stared at him. “Just give me what I need. I don’t have time to dig through a mound of paperwork.”

  The smile was gone now. Leo looked at my partner, not blinking. “I’m not your secretary. The notes are in the case summary, first couple of pages.”

  After holding on Leo’s eyes, Alex finally turned his attention to the file. He opened it and scribbled a couple of notes on his pad while Leo and I made eye contact. His smile had returned.

  “Any thoughts about the knife?” I asked him. “How it might have gotten out of the evidence locker?”

  Leo nodded. “There’s a couple of possibilities. An employee might have taken it on impulse, intrigued by its unique design, or…”