by M. Z. Kelly
As we ate and drank, I told them about what Leo and I had found in the reports on Jean Winslow’s death. “She broke her arm a couple of years before her death. It might have just been an accident or the result of domestic violence. Have either of you come across anything in Winslow’s history about her breaking an arm?”
They both shook their heads, Natalie speculating, “Maybe that Regis asshole did it. From what we heard, he was the biggest bully in Hollywood back in the day.”
Mo swept black wig hair out of her eyes. “Rumor has it their relationship was real rocky before Jean took her long nap.”
“Leo and I may go by and try and talk to Regis if we get a chance.”
“What about us?” Mo said. “Do we look like chopped liver?”
I smiled and tried to soothe her feelings. “You both look like sugar and spice. It’s just that Oz has authorized us to take an informal look and, since Leo knew my love-dad, he wants to help.”
“That’s okay,” Natalie said. “Mo and me got us another lead we wanna tell you about. We think there may have been a love triangle.”
“I’m not following you.”
“You ever heard of a woman named Lana Palmer?” Mo asked.
I shook my head.
Natalie explained, “She was Jean Winslow’s best friend 'til they had a falling out in the months before her death. We think Regis was buryin’ the bone with Palmer at the same time he was doin’ the nasty with Winslow.”
“What makes you think they were involved?”
Mo’s big shoulders went up and down. “It’s just speculation at this point, but we pulled up some photographs of Palmer on the Internet.”
“She was hotter than The Walk of Fame on a summer night,” Natalie said.
I got my iPad and in a moment we had some photos of Lana Palmer on the screen that were taken in the early 1980’s. The website said she worked as a publicity agent for lots of stars, including Jean Winslow.
“She does look like the kind of woman who would attract a lot of attention,” I said, thinking there was something about Palmer that reminded me of the actress Bo Derek.
In one of the publicity photos, we saw that Lana Palmer had a nearly flawless body, and blonde hair that fell in seductive bangs over her large blue eyes.”
“She looks like a trouser teaser,” Natalie said. “Donald Regis woulda been on her like the horniest bull at the rodeo.”
“Do you know anything about her current life?” I asked.
She’s living over in Topanga Canyon,” Mo said. “Natalie and me got us an appointment to talk to her later today.”
“What? Remember our discussion about taking things slow, not investigating this without me being involved?”
“You can go with us,” Natalie said. “We’re not supposed to meet with her ‘til six. We can all ride together.”
I sighed, deciding it was useless to argue with them. “I’ll try to work it out.”
Mo regarded me with one eye through the black spider. “You okay, Kate? You seem a little distracted.”
I saw no reason not to tell them about Dawson’s call. “I’m supposed to meet with Janice Taylor tomorrow. Could you watch Bernie for me?”
They nodded. Mo was still in her skeptical mode. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know all the details yet, but, from what I’m told, Taylor is going to confess her crimes and ask for the death penalty.”
Natalie clapped her hands. “I hope they find the biggest, rustiest needle in the haystack, shove it in her arm, and send the ugly goose to God.”
“I don’t think she’ll be anywhere near God.”
Mo shook her head. “I gotta bad feeling ’bout this. Taylor ain’t about to go down without a fight. Something big is gonna happen.”
“Maybe it’s the End of Days,” Natalie suggested. “If that happens, I need to take advantage of what God gave me before She takes it away. I’m calling Izzy and having him spend the night.”
Mo rolled her eyes. “Lord help me. If you start moaning and carrying on all night, I’m gonna come over here and sleep on Kate’s couch.”
“What ’bout you?” Natalie asked me. “Are you and Noah gonna slap some sugar before it’s lights out?”
I laughed. “The last thing I’m going to do is spend my final day in bed.”
Mo did another headshake. “That figures.” She looked at Natalie, “Maybe all that talk about going away with Dr. Doggy was just that—all talk and no bark.”
“We’re still going away. I just have to work it into my schedule.”
“’Course you are,” Mo scoffed.
I finished my coffee and stood up. “I’ve got a busy day ahead, so I’d better get going.”
They didn’t budge. Natalie said, “We also had us a little talk with Gladys over at the museum ’bout your love-daddy and Jean Winslow.”
I sat back down. “More investigation, without telling me?”
Mo growled. “Gladys knows all the Hollywood history. We just talked to her for some background information.”
I exhaled, pushed the hair off my forehead. “And?”
“Gladys agreed that Georgie-boy and Palmer coulda been an item,” Natalie said. “But…” she looked at Mo.
Mo lowered her sonorous voice even further. “She thinks maybe your love-dad was also a player.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m just tellin’ you what she said. Gladys heard some rumors ’bout your dad. She said when he worked the studios he got noticed a lot.”
“What does that mean?”
Natalie answered. “Your love-dad was a hotty, Kate. All the women were after him.”
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t make him a player.”
Mo shook her head. “Don’t get your thong in a wad, we’re just telling you what she said.”
I stood up again. “I’ve really got to go. I’ll see you tonight.”
***
As I drove to the station with Bernie, I thought about what my friends had said. I’d always wanted to believe the best about my love-dad, but I now wondered if he’d been involved with Jean Winslow. If that was the case, it might explain how he’d known her death wasn’t a suicide. It would have also put a big target on his back.
I decided that, just like with any other investigation, I would need to keep an open mind about everyone involved. It also made me think about Collin Russell and whether he knew anything about my love-dad being involved with Winslow.
There was also the matter of my mother’s third and final letter. It might answer some of my questions, including the biggest one of all about who was my biological father. I felt like I was getting closer to being ready to read her last letter and deal with the finality that it would bring.
When I got to the station, everyone gathered in Oz’s office, where he made an announcement about Alex Hardy as Bernie came over and greeted him. “Alex is on an indefinite, personal leave, starting today. Kate and Leo will finish up with the current investigation before personnel reassignments can be made.”
His announcement was greeted by silence. I searched for something positive to say while suppressing a gigantic smile. I finally said, “We’ll make things work.” I glanced at Leo, who also seemed happy, but then again, my temporary partner was always happy.
Selfie gave us her thoughts about Alex taking a leave, asking the lieutenant, “Do you think there’s any chance his leave could become permanent?”
Oz shrugged. “It’s hard to say at this point.”
Molly chimed in, adding, “One can only hope.”
I looked at the lieutenant. “It looks like we’ll be starting over on Reeder and Hodge. At the same time, we now have Marshall’s murder to investigate.”
Oz gave Bernie a final pat as he trotted off for an early afternoon snooze. “What do we know about Marshall and his stay at the funeral home?”
I filled him in, adding, “He was basically getting free rent through intimidation, in addition to occasion
ally doing some photography work there. The Galvans were deathly afraid of him.”
“He pretty much had free run of the place,” Leo confirmed.
“Including his choice of dead lovers,” Selfie added.
Molly grimaced. “I’m trying really hard right now to keep the visual out of my mind.”
I chuckled and then turned my attention back to our three cases. “There’s got to be some common thread that we’re missing, something that links Marshall to Reeder and Hodge and to the person that killed him.”
“Maybe Marshall just got paid back for being a bully to someone,” Oz suggested. “It might have nothing to do with the other killings.”
“It’s possible, but…” I looked at Selfie and Molly. “What do we know about Galen Marshall’s family? I know you talked to his mother, but is there anyone else in the picture?”
Molly shuffled through some paperwork in front of her. “Dad is…it looks like he’s never really been in the picture—not even sure if he’s still alive. He’s got a sister who lives in Texas. There’s also an older brother, Elton…” She looked at Selfie. “Do you have anything on him?”
Selfie’s magic fingers worked her keyboard. In a moment, she rubbed the piercing in her eyebrow and said, “The DMV says his last known address was with mom, but that was several years ago. He attended UCLA for a couple of years.” She looked up. “No criminal record. There’s nothing indicating his current whereabouts.”
I looked at Leo. “I think we should have a chat with mom this afternoon. Maybe Galen and his brother had a falling out.”
“Let’s make it happen,” Oz agreed. “I want us to move things along on this. Somehow the press has picked up on the murder weapon being removed from R&I. Media Relations is trying to get them to hold off reporting it, but we all know how these things go.”
After Selfie and Molly went back to their duties, I took a moment and updated Oz and Leo on my upcoming trip to Denver. “I have no idea why Taylor wants me there but I don’t think anything good is going to come of it.”
“If she signs a confession, maybe that will turn the tide with her followers,” Leo suggested.
Oz released a heavy breath and looked at me. “I’m afraid the chief wants Commander Nelson to tag along in case there’s any fallout coming our way on what Taylor says.”
“Are you kidding me?” While I had nothing personal against the head of the department’s Media Relations, he was a paper-pushing bureaucrat whose only agenda was making his boss look good. “And Taylor is not going to allow Nelson to sit in on the interview.”
Oz gave me his best fatherly look. “You’ll just have to cross that bridge when it comes. The order came from the top.”
***
Leo and I were in the car with Bernie, headed to Marshall’s mother’s house, as I continued my rant about Nelson tagging along on my meeting with Janice Taylor. “It’s a complete waste of time. Taylor wouldn’t allow Joe Dawson into the last meeting and there’s no way she’s going to let an outsider in.”
Leo glanced over at me as he drove. “I’m sure the real reason behind having Nelson there is the chief wanting some positive press. We all know that’s pretty much his mission in life.”
I agreed and said, “Just once, I wish the department would choose the interest of its officers and the public over the media.”
Leo grinned at me. “You might as well add a Christmas pony to your wish list.” He glanced back at the highway. “You handling things okay?”
I took in the city skyline for a moment. A fog bank had come in from the ocean, concealing some of the taller buildings. “I’m doing the best I can. I just want things with Janice Taylor and The Swarm to be over.”
“You need anything, you know Oz and me are here for you.”
“I appreciate that.”
Galen Marshall’s mother lived in a small apartment building in Inglewood, about a half hour from Hollywood Station. The area was covered in gang graffiti. Leo and I got some suspicious looks as we knocked on the door to her upstairs apartment.
We had done the death notification about her son to Wanda Marshall the previous night. She had gone into hysterics and I had to call a friend to come stay with her. As she opened her door this afternoon, it looked like the reality of losing her son had left a heavy depression in its wake. Her jowly faced sagged, and, as she led us inside, I had the impression she hadn’t slept all night.
We again expressed our condolences about her loss as we settled in on the sofa across from her, while Bernie sat at my feet. After preliminaries, we asked Wanda Marshall about anyone who might have wanted to harm her son.
Marshall blew her nose and shook her head. “Everybody liked Galen. What happened makes no sense.”
I glanced at Leo, thinking there’s nothing like a mother’s love. She was obviously in denial about the type of person her son was.
“What about girlfriends? Is there anyone who might have been upset with him?” Even as I asked the question, I thought about her son’s necrophilia activities.
I got a headshake, then, “I don’t really know who Galen was involved with. He never brought anyone with him when he visited me.”
Maybe he had a corpse in his car. “What about his brother, Elton? Is he still in this area?”
I got a shrug. “I don’t know. We haven’t spoken in years.”
“Why is that?”
“Elton is…” A sigh. “He just had a different lifestyle. It’s nothing that either Galen or I approved of.”
Leo leaned closer to her, lowered his voice. “Can you tell us exactly what you mean, ma’am?”
Her dark eyes found Leo before moving away. “Elton had a different view of things. He liked both men and women, especially if someone had a problem.”
“A problem?” I said, raising my brows.
“Elton liked to help people who were sick. It probably sounds strange, but I think he was attracted to them.”
“People who were sick…I’m not sure what you mean?”
“He had a soft spot for anyone who was injured or had an illness.” She sighed and pushed graying hair off her forehead. “Sometimes it was people he found out about who had a disease. Other times it was someone who was injured or who just had some emotional problems. He went to a psychiatrist once when he was younger. There’s a name for his condition, but I don’t really remember what it is.”
“Paraphilia,” Leo said, surprising me.
“I think it was something like that.” She shook her head. “I never really understood it.”
We spent another half hour with Marshall, not getting much that was worthwhile. We did learn that she hadn’t seen her son Elton in over a decade. She had no idea where he was living or working, and she didn’t think he’d had any contact with his brother in recent years.
We were on the sidewalk where Bernie was admiring a flowerbed, when I said to Leo, “Paraphilia?”
He smiled. “Had a couple of cases over the years where it came into play. As strange as it sounds, it’s a form of compulsion that creates an intense sexual arousal to atypical objects or individuals.” The skin on his brow tightened. “Interestingly enough, necrophilia falls under the same general diagnostic criteria.”
I glanced back up at Wanda Marshall’s apartment. “Maybe there was something strange going on during Galen and Elton’s childhood.” I looked back at Leo. “I’m impressed with the psycho-babble.”
“I don’t think I ever mentioned it to you, but I got a PhD in psychology a few years back. It comes in useful on the job now and then.”
“Dr. Kingsley?”
He nodded and grinned. “You can just call me Dr. Leo.”
I tugged on Bernie’s leash. “Let’s call it a day, Dr. Leo. When I get back from Denver, maybe you can give me another lecture on weird sexual practices.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Bernie and I got home just in time to catch a ride with Natalie and Mo to their meeting with Lana Palmer. We piled into the back seat
as Mo pulled away from the curb in her big red Caddie convertible that matched her night’s choice of hair color. My friends had their upcoming magazine photo shoot for Wild Child on their minds as we drove.
“The mag is running an article on modern women and their place in the workforce,” Mo said. “Me and baby sis are gonna do some shoots with our PI gear on, and also dressed up as Flo and Lola.”
“Who?”
“That’s our TV names,” Natalie said from the front passenger seat. She reached a hand back and nuzzled Bernie. “I’m Lola and Flo tries to keep me outta trouble.”
I giggled. “It sounds a little like real life.”
“We can probably work you into the shoot,” Mo said from the driver’s seat. “You could take Nana’s place.”
“Don’t tell me she’s going to be involved.”
Natalie sighed. “She convinced them they needed a mature woman in the shoot. She’s already picked out a slutty short dress. It’s gonna be embarrassing as hell.”
I leaned forward so that they could hear me over the wind howling around us. “I’d say Nana is pushing the upper boundaries of mature in more ways than one.”
“What do you say ’bout doing the shoot with us?” Mo asked, looking at me in her rearview mirror.
“I say no-thanks. I don’t need the publicity.”
“Maybe all that press Kate’s been gettin’ lately has gone to her head,” Natalie said.
Mo regarded me. “Her head does look a lot bigger.”
I pushed the hair out of my eyes. “That’s because your convertible is doing nothing for my hair.”
Mo pulled over to the curb and hit a button. In a moment the convertible top was in place and she pulled back onto the highway.
“Thanks,” I said, looking at my hair in my compact mirror. I was a dead ringer for the bride of Frankenstein after Hurricane Katrina had struck.
We took Sunset Boulevard to Highway One, just south of Santa Monica. The busy highway snaked along the coast, with magnificent views of the ocean.
