by M. Z. Kelly
I yawned. “Whatever it is, I’m too tired to care. I’m going to call it a day.”
I headed upstairs as the groaning continued, thinking that maybe the house was haunted. If that was the case the ghosts would have to carry on without me. I showed Bernie to his bed, turned out the light, and fell asleep, dead to the world—and maybe to the undead.
***
When Bernie and I got to the station the next morning, I decided to save myself from being called into the lieutenant’s office and went directly there. I saw that he had a copy of the Herald-Press on his desk, opened to the section with last night’s interview.
“You wanna explain this shit,” Edna fumed. “Look at my hair. It gets grayer every day. It’s gonna be white by the end of the fucking week.”
I heaved a sigh, exhausted from almost no sleep thanks to the groaning sounds continuing until they woke me and my roommates up in the middle of the night. We’d investigated, even asking Claude about the noises. Our elderly roommate dismissed the sound but when we persisted something strange was going on, he suggested that maybe the house really was haunted. That was enough to throw Mo into a tizzy, claiming that we needed to hire a house exorcist.
I said to Edna, “I just told the reporter what I thought, that I need to be completely convinced that Jerry King is guilty.”
Edna jabbed a finger at the paper. “You told Beelzebub you were gonna keep working the fucking case.”
“I thought maybe in my spare time…”
“No…no…no. I told you yesterday we’re moving on.”
“I just want to go over the notes of our interviews, see…”
“Are you deaf? You’ve got to let this go.”
I brushed a hand over my damp forehead. I felt like I hadn’t had a decent shower since we moved and my hair was a disaster. “Okay. I’ll just take a look at the notes on my own time.”
Edna wadded up the newspaper, motioned to the door. “Get out. Pearl’s got something on a new case.” He hissed out a breath. “And I gotta go spend my morning with MRS explaining what you said.”
I pulled Bernie up with me. “I’m sorry. I just…”
Edna’s bloodshot eyes came up to me and he shook his head. I got the message and left without another word.
I found Gluck at his desk and told him we needed to meet with Pearl in his office. I took a moment, shuffling through the paperwork on my desk. The only good thing about Jerry King’s arrest was that Carl Hammer had gone back to his regular assignment at Homicide Special. He was probably meeting with the chief this morning badmouthing me and taking all the credit for King’s arrest.
“You look tired,” Gluck said, a couple of minutes later, as we walked through the squad room to meet with Pearl.
I stopped and looked at him. “Really? Maybe you should be a detective.”
He smiled, ran a hand over his expensive tie. “A little touchy this morning?”
Maybe I was a little giddy from lack of sleep. “Yeah, I was up all night listening to a groaning ghost.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” We continued on and I said, “My friends mentioned that they saw you at their acting class last night.”
His voice pitched higher. “I had a great time. I think it’s definitely my calling.”
I searched for something to respond with but came up empty. We found Pearl in his office with a stack of paperwork.
Bernie settled at my feet as I motioned to the mound of paper. “I hope we’re not looking at some kind of embezzlement case.”
He shook his head and moved the stack aside. “Just organizing some files before we head out. We’ve got a vic over at Sunset Studios, a security guard who was found shot on one of their back lots.”
“Sunset Studios,” Gluck said, his eyes growing wider. “They film all the soaps over there.”
I groaned, maybe sounding like our house. Cop Hollywood would no doubt go gaga over being at the studios. Pearl must have seen my unhappiness. He said to my partner, “Why don’t you plan on taking a separate car. Kate and I need to do some follow-up on a previous case after we’re done at the studios.”
When we were in the car I thanked Pearl for his intervention and said, “Harvey’s so star struck that he can’t concentrate on the job.” I picked some of Bernie’s fur off my blazer at the same time feeling my big dog’s hot breath on my neck. “If he keeps this up I have a feeling he’s not going to pass probation.”
“This assignment’s not for everyone. I’ve seen more than a few guys like Harvey.”
“You mean Hollywood crazy?”
“Not so much that, just not cut out for homicide.” He glanced at me. “Maybe all the star stuff is his way of taking his mind off the ugliness of the job.”
“His mind is definitely somewhere else.”
He smiled, exposing the gap in his front teeth. I had a thought that the former football player and TV host, Michael Strahan, might look like Pearl in about twenty years. “I could have a little talk with him if you’d like. No guarantees, of course.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
Pearl regarded me for a moment. “So how are you doing with everything that happened?”
I inhaled, released my breath slowly, knowing he was talking about the death of Jack Bautista. “The three months I spent on Catalina was good for me. It gave me some time to process everything.” My eyes held on him for a moment. I hadn’t told anyone about the experience I’d had after Jack’s funeral. I knew if there was anyone I could trust in this world to unburden myself with it was Pearl. “I had a…I guess you could call it a strange experience at the cemetery after Jack was buried.”
We moved through traffic before his gaze came over again and he nodded his encouragement.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts. “After the ceremony was over Bernie and I took a walk. We ended up sitting on a bench that overlooked the cemetery.”
Pearl’s leathery eyes softened. “My wife is buried there. Lots of nice places to sit and think things through.”
I nodded. “I know this is going to sound crazy but I talked to my father.”
“But your father is…”
“He’s dead.” I brushed a hand over my damp forehead. “I still don’t know exactly what to make of the experience.”
“It must have been comforting in some ways.”
I breathed, looked away. “We talked about my life, what I was like as a little girl, how he’d called me Katy.” I brushed a tear at the memory, felt my heart beating against my ribcage. “The truth is, Pearl, I was so distraught and heartbroken before that day, that I had thoughts…” I met his buttery eyes. “…about ending my life.”
His hand came over and touched mine. “I can understand. I think anyone who works our job at one time or another has had a similar thought.” We were in heavy traffic now, stopped at a light as his eyes held on me. “But you got through it.”
“My father said something strange to me before he went away. It was something about life being a dance. He told me that we’re the dance, not the dancer.”
“Your father always did seem like a pretty smart fellow.” Pearl had briefly known my father before his death. They’d even attended a couple of training classes together.
“I think what he meant is that we always feel like we have control over what happens in our lives but we really don’t. All we can control is our reaction to events.” I brushed another tear, pushed down my emotions. “What he said helped me get through everything.”
He nodded and began moving through the intersection. Up ahead I could see the Sunset Studios sign as he said, “I’m gonna tell you something not a lot of people know about me.” He found my eyes again. “I’m an alcoholic, sober for just over twenty-three years now.”
“I had no idea.”
He gave me a gap-toothed smile. “You’ve probably heard about the serenity prayer that’s used at twelve-step meetings. It says something about asking God to grant us the serenity to acc
ept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
“Yes, I’ve heard it before.”
“Maybe your dad was giving you his version of serenity. I think his message and the prayer have a lot in common.”
I smiled. What he’d said rang true. “Thanks for sharing, Pearl. Your friendship means the world to me.”
After showing our credentials to a guard at Sunset Studios, we were given the approximate location of the body and were told where we could park. Gluck pulled up as I was getting Bernie out of the backseat. He came over, beaming his hundred watt smile. “I wonder if we’ll see any stars.”
I glanced at Pearl, back to my partner. “Let’s try and stay on task. We’re here for murder, not for autographs.”
We found a couple of uniformed cops near a trailer, a few yards from the entrance to one of the sound stages. Behind him, I saw that our victim was face down on the pavement, the area cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. There was a good sized pool of blood beneath his body.
“Our victim is George Bundt,” one of the uniforms said. “He’s a security guard working here part-time.”
“Who found the body?” Pearl asked.
“One of the stage hands.” He pointed to a man talking to another cop. “He says he was just walking by and happened to glance over and saw the body.”
As he’d talked I realized Gluck wasn’t with us. I turned, scanning the lot, and saw that he was about forty yards away talking to someone. He had a notepad in his hand.
“Damn it,” I said to Pearl. “If he’s getting an autograph there’s going to be another homicide today.”
In a moment, Gluck came over to us. I motioned to the pad, asked him what he was doing. “Just getting the layout of the grounds and sets. Maybe when we’re through…”
I saw that his gaze had wandered over to the victim’s body. “Are you going to be sick?”
“I don’t think…” He rushed off, found a secluded spot, and vomited.
I looked at Pearl. “He claims he has a medical condition, can’t handle dead bodies.”
The elderly cop’s silver brows inched together. “Maybe this assignment really isn’t for him.”
We spent the next couple of hours processing the crime scene and talking with the stage hand, who claimed he didn’t see Bundt before the shooting or hear any shots being fired. The victim had been shot through the upper torso, probably at close range. We found his wallet in his back pocket with forty seven dollars and a cell phone in his jacket. His last phone call had been made at five in the morning to his wife.
I learned there was a trailer nearby that the guards used for breaks. I had Gluck search it and ask around about witnesses so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the body. He came up with nothing worthwhile.
The victim’s boss arrived at the scene about the same time Brie Henner showed up to process the body. I told Brie that I’d touch bases with her in a few minutes and met with Bruce Wallace, the head of security for the studio.
“Bundt’s been with us about nine months off and on,” Wallace explained. “He’s a contract employee, not part of our regular staff.”
“Any problems with him?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard about, but I’ll ask around.”
Pearl looked up from his notepad. “What about disputes with other employees, anyone he might have come into contact with at the studio?”
“Same answer, but our contract employees aren’t well thought of here. The regular staff think they cut into their hours. It’s not like the old days when there was lots of overtime, extra shifts. As I said, I’ll ask about any specific problems.”
We thanked him and met up with Brie. “It looks like a small caliber weapon was used. Two shots in the back at close range. There was some powder residue. He was probably dead shortly after hitting the ground. Not much else at this point.”
We chatted about the details of the shooting for a few minutes longer before Pearl wandered off. I then asked her how her house hunt was going. “I’m not having any luck and I’ve got to be out of my place by the end of the month.” She swept her long dark hair out of her eyes. “How about you?”
“We moved a couple of days ago and I’m still trying to adjust. The place is…let’s just say it’s a bit of a fixer and I’m living with a vampire.” Her brow furrowed and she smiled as I explained about Claude. I thought about asking her if she wanted to move in, but then remembered our lack of hot water and the strange noises in the house at all hours of the day and night. I knew that she had a daughter and decided that living with a vampire, a ghost, and a cursing raven named Maurice probably wasn’t the ideal arrangement for a five year-old.
Pearl agreed to go with me to do the death notification to Bundt’s wife. Gluck still wasn’t feeling well so we sent him home. I was still upset with my new partner and vented as we drove. “Maybe I should talk to Edna about him. I don’t think this is going to work.”
He glanced over. “Let me give it one shot first. If he can’t hack if after that, I agree.”
I sighed. “Okay. If nothing else, he’s teaching me patience.”
Vivian Bundt lived in Reseda, several miles north of Hollywood. As we turned off on the 101 Freeway, I told Pearl my thoughts on the Jiggy Biggs murder. “Despite having the murder weapon in his car I’m still not completely convinced King is good for the killing.”
“But he did owe Biggs almost a million dollars and made some threats to him.”
“I know, but there’s lots of loose ends, including Barry Steiner. He was pressuring Biggs for his gambling debts and only let him on the TV show because he lost a bet. There’s also the matter of Steiner cheating with Biggs’ wife. Our vic was also a player, hooking up with lots of women.” I glanced out the window. The valley was smoggy and warm. “It all adds up to more questions than answers.” I glanced back at him. “I’ve got to be sure.”
“The lieutenant isn’t going to be happy.”
“I know. He’s already warned me to let it go but I’m planning to go through the evidence again on my own time. If we’re going to send Jerry King to prison for the rest of his life I can’t just walk away without covering all the bases.”
“That’s what makes you a good cop, Kate.” He turned off the freeway. “Tell you what, I’ll also take a look at things on my own time.”
I smiled at him, glanced back at Bernie. “We just need to be sure we don’t say anything about this to Edna.” I smiled and used an Edna expletive. “I’m already in his personal f-ing doghouse.”
Vivian Bundt lived in a poor section of Reseda in an area of small houses built in the middle of the last century. She was probably in her forties, heavyset, with mousy brown hair. I’d learned over the years that the best way to do a death notification is to be direct and compassionate, and then be ready for everything from hysterics to morbid depression.
After she let us inside the house I gave her the bad news. She fell apart, weeping uncontrollably. It took a half hour before she finally regained enough composure to tell us what she thought had happened. “I think Marcel Frost killed him.”
“Who?” I asked.
“He’s on one of those soap operas at the studio where George was working.” She dabbed her tears. “From what George said he had a violent temper, nobody could stand him.”
“But why would he kill your husband?”
“George said he was checking the sound stages one night and happened to find Frost and one of the other actresses having sex. He said that Frost was cheating on his wife and came unglued, threatened to kill him when he found them together.”
We went over what she said several times. Vivian Bundt told us no one else had any reason to harm her husband and she was convinced that Marcel Frost had committed the crime. After arranging for a relative to stay with her we left and headed back to Hollywood Station.
“Let’s make some calls when we get back,” Pe
arl said. “If Frost is at the studio we can head over there again this afternoon and interview him.”
As we drove back to Hollywood I thought about breadcrumbs, how in the childhood fairy tale the children were lost in the woods because birds had eaten a trail of crumbs they’d left behind. I knew that every homicide has its own unique trail, and it was a matter of finding the breadcrumbs before someone covered them up.
In the case of Jiggy Biggs, a very large breadcrumb had been left in Jerry King’s car. And no matter how I tried to do the math, a killer leaving that big a breadcrumb behind just didn’t add up.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We called Sunset Studios that afternoon and were told that Marcel Frost had not shown up for the day’s production of his soap opera, Stolen Promises, where he played the role of a wealthy lawyer. We got his cell number, but our calls went to voice mail. We then went by his house, but found no one was home. Pearl suggested that we get an early start the next day. I went home where I found my mother, my roommates, my sister, Claude, and an exorcist all gathered in the living room.
“This home needs cleansing,” my mother announced. “I’ve brought Madrigal to perform the rite.”
I suppressed an eye roll as I was introduced to our house exorcist. Madrigal was about forty, spoke with what I thought might be a fake Caribbean accent, and looked like she could be Mo’s sister.
“You got your work cut out for you, Madrigal,” Mo said, after explaining to me that she’d called my mother about the strange sounds that had kept us awake all night. “This house makes crazy farting noises. I bet it’s got more evil spirits than you can shake a plunger at.”
“I hope we see a ghost,” Natalie said. “Maybe one who’s hunky and rich.”
“We shall see,” Madrigal announced in a voice that seemed overly dramatic. Her dark eyes swept over the living room, up to the vaulted ceiling. “I feel a presence, a possession that has taken hold. It must be cast out.”
“Maybe it’s the ghost of my cousin, Russell,” Claude suggested. “As you may know he lived here and played the role of the Demon Master, the taker of souls.”
