by M. Z. Kelly
“Not exactly sure. Could be it had something to do with their music.”
What she’d said brought Biggs’ gang involvement back to mind. Maybe the rapper’s death had more to do with his ties to the hip hop scene than drugs, as I’d speculated when talking to Carl Hammer at the jail.
“Dr. Lester’s found something important about my cousin’s death,” Claude said, rushing into the room. “You all need to come down into the basement.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that little troll whacked him,” Mo grumbled as we all took the stairs down into the basement. We found Lester at his table in the secret room. Several boxes were stacked up and he was examining something with a magnifying glass.
Lester looked over at us, his eyes fixing on Mo. He swallowed the lump in his throat, maybe suppressing a painful memory.
The ancient little man then turned to me and said, “I’ve found the weapon used to murder Russell Van Drake.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
I was late getting to work the next day because I’d called Lieutenant Edna and then John Duncan in the Cold Case Unit about Dr. Lester’s discovery. They sent a technician from SID, the department’s Scientific Investigation Division, to take custody of a bloody knife the doctor had found. Depending on what their analysis of the knife showed, Duncan had said they’d then make a decision about coming back to the estate and going through the rest of the items in Van Drake’s secret room.
In the meantime, Dr. Lester had worked himself into a frenzy, claiming that he’d uncovered solid evidence of Van Drake’s murder and planned to go to the press. I begged him to hold off until SID did their analysis. He finally agreed to give it a day or two before telling anyone about the knife. If the press got wind of the find, whether or not it was linked to Van Drake’s disappearance, I knew we would have half the reporters in the city at our doorstep.
When Bernie and I got to the station, Harvey was on his cell phone. He was pleading and then arguing with someone before they apparently hung up on him.
“Problems?” I asked, as I stowed my purse in my desk drawer.
“I think Misty’s hooking up with that sports reporter at her TV station. She told me she wants a break in our relationship.”
“Wait a minute. I just realized something. Is your girlfriend Misty Storm?”
He nodded. “Ex-girlfriend now.”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I said, covering my mouth with my hand. “She’s just got a certain reputation.” Like sleeping with half the men in Hollywood.
He sighed. “I’m not sure what you mean and I’m not sure that I want to know. You might find it hard to believe, but I don’t have very good luck with women.”
I didn’t find it hard to believe but said, “Someone else will come along, maybe somebody from your actor’s studio. I heard that your next workshop might be held at the theater where they hold the Oscars.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“My friends are trying to work out the details with someone who has connections.”
Harvey was going on about practicing his lines for his upcoming acting session when Edna called us into a meeting with Pearl. The lieutenant looked worse than yesterday, if that was possible. His face was the color of his bloodshot eyes and his gray hair gave the impression that he’d been caught in a windstorm.
“The fucking DA’s still dragging his feet on King,” Edna said. “But The Beast has decided we need to move ahead on the case based on the autopsy results giving King an alibi. Everything’s still on the down low, but Hammer will be here this afternoon to talk strategy.”
I refrained from making comments about the smart ass little cop as he asked us about the Bundt case. I let Harvey fill him in on our interview with Marcel Frost. My partner did a good job summarizing what the actor had said about being blackmailed by our victim.
Edna looked at me. “What about Frost’s alibi?”
“He was with an actress all day and night. His life is like a segment of one of his own soap operas, but the alibi holds up.”
“So why’d he drive around Hollywood like his ass was on fire?”
“Claims he was afraid he’d go down for Bundt’s murder regardless.”
“After yesterday’s chase, Frost’s acting career will probably be history,” Pearl said. “Even without the murder charge, he’s looking at some serious time.”
“So where do we go from here?” Edna asked.
Pearl opened his briefcase and took out one of the smoke detectors with the camera inside that we’d found in Bundt’s locker. He placed it on the lieutenant’s desk. “I’ve got a feeling our victim spent a lot of time engaging in his favorite hobby. I think we should get a warrant, see what we find in his house.”
After Edna agreed with Pearl’s suggestion, we went back to our desks to write up the warrant request. While we pushed paper I happened to see Ralph Crenshaw, the officer who’d hit on Lindsay the other day, heading for the break room.
“Back in a minute,” I told Harvey. “I need to take out some trash.”
I found the thirty-something cop rummaging through the refrigerator. I remembered how Crenshaw had hit on me when I was new to Hollywood Station and working on a warrant task force. He’d been persistent and obnoxious, not to mention an asshole when he’d been rebuffed.
“Looking for something sweet?” I asked coming up behind him.
He wheeled around, his eyes finding mine. He had one of those smiles that reminded me of someone who’d just picked your pocket.
Crenshaw came over to me. “Speaking of sweet, it’s been a while, Kate. How have you been?”
“Not very well, actually. I have a sister who had a run-in with a sleaze ball the other day. Her name is Lindsay.”
The smile went away, but then came back as he made the connection. “She’s your…” The smile grew wider. “She seems like a very nice girl. Attractive too.”
I took a step closer to him. “Listen to me carefully. Do not ever talk to Lindsay or, for that matter, me again.”
His smile became pinched and his jaw muscles jumped. I saw a couple of other cops and a secretary across the room looking over at us. “And if I don’t?”
“I’ll tell everyone at the station what all the women in this city already know.”
“What’s that?”
“That you’re a big prick with the smallest dick in Hollywood.”
When I got back to my desk I got a call from Basheeba. I glanced around the station as I answered, worried that one of the other officers might realize I was talking to a reporter.
“I understand the DA’s considering granting Jerry King immunity from prosecution,” the reporter said. “It sounds like my information about him meeting someone at the Alibar Hotel was accurate.”
Even though I was grateful to her for providing the information I said, “You know I can’t respond to anything you say.”
“I’ve also heard the feds are getting involved.”
“Same comment.”
She laughed. “I’d still like to keep the conversation we had before confidential.”
My pulse quickened at the thought of her talking to anyone about our meeting. “Wait a minute. We had an agreement.”
“I don’t want to break our agreement, but in this business it’s every man or woman for herself. What can you give me?”
Now I was in a pickle. If Edna or police administration got wind of me talking to the reporter, regardless of whether or not it helped save an innocent man, I’d be facing certain discipline. I decided my best tactic was to stall.
“Here’s what I can do for you,” I said. “When our case is over, if it’s cleared by my lieutenant, I’ll give you an exclusive interview about everything that went down.”
She didn’t respond right away. After several seconds she said, “Let’s move ahead on that basis for now. I’ll be in touch.”
***
The search warrant for Ge
orge Bundt’s house came through by early afternoon. Pearl knocked on door to the residence while Harvey, Bernie, and I hung back. His wife, Vivian, answered the door with another woman who looked remarkably like her. They were both dressed in black.
“We were just headed out to George’s funeral,” Vivian Bundt said.
I realized our timing couldn’t be worse as Pearl explained, “We have a search warrant. We’re going to need to look through some of your husband’s belongings.”
“Why?” She turned to the woman beside her and collapsed into her arms.
“I’m Vivian’s sister, Ann,” the woman said. “I’m not sure why you’re here.”
Pearl tried to be diplomatic. “There may be some evidence in the house that’s important in explaining what happened to George.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“That’s all we can say for now.” Pearl turned to us, then back to the two women. “If you’d like you can go ahead to the funeral and we’ll lock up when we’re finished.”
After Vivian Bundt regained some of her composure they agreed to leave us and go to the funeral. We spent most of the time searching the master bedroom and home office, but came up empty. Harvey then noticed there was a large shed at the rear of the yard. Bernie and I went with him to take a look while Pearl finished up in the house.
Harvey pushed open the door to the shed at the same time we heard the sound of a gun being discharged. We nearly fell over one another, scrambling away, before taking cover behind a car in the driveway. Pearl came out of the residence and joined us with his gun drawn.
“A single shot from inside the shed,” I explained to him.
We called out in the direction of the shed several times, announcing ourselves, but not getting a response. Bernie released a low whining sound, a sure sign something was amiss.
After Pearl called for assistance I said, “There’s a window on the side of the shed, let me check it out.”
“I’ll go with you,” Harvey offered.
I left Bernie with Pearl. We made our way back toward the shed, making our approach from behind the garage. I had my gun out as I peered in through the window. I saw a man’s body on the floor of the structure. A gun was at his side.
“The shooter’s down,” I said, calling out to both Harvey and Pearl.
In a moment we were inside the building. I checked the man’s pulse, but knew he was dead from a self-inflicted gunshot to the head. I turned to the others. “I wonder what was so…” My gaze had drifted over to a workbench, seeing the electronic devices on the shelves lining the walls.
“It looks like this is where George and maybe his dead buddy practiced their hobby,” Pearl said, also seeing the electronic equipment. “I’ll call it in. We’re going to need SID.”
Upon closer inspection, Harvey and I realized there were dozens of miniature cameras, all of them designed to be concealed in a variety of devices, including smoke alarms, wall switches, false thermostats, and lighting fixtures.
We also found three laptops on the work bench before Harvey turned away from me and said, “Damn it.” He ran from the shed.
“I’m afraid your partner’s reverting to his old form,” Pearl said, holding off on making his calls.
I went over to the workbench. As I opened one of the laptops I said, “I guess there’s still some work we need to do with him.”
When I had the computer open, I saw there were several icons on the desktop with names. I clicked on an icon at random that said C. Winters. In a moment we saw a scene of a woman in a bedroom. She was engaging in graphic sex with another woman.
I turned to Pearl. “I think they’ve been taking control of laptops, secretly videotaping subjects, and blackmailing them.”
I knew from prior cases I’d worked that it was possible to use software downloaded from the Internet to remotely take over someone’s computer, turn on the camera, and secretly videotape the victim. I glanced at the dozens of desktop icons before opening the other laptops, finding similar images, each with a victim’s name.
“There must be thirty to forty subjects who are being remotely watched and recorded,” I said to Pearl, disgusted at what we’d found. I turned and left the shed, deciding that I needed some air. I saw that Harvey was in the corner of the yard. He’d regained control and was mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
“You okay?” I asked, coming over to him.
He nodded, sucked in a breath. “Did you ever set something up for me with your coroner friend?”
“Sorry. Been a little busy. I’ll talk to her.”
In a moment Pearl joined us in the yard. “We’re going to need to process and catalogue everything when SID gets here.” I saw that he had a wallet. He opened it and showed us a driver’s license. “William Dale Bundt. Looks like George’s brother didn’t make it to his funeral. He was busy planning his own.”
***
It was after five by the time we got back to Hollywood Station. I went to Lieutenant Edna’s office, where I found him with Carl Hammer. After hellos, I explained to Edna what we’d found.
“It looks like George Bundt and his brother had been secretly videotaping dozens of subjects who were engaged in sexual activities. There were also some emails and letters with detailed instructions about money to be paid in return for the recordings. It was a pretty sophisticated blackmail scheme.”
“Working as a security guard would have given him access to lots of subjects,” Edna said. “How many victims in total do you think we’re looking at?”
“We counted thirty two, but there could be more. SID is cataloging everything. We should know more by morning.”
“If Frost didn’t kill Bundt, it means we’ve got over thirty other victims to clear,” Edna said, dragging a hand through his hair and exhaling. “You’re going to need some additional resources.”
“I guess the moral of the story is never have sex with your laptop open,” Hammer said, smiling at me.
“Or at least be sure that you’ve put some tape over the camera,” I agreed.
“Let’s talk about King,” Edna said, changing the subject. “We got word this afternoon, the DA is granting immunity. You both need to plan on interviewing him tomorrow before he’s released. And you’re gonna have some company.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Since the feds are involved they’re sending their own people over to the jail to assist with the interview.”
“We take down Wayland and they’re going to want to take the credit,” I said.
“It’s the FBI playbook,” Hammer agreed.
Edna threw some paperwork in his briefcase and stood up. “You two work out the details. I’m going home.”
We stayed in the lieutenant’s office for another hour, discussing the upcoming interview and making plans to meet at the jail tomorrow afternoon. I was exhausted by the time we’d finished. I tugged on Bernie’s leash, stood, and said, “See you tomorrow.”
“It’s been a long day. What do you say we go have a drink?”
I shook my head, too exhausted to argue with him. “Go home to your wife.”
I was headed for the door when my phone rang. It was Bob Woodley, a supervisor with SID. “Just wanted to give you an update on the blood analysis of the knife taken from your house earlier this morning.”
I’d almost forgotten about the knife Dr. Lester had found in our basement. “Don’t tell me it’s a match to Russell Van Drake?”
“No, wrong blood type.” I breathed a sigh of relief before he went on. “We’re going to do DNA analysis, but so far we’ve determined the antigens in the blood are extremely rare. It’s something called an A3B blood group.”
“I’m not sure what, if anything, that means.”
“At this point we’re not sure either, but remember that actress Van Drake was rumored to be dating who went missing about the same time he did?”
“I heard something about that,” I said, remembering what Natalie and said, at the same time hea
ring the dread in my voice.
“She had the same blood type. Depending on what the DNA analysis shows, we may have the weapon used to murder Bridget Welch.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
When Bernie and I got home I realized that my day was about to go from bad to worse. There were three people in the driveway of the estate talking to Larry and Phyllis. As I walked over I realized there was an argument in progress.
“Me and the misses are the legal heirs to this place,” the man said in a southern accent. “Berta, me, and Junior here came all the way from Tuscaloosa with our belongings.” He motioned to a U-Haul truck that was parked up the street.
“Fred and me expect that ya’ll will be gone by morning,” Berta drawled. She was heavyset with enormous breasts that made me think even a tornado would have trouble blowing her over. She looked over at the teenage boy. “Just think, Junior, this is all ours.”
“I’m gonna go find me some weed,” Junior said, heading for the road. “Catch’ya later.”
Apparently inheriting a multi-million dollar estate had its place right behind getting stoned.
Natalie and Mo came out of the house as Junior hit the street. “What’s going on here?” Mo demanded with her hands on her wide hips.
Larry patiently explained that the family claimed they had inherited the property and planned to move in tomorrow.
“We got enough problems,” Mo said, staring down the couple. “We already got us a vampire and a troll living in our basement. Now we’re supposed to make room for the Beverly Hillbillies?” She looked over at me, like I was supposed to pull some magic out of my derriere and make Fred and Berta disappear.
I turned to Fred. “What makes you think you’ve inherited the property?”
“We read about the estate on the Eannernet, how if your last name is Van Drake and any of your family ever lived in these parts you might have a legal claim to the property. My great-great-great grand pappy, Quinton Van Drake, received a grant to all of this land back in the 1800’s.” He looked around at the sprawling grounds. “This is all ours.”
