Hollywood Assassin (25 page)
Stallings looked up, probably seeing the disapproval on my face. Her gaze drifted away. “I don’t know anything more about the paperwork. You need to go. Mr. Bishop doesn’t like visitors.”
I blew out a slow breath. Stallings had slammed the door to the past on us and I sensed we weren’t going to learn anything more. Pearl gathered up the envelope and its contents.
“Before we go,” I said, “we need to talk about Mr. Bishop.”
Her eyes came up. A flicker of fear.
“I know he’s been abusing you. Tell me what’s been happening? We can get you help. There are shelters…”
“No…you have to go now...you don’t know...” She began crying again. “Please, just go.”
Harvey Bishop fit the profile of a sadistic, violent predator. He’d probably been abusing her for years.
I wrote my cell number on the back of my business card. “Call me at this number if you decide you want to talk.”
As we closed the door, I heard Stallings begin sobbing again, maybe out of grief or fear, or both.
I moved to the porch and released Bishop’s handcuffs. I stared into the big man’s cold, dark eyes. “If you ever touch her again, I will find out about it and put you down.”
A smile found Bishop’s fat face, exposing gaps in his rotten, stinking teeth. “Go to hell.”
I returned the smile and motioned to his shit shack. “I’m already there.”
***
It took us almost eight hours to make the drive back to Hollywood. Somewhere outside of Barstow my phone rang. On the advice of Charlie Riggs I’d downloaded some software to my phone that was supposed to prevent hacking and changed my voice mail password.
“Clark is gone again,” Robin said. “He was up all night, trying to detox when he got a call.”
“Bon Bon?” I asked, picking up on the anger in my brother’s voice.
“I think so. He wouldn’t say, but half an hour later he told me he was going out for coffee and never returned.” His voice took on an angry edge. “I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry, Kate. You were right. I should have told him he needed a detox program.”
I was more worried than angry. Based on what we’d learned, I knew that the danger to us all was increasing.
“I need you to do me a favor, Robin. Stay put. I’m going to stop by your house and leave Bernie with you tonight for protection.” He started to protest, but I wouldn’t listen.
When we got to Hollywood, Pearl was kind enough to make the stop and we left Bernie with Robin before heading home. I had almost forgotten about Natalie’s problems with Clyde until she followed me up the stairs to my apartment.
“I won’t be a bit of a problem,” Natalie said as we got ready for bed. “I’m glad I don’t have to listen to Clyde tonight. Snores like an old bull with his dick caught in a washer.”
I was making Natalie’s bed on the couch when she came out of the bathroom. I couldn’t help but laugh at her outfit. She was wearing a pair of short yellow pajamas that bunched up at the rear end and spelled out the word QUACK. It gave her the appearance of being a very pretty, fuzzy yellow duck.
“All right, quit your smilin’ at me sleepers. Clyde got em for me last Valentine’s Day.”
“Very romantic,” I said. I couldn’t keep it in any longer and broke into a spasm of laughter.
Natalie lowered her voice. “If you wanna know the truth, old Clyde used to sleep with a blanket covered with ducks when he was a kid. When we make…”
“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” I said covering my ears.
Natalie continued over my protest, “Every time we make love he calls it doing the ducky.”
“Stop.” I was still laughing as I closed my bedroom door and said goodnight.
I slept soundly until just after midnight when I heard movement somewhere in the building. At first I thought it might be Natalie, but then realized it was someone moving up the stairway to my apartment.
I reached for the extra gun I always keep in my purse. Then I remembered, I’d left my purse by the sofa in the living room. It was right next to a fuzzy yellow duck that was sound asleep.
An hour after the lights go out in Kate Sexton’s apartment, Nathan Kane makes sure they won’t come on again. He leaves his car and walks to the alleyway behind the appliance store.
Inside the utility panel he finds both an alarm system and the electric service for the store. It only takes a minute. He disarms the alarm and kills the electricity.
After picking the lock at the delivery entrance, he moves up the stairway and pulls the blade from his pocket. He runs a finger over the edge, a delicious memory surfacing.
He spent the previous night with the prostitute. It was an eventful evening full of fun and torture before he severed the whore’s head. He left her body in a canyon off Mulholland Drive. The bitch has a scenic resting place, a few miles up in the hills overlooking Hollywood.
Tonight is going to be even more special. He’s been watching the apartment and knows the dog is not with Sexton. This will be a two for one. He’s seen the little blonde bitch with the detective. She has a body to kill for—literally. He plans to take his time with the appetizer while Sexton watches, before moving on to the main course. His mouth waters.
Kane stops at the top of the stairway and listens. Silence. This is almost too easy.
He removes the pick, using a tiny flashlight as he works on the lock. Click. He kills the light. The door creaks opens. He pauses, listening again.
There’s the faint sound of movement from somewhere inside. He steps over the threshold. The room is so dark he can’t see anything, but he can’t risk using the light again.
Kane decides to crouch low and touches the gun in his waistband. It’s there for backup. The last thing he wants to do is spoil tonight’s fun with the weapon, but he knows there’s always a risk things could go wrong. He’s calculated the odds and, as always, he has a backup plan.
A few feet into the room, he hears the bedroom door swing open. Sexton’s voice calls out in the darkness. “Who’s there?”
He doesn’t respond at first, but the adrenaline rush overwhelms him. “Your worst nightmare.” He can almost taste the fear in the room.
There’s more movement, then stumbling. He thinks a table has been overturned, maybe a lamp is broken. Another voice calls out. It’s the blonde bitch.
“I’ve got a gun. Don’t move or I’ll blow your love spuds off.”
Kane drops to his knees, crawls forward. The gun comes out. His free hand reaches forward and finds the appetizer, grabbing her leg.
The young bitch yells out in the darkness again, “Hands off me, you dirty dicksplat.”
He hesitates when he hears the click. Then the room explodes. Shots ring out and he turns away, but not before he discharges his weapon in the direction of the explosion.
A few feet away, he hears someone scream in pain and crash to the floor. It’s Sexton. She’s down. Maybe she’s been shot?
A second explosion of gunfire then rips through the room. The world starts to spin. A searing pain slices through his leg.
He has to move fast now. He stumbles back, falling down the stairway. When he reaches the street he can see the blood. It’s pouring down his pant leg. He runs for the car and starts the engine. Before pulling away he turns back and looks toward the building.
The two women are running after him. They crash through the door, out onto the street. Sexton is hobbling behind the blonde. The young bitch is dressed like a duck.
She fires again and screams, “Die you fat streak of piss.”
I stumbled down the stairway after Natalie and the intruder. I slipped and fell forward, pain again shooting from the ankle I’d sprained when I fell into the coffee table. I stood up and moved forward again, finding my way through the darkness, out the door and onto the sidewalk.
My feet went out from under me again as I skidded across something sticky. I looked down and saw the streetlamps illuminating the blood trail. Then I saw Natalie. She was on the street, raising my gun in the direction of a car that was pulling away from the curb. Nathan Kane was at the wheel!
Shots rang out. Natalie fired a second time and yelled, “Take that you big dickfuck.”
I finally made it to her side and took the gun away. Kane’s car accelerated away from the curb, tires screeching. It fishtailed wildly and spun around, landing on the sidewalk up the street. It lurched forward again as he raced down the road.
“He’s runnin’ like shit through a short dog,” Natalie said, sprinting for Olive. “Let’s follow him.”
I hobbled behind, my ankle throbbing with pain. “I don’t think I can drive.”
“Give me the key,” Natalie yelled.
I realized I didn’t have my purse. “There’s a hide-a-key box under the left rear fender.”
She found the key and I piled in on the passenger side. Then it hit me. Natalie doesn’t know how to drive a car.
She turned the key and Olive lurched forward a few feet before sputtering to a stop.
“It’s got a clutch,” I said.
“What’s a car doin’ with a purse?”
“Not that kind of clutch. It’s the pedal to the left of the brake. It engages the transmission.”
“The what?”
Natalie twisted the key again, somehow found the clutch, as I slammed the gear shift forward. The engine roared and Olive screeched down the street.
“Put in the clutch again,” I yelled as we lurched ahead. “We’ve got to change gears.”
“I’ll try and keep it between the ditches,” Natalie yelled as we jerked forward.
It went on like that, Natalie working the clutch and accelerator, me shifting gears, Olive jerking and revving as our bodies were slammed back and forth with every movement until we eventually made it into fourth gear. That’s when things got crazy.
Olive fishtailed as Natalie twisted the wheel like she was in a video arcade game. We spun wildly down the street.
We turned onto Melrose, tires screeching as we skidded sideways and hit a newspaper rack. Olive belched and blew smoke.
I saw Kane’s car up ahead. It was blowing through an intersection. The street was deserted...except...something large...blinking lights...moving in...our direction...
“It’s a garbage truck!” I screamed. My foot stomped down, instinctively trying to hit an imaginary brake pedal. “Turn the wheel, Natalie!”
She hit the brakes. “Ruddy hell. Hold on.” We swerved to the left and missed the truck by inches. Natalie hit the gas pedal again, back on mission. “I’m gonna get the ugly tonker.”
I saw Kane up ahead turning onto Fairfax, barely missing another car. Natalie followed, taking a wide turn as we passed the high school. I thanked God it was the middle of the night. School was out and the streets were partially deserted. Kane sped up and turned onto Beverly Drive. We rounded the corner. Olive began to lurch, the engine lagging.
“We need to downshift,” I said, grabbing the gearshift. “Hit the clutch and I’ll change gears for you.”
In retrospect I decided it was all a multi-tasker’s nightmare. Too many feet, hands, bodies, and engine parts were involved. Olive’s engine revved wildly as Natalie engaged the clutch but didn’t ease up on the accelerator. I tried to downshift and heard metal grinding. Black smoke belched from under the hood.
Natalie slammed on the brakes. We spun around in the street. I heard a hard clanking noise, a huge swishing sound, and suddenly the world was full of water.
I turned, the clarity of the moment hitting me all at once. There was a duck sitting behind the wheel of my car, and a fountain of water spilling in through the open windows.
Natalie turned on the windshield wipers, looked at me and said, “I think we hit a fireplug.”
The day after Natalie and I survived our encounter with Nathan Kane I was hobbling around on crutches, thanks to a sprained ankle. We invited Charlie to meet us at Pearl’s cottage late in the afternoon.
I’d filed a police report about last night’s events, but told the responding officers our intruder was unknown. Charlie told me that Kane’s parole warrant had already hit the system and I didn’t want any further complications with the department until we had a chance to sort through everything.
After Pearl brought us drinks, I mentioned the painting set up on an easel he was still working on. I still couldn’t make out the images in the unfinished artwork.
“I think it’s a couple bumping frizzies,” Natalie said.
“Why am I not surprised?” I said to my friend.
“The images are starting to come together,” Pearl offered. “But, the painting is still a bit of a mystery, just like our case.”
Charlie had taken a stroll through the rose garden adjacent to the patio to smoke a cigarette before joining us. He accepted a beer from Pearl and asked me about Bernie.
“He’s doing watchdog duty for Robin at my mom’s house. I want my brother safe until things are settled.” His question brought Charlie’s daughter to mind. “How are things with Irma?”
“Living with B-Boy for the past three days. She called me last night though. Wants to come by this weekend and talk.”
“Maybe the grass isn’t so green after all?”
“There ain’t no grass. B-Boy lives over on Florence in government housing.”
I knew the neighborhood. It was one of the worst in L.A. “Get her home as soon as you can, Charlie.”
He tipped up his beer, set it down. “I know. I’ve got an app on my iPhone that picks up all the police dispatch calls. The department should just open up a station in one of the apartments.”
I turned to the business at hand. “I wanted you to meet with us, Charlie, because at some point, maybe at my Board of Rights Hearing, we’re going to have to bring other agencies into everything.”
Charlie said, “Dorothy Velasquez told me you’re trying to expedite your hearing. I don’t get it.”
“I want the department to know the truth and I want my job back as soon as possible. Chester was able to get the hearing set for this coming Wednesday morning. That gives me three days to prepare.”
Charlie had guzzled his beer while I was talking and set it down. “If the department finds out you’ve been involved in a rogue investigation, the hearing will be a slam dunk. You won’t have a chance.”
I heard the edge in my voice as I said, “The only way I can keep from getting slam dunked is if we break the case. If I sit around and watch from the sidelines, the game’s over.”
Charlie shrugged and drank, maybe thinking I was a lost cause or maybe he just needed more beer to get the nerve to come back at me.
I took the next few minutes, summarizing everything for Charlie, including our meeting with Gloria Stallings and last night’s run-in with Nathan Kane.
“We would have gotten the ruddy wazzock,” Natalie said, referring to Kane, “if it wasn’t for a few mechanical problems.”
I estimated those mechanical problems would cost me close to a thousand bucks and didn’t want to even think about how I was going to pay the repair bill. I turned to Pearl after mentioning to the others that he’d received a copy of John Carmichael’s unfinished film by overnight mail.
“Before we watch
Days of Destiny
,” I said to Pearl, “maybe you can summarize what was in the envelope we got from Cassie’s mother?”
“It was a list of over thirty corporations, beginning with what we believe was the original company, Pacific Trading Partners, started by Conrad Harper and John Carmichael back in 1983. The documents included more than a hundred subsidiary companies, film studios, and related businesses. It’s noteworthy that the corporations were created, existed for a year or two, and were then dissolved.”
“Once they served their purpose,” I said.
“The corporations served two purposes,” Pearl agreed. “First, to get the fledging drug empire off the ground by importing heroin and other drugs. Second, to launder the drug money by running it through the corporations and studios. Diamond was one of Kane’s dealers and Harper had the studio connections. He probably set that part of the scheme in motion.”
“Dirty flicks for clean money,” Natalie said.
“Good analogy,” I agreed. “When the movies were finished, they would be sold to independent distributors. A few of the films made a healthy profit, but for the most part they earned very little. Of course, none of that mattered.”
“Because the books were cooked,” Charlie said.
“In a big way,” Pearl agreed. “They couldn’t just put the drug profits in the bank because any deposits in excess of the government reporting limits would raise red flags. So they had to find a way to make it legal. The financial records would make it look like the corporations spent large sums of money on the productions, but the finished product wouldn’t come close to matching what they probably reported went into making the films.”
“What about the corporations?” Charlie asked. “Whose names are on the records?”
“So far none of the records show that any of our suspects are listed, except for the initial company that was set up by Harper and Carmichael, but that’s no surprise. Pacific Trading Partners was probably their test corporation, a learning experience, for fledging drug dealers who were testing the waters. As the business grew, they used small-time players to set everything up with multiple layers of insulation to protect them in case anyone became suspicious. In time, Kane also parlayed his drug money into a prostitution ring. The porn industry went hand-in-hand with that. ”
Charlie was into his second beer. “This all sounds good in theory, but it’s gonna take a ton of research, warrants, and paperwork to make the case.”
I agreed. “The FBI and IRS will need to be involved. Unraveling a thirty-year-old con game will be complicated. There are millions of dollars at stake, not to mention the reputations and freedom of those involved.”
After we chewed on all this for a few minutes, Natalie referenced my earlier summary of our interview with Gloria Stallings. “Do you think Cassie’s mum knew about the dummy corporations and the drug dealing?”
“I think Gloria Stallings knows much more than she let on, maybe even who killed John Carmichael and their daughter. That’s a piece of the puzzle that still needs to be developed.”
“Once everything is out in the opening, Jessica and I can bring her in,” Charlie said. “See if we can break her.”
I gave my former partner the stare of death. “Jessica?”
Charlie set down his empty beer can, splayed his hands. “I don’t like it any better than you. Jankowitz told me I had no choice. Jessica Barlow’s been temporarily assigned to the warrant desk as my partner until your case is settled.”
“I can’t believe this.”
I turned away from him, thought about walking away to blow off steam, but didn’t want to put any weight on my injured ankle. Jessica working with Charlie felt like the ultimate betrayal.
“What about me?” Charlie said. “Jessica won’t let me smoke or cuss without making a federal case. She’s got a hot poker up her tight ass about everything I do. She’s making my life miserable.”
I refused to look at him. There was stony silence as Pearl and Natalie worked on the DVD player in the house. Charlie ignored the impasse by walking away and smoking a cigarette.
After a few minutes, Pearl called us together in the living room and said, “Let’s see what
Days of Destiny
was all about.”
For the next hour we watched as a series of unedited scenes rolled by. The shooting script and resulting scenes were out of order, but the plot dealt with the lives of two college couples in the early days of the Vietnam War. The movie focused on their relationships and how the opposition to the war was affecting their lives.
I thought the script had potential and, despite the film’s probable low budget, the acting was fair and earnest. When the film ended, we watched for a moment after the screen went blank. There were no credits listed.
“Guy had talent,” Charlie said, referring to Carmichael. “Too bad he got popped before it was finished.”
“Doesn’t seem like it helps us with anything,” Natalie said. “We’re still waffling around in the dark like a bunch of wet nellies.”
Pearl pushed some buttons on the remote. “Maybe not. Lot of things can change in thirty years, including a person’s name and appearance.”
We watched as Pearl moved to a scene in the film that showed several actors in a group shot. He froze the frame. “Notice anyone familiar?”
“I must be missing something,” Charlie said, shaking his head.
Pearl let the scene move forward. One of the actors played a marine recruiter who was talking to a young man of draft age. They become embroiled in an argument about whether the war was justified. The scene ended with the young college student telling the marine that his brother had been killed in the war. Pearl froze the scene as the camera focused in on the student’s face.
“Now I see it!” I shouted.
“What?” Charlie demanded. “I don’t see nothing but a skinny kid with a beard.”
I hobbled over to the television and pointed to the actor. “Imagine him with his head shaved, no beard, and about three hundred pounds heavier.”
“I’m about to widdle me pants,” Natalie shouted. “It’s Wolf Donovan!”
Charlie finally saw it as well. “I’ll be damned.”
We all went silent for a moment. I hopped back to my chair and sat down.
Pearl speculated that Donovan may have gone by another name when he began his acting career.
“The stage name and his altered appearance would explain why Carmichael’s secretary never recognized him. He would’ve been just another small time actor starting out.”
The others chimed in, but I tuned out the discussion. Our case, like the pieces of a kaleidoscope that had been broken and scattered on the floor, was beginning to come together for me. My heart raced as I considered the possibilities.
Nothing that happened had been a coincidence. Everything had been orchestrated, then covered up for over thirty years.
“You okay?” Charlie asked.
The corners of my mouth turned up. I brushed the frizzies off my forehead and looked at my friends. “Some things are falling into place for me and I’d like to run them down to you all.”
Charlie got another beer and said, “Go for it.”
“I believe everything that’s happened over the past several days has been designed to protect two things. First, to protect the drug empire that we know Harper and Kane began. Secondly, to protect the identity of the third party in that enterprise—Wolf Donovan.”
“That’s one hell of a leap,” Charlie said.
“Maybe, but let me go back to where this all began. We know that Cassie Reynolds was murdered and Jack Bautista was framed, but I think the frame was more of a coincidence than an intentional setup.”
Pearl killed the television. “Jack was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Speaking of Jack,” Natalie said, “is he still in the slammer?”
“He waived extradition, should be in our jail in a day or two.” I went back to my theory: “I believe the plan was to murder Cassie because she had learned about the money laundering scheme and Diamond’s involvement with Harper and Kane. Along the way, Cassie also learned there was a long ago third party who wanted to stop what Harper and Kane were up to—her father.”
“But Carmichael formed the original corporation with Harper,” Charlie said. “He had to know about the drug dealing.”
“I don’t think so. I remember his secretary telling us that Harper was the money man and Carmichael went along for the ride. She also said something about Carmichael just scraping by, that he wasn’t sophisticated about finances. I think Harper may have used Carmichael to set things in motion, without the young filmmaker knowing what he was really up to.”
Pearl followed along. “And when Carmichael found out that instead of producing his film, the corporation had really been set up to launder drugs, it got him killed.”
I nodded and then went back to Bautista’s involvement. “When Jack showed up, the shooter got spooked. He used the situation to murder Cassie and set up Jack. It was a pretty good frame, but it wasn’t thought through. It created a new problem—what did Cassie tell Jack before she died? It was a loose end that had to be tied up.”
“Hence, the attempted shooting of Jack by Drake,” Pearl said.
Charlie shook his head and belched. “Doesn’t add up. They would never have sent Drake to do the hit with another cop around, even if he’s been a party to everything.”
“It does,” I said, “if you consider that the hit on Bautista wasn’t planned for the day it was attempted. Remember, I got the tip about where Jack was staying from Barry Eckstein on my way out of court. I planned to call the taskforce, but when I picked up Drake after his car broke down and told him what Eckstein had said, he insisted we check out the Pinewood Apartments first. When we were searching the complex, he saw Bautista and acted impulsively.”