Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller (19 page)

“I don’t have a clue about what to do,” I said to Natalie and Mo a half hour later.

I’d met up with my friends on the street where they’d parked, and we’d driven to a restaurant on Pacific Coast Highway. After she’d delivered Jenson Moore’s message, Lindsay had left, disappearing back into the trees. She told me that if I tried to follow her, Moore would detonate the suicide vest, killing us both.

“You gonna kill that Joe Dawson bloke to save your sister?” Natalie asked, demonstrating her usual bluntness, before taking a bite of her muffin.

“Of course she ain’t,” Mo said, halting a spoonful of mud pie in midair. Her dark eyes regarded me. “Are you?”

“I can’t, but if I don’t...” I sighed. “The situation is impossible.”

“Maybe you should tell your lieutenant ‘bout everything,” Natalie suggested.

“Or Dawson himself,” Mo added, swallowing.

“I can’t. You heard Lindsay say before she left that if I told anyone, she would be killed.”

“I think this is what you call disorder in the energy field,” Natalie said.

I took a sip of iced tea. “What are you talking about?”

“The universe just sent out a pulse wave that defies the laws of nature. You gotta put order back in the galaxy.”

I looked at Mo. “Has she been watching sci-fi movies?”

Mo shrugged, dug into the pie. “Not sure, but she’s right. You gotta find a way to restore things.”

“It’s an impossible situation,” I said. “Even if I did kill Joe, which I couldn’t, I know it wouldn’t save Lindsay. Moore would just find another way to use her again in one of his schemes.”

“But if Joe lives, Lindsay dies for sure,” Natalie said. “I think this is what’s called Morton’s Fork.”

“What?”

“When I was a little girl, me daddy explained it as being a fork in the road, each fork leadin’ to someplace you don’t wanna go. Either way, fate’s yankin’ on your vag-pubes and you end up screwed.”

“That sounds like the perfect explanation for my entire life.” I exhaled and rose. “I’ve got a raging headache. I’m going to drive down the coast and spend the weekend at my mom’s cousin’s house in Laguna Beach and try to sort things out.”

“But what you gonna do ‘bout Dawson?” Mo asked.

“I’m having dinner with him Sunday night, so...” The pounding in my temples felt like my head would explode. “I guess I need to come up with something before then.”

***

I called Robin and made arrangements for him to keep Bernie for the weekend. Two hours later, I was walking on the beach, trying to sort things out. I went over what Lindsay had told me at least a hundred times, but saw no way out of my dilemma. The one thing that did seem certain to me was that Jenson Moore had some kind of issue with Joe Dawson—an issue that was bad enough to want him dead. I realized I had no choice but to call Joe and find out what that issue was.

I got Joe on the line and we chatted for a few minutes. I then asked him about Moore. “I’ve done a little research into his background and just wondered if you two ever crossed paths.”

He didn’t respond right away. For a moment I thought maybe the call had been dropped. Finally, he said, “Why are you asking?”

I realized I’d touched a nerve. “Moore is central to our case. He’s been on the terror watch list. He just sounds like the kind of person you might have run across.”

I heard him breathing heavily and a tinkling sound in the background, maybe ice in a glass. It occurred to me that he’d been drinking.

“What I’m going to tell you is strictly confidential. As far as I know, John Greer and his superiors are the only ones who know about this.”

“You have my word.”

“About three years ago, I was part of a taskforce assigned to surveil Moore. We watched his place of business and residence over a number of weeks. One night we positively ID’d a major illegal arms dealer, who had a federal warrant out, as being at the residence. A raid went down and there was lots of resistance. Moore’s wife and daughter were killed in the shootout, and he blamed me.”

“Did you shoot them?”

“No. Like I said, there was a great deal of resistance. The house went up in flames during the firefight. Moore got out, but not the wife and kid. It was a bad scene.”

“Was he charged during the arrest?”

“Yeah, but he hired a high-priced mouthpiece, who eventually worked a deal. He pled to a lesser charge, did a year in a federal white collar prison, and was released.”

“Why was all this hushed up?”

“Not sure exactly. I heard it was part of the plea agreement and had something to do with the government not ruining his reputation. His record was expunged, and we were ordered never to discuss what happened.”

While I now knew why Moore wanted Joe Dawson dead, it also seemed likely to me that the terrorist knew that Dawson and I were friends. Having me kill Dawson and putting Lindsay in the middle of everything was probably his idea of the perfect setup. I had to give him credit for that—there was no better bind.

“You still there, Buttercup?”

“Yeah. I was just processing what you said.”

“Doesn’t really change anything. Jenson Moore’s a terrorist and a killer whose DNA needs to be erased from the planet. I’m the one that’s going to do that.”

We chatted for a few minutes longer before I told Joe I would see him Sunday night and ended the call.

I walked along the edge of the water for the better part of an hour as the stark reality that either Lindsay or Joe had to die settled in. Tears sprang from my eyes as the realization swept over me. I was sure Jenson Moore had carefully planned the choice he’d set in place and had reasoned that I would choose blood over friendship. The terrorist had reasoned correctly. He’d left me with no options.

I fell onto the sand, weeping. My friend, the man who I knew had developed strong feelings, maybe even love, for me had to die to save my sister.

There was no other option.

I spent a long weekend struggling with my emotions and my dilemma. When Sunday afternoon finally came, I managed to wall off my feelings. I’d spent a lifetime struggling with my emotions, trying to make the right choices, and too often failing. The time for sentiment was over. I had a single purpose now and had come to terms with a simple truth: sometimes you have to do the wrong thing to do the right thing. My sister had saved my life by killing the man who had murdered my father and stalked me. She had killed her own father. It was time for me to repay that debt.

Joe texted me just before six and said his plane had landed. We agreed to meet at a restaurant called Bailey’s in Malibu. I’d been to the place a couple times. It had an oceanfront deck and direct access to the beach. It was the perfect place to kill my friend.

I stopped by my house and dressed casually for the night, slipping into a pair of skinny jeans, a silk blouse, a navy blue blazer, and a pair of Jimmy Choo flats that I’d splurged on. I then found the small unregistered and untraceable revolver in my closet and tucked it into my waistband. I was about to leave when Natalie and Mo knocked on my door. As usual, they barged in without being invited.

“I’ve only got a moment,” I said. “I’m meeting Joe for dinner in Malibu.”

“Whatcha gonna do?” Mo demanded, levelling one eye on me.

“You gonna whack Joe?” Natalie asked.

I cleared my throat and tried to keep my voice even. “Whatever happens tonight, I need you both to swear your allegiance to me. You can’t ever say anything to anyone about tonight’s events.”

“You’re gonna do it, aren’t you?” Mo said, tugging on a strand of blonde wig hair. “You’re gonna kill him.”

“I’m going to save my sister. That’s all you need to know.”

“There must be another way,” Natalie said. “You gotta tell somebody, maybe do a raid on that scollywop Moore’s house and save Lindsay.”

“I have no idea where he is.”

I took a step closer to them. “I need you both to promise me on our friendship that whatever happens, you will remain forever silent about tonight’s events.”

I got lots of grumbling before they finally agreed. I was about to leave when Mo came over and hugged me. “Whatever you do, just be careful, Kate.”

Natalie came over and embraced us both. “You’re our sister,” she said to me. “We love you no matter what happens.”

***

I got to Bailey’s just after eight and found Joe already sitting at a table on the patio. He looked tanned and relaxed, casually dressed in slacks and an open collar blue shirt.

We exchanged hugs, and he said, “You get better looking every time I see you.”

I laughed and took a seat across from him. “You’re a liar, but thanks.”

We ordered drinks and chatted about our weekend. “I just spent some time at my mom’s cousin’s house at the beach,” I said, then lied. “It was very relaxing.”

“Did a little fishing on a lake not too far from my house. Lots of beer, but no fish.”

“Taking a break from chasing killers?”

He swirled the beer in his glass. “There’s only one killer I’m after right now. His name is Jenson Moore.”

We clinked glasses. “What makes the FBI think Moore’s in this area now?”

His gaze moved around the room. It occurred to me that maybe he thought we were being watched. “Just a tip that he’s been seen in the area.”

The server came over, and we ordered. When he was gone, Joe mentioned my friends. “Those two staying out of trouble?”

“They almost got arrested the other night, but it was for a good cause.” I told him about their flash ‘n’ dash protest.

He chuckled. “I’ve got an image in my mind of those two running around, flashing and dashing all over the city, and causing all kinds of trouble.”

“They’re a handful, but they are my best friends.”

He then changed the subject, mentioning the photograph I’d found in Pearl’s closet. “You learn anything more about...sorry, forget his name.”

“Tom Knight.” I shook my head. “The detectives assigned to my father’s case are looking into his background, but, so far, there’s nothing new.”

“And Pearl?”

“Same. Nothing.”

He took a sip of his beer, then said, “I’ve been thinking about him and the fact that he’s gone missing. Maybe he’s closer than you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pearl was a detective, a trained investigator. If he went missing of his own volition, it means he did that for his, and maybe your safety. I think it also means he’s investigating what happened to your father on his own terms.”

I took a sip of my drink, thinking about what he said. “Maybe. It just seems...” I took a moment, trying to find words to express what I was feeling. “I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell me, or someone else, what he’s up to.”

“Probably because he doesn’t want anyone else to become a target.” He reached over and touched my hand. “I’ve got a feeling he’s going to turn up soon.”

“I hope so.” I took a moment, adding, “It seems like I’ve waited a lifetime for answers and they never come. I guess in some ways I’m still that lost little girl who misses her father.”

He studied me, nodding. “I can relate. With my dad...and my brother both gone, I know what it means to be alone in the world. Friends are one thing, but family...” He took a breath, “...there’s just no substitute.”

We spent another hour chatting about our lives, before finishing our meals. After we settled the bill, I pushed down my anxiety and said, “Why don’t we take a walk along the beach?”

We spent the next twenty minutes walking along the sand and chatting about our lives. I again had that sense that his feelings for me were more than just friendship when we stopped and he looked into my eyes.

“Did you ever think we were meant to be together?” he said.

I wasn’t sure how to respond.

He smiled and continued. “We’re both broken, Kate. Damaged goods. I was broken as a little kid, trying to deal with a hero father and a brother who was an overachiever.”

I sighed, realizing how our pasts had affected us both. “And I was broken as a child when my father died.”

He took a step closer to me. “Like I said, we’re a pair, meant to be together.”

He kissed me on the cheek. I felt conflicted for an instant, unsure about what I was feeling. Then my sister entered my thoughts and I knew what I had to do.

I took a step back, removed the gun from my waistband, and said, “I think there’s some truth to what you just said, Joe. Our fates are sealed together—forever. I’m sorry.”

His pale blue eyes were wide as they fixed on the weapon I held in my hand. I then moved the gun up and shot him twice in the chest.

“Other than having a couple of bruises from those blanks you shot me with, I’m feeling pretty good for a dead man,” Joe Dawson said the next morning when he called.

His “murder” had been staged for the benefit of the Swarm and Jenson Moore after I’d realized that I had no choice but to tell both him and John Greer about my meeting with Lindsay. Greer’s plan was to release a statement that Joe had been shot and killed by an unknown assailant.

Joe went on. “Moore might have thought he had the perfect setup, but there is no perfect setup. And, when the game is fixed, you only have one choice: change the rules of the game.”

“What happens now?”

“I’m invisible until we get something solid on Moore and your sister. As far as everyone is concerned, I’m dead.”

The FBI issued a press release later that day, announcing Joe’s death, so that Jenson Moore would believe I’d kept my part of the bargain. I could only pray that the terrorist would reciprocate and release Lindsay. It was now a waiting game, and, as usual, Moore held all the cards.

Monday morning, I went into work, telling everyone that staying busy was the best way for me to deal with what happened. Edna gathered everyone in his office and made the official announcement about Joe’s death.

After my colleagues expressed their condolences, the lieutenant told me, “The feds still want you involved in their case. They will be in contact with you this week about scheduling a meeting at FBI headquarters.”

After some more discussion about the effect Joe’s death would have on the fed’s investigation, the lieutenant moved on, asking Darby and Mel for an update on Campbell Turner and the other killings.

“We talked to Jimmy Castello yesterday,” Darby said. He looked at his partner. “I’ll let her tell you about it, since I had to wear a muzzle.”

I had the impression that Mel was barely tolerating her big-mouth partner as she took over. “Castello admitted that he and his daughter had a rocky relationship, but denied it was as bad as Campbell’s makeup artist told us. We asked about her drug use. He said Campbell had some issues with depression, but he expressed shock and dismay when we told him she was using heroin.” Mel brushed her dark hair off her forehead, adding, “He wasn’t surprised when we told him Lambert was cheating on Campbell, but said he thought his daughter had been faithful to him. I don’t think he was very happy with us when we left.”

“That’s an understatement,” Edna said. “He’s got a press conference scheduled for noon today. According to Dunbar, he’s going to tell the press he thinks someone else is involved in his daughter’s death and that the investigation has been mishandled.”

“He’s probably right about someone else being involved,” I said, unable to keep my mouth shut, even though I wasn’t actively working the case. I looked at Mel. “Anything happening on an ID of our composite drawing?”

She shook her head. “The brass has some doubts about the neighbor’s reliability and memory. They’re still trying to decide whether or not to release it to the press.”

“I think we’re stalled out on everything,” Darby said.

“Then we’d better get unstalled,” Edna growled. “Section One’s on the line, and we could all be reassigned, sooner, rather than later.” He dragged a hand through his messy hair. “I want you to get together with Selfie and Molly. Take another look at everything and everyone. I think something’s been missed.” He looked at me. “You can help them out, as long as you stay out of the active part of the investigation.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I said. “I’m still doing some follow-up for Markley and Waters on the Slayer case.”

“Why are you poking your nose into an RHD case?” Darby asked.

I saw no reason to tell them about involving SID unless something new was discovered regarding the evidence. “Just closing things out.”

I spent the rest of the day in an office going over the details of our three murders. The more we sifted through the evidence, the more convinced I was that Edna was right. Something had been missed, I just had no idea what. Late in the day, Selfie got a lead on what that something might be.

“When Campbell’s house was initially processed during the investigation,” Selfie said, “there were some letters found in her closet from an old boyfriend. I just cross-referenced his name with students who attended Michigan State at the same time Campbell was a student there. The guy’s name is Patrick Hopkins. Maybe he’s worth checking out.”

“Does he live in the area?” Darby asked.

“Chicago. He’s an attorney there.”

“Waste of time.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Ancient history, the guy has no ties to this area, and he’s too young to be a make for our composite drawing.”

I looked at Mel. “We’ve got nothing else to go on. I think he’s worth taking a look at.”

“Agreed,” Mel said, looking at Selfie. “Let’s do a full bio and background check. See if he’s ever been in this area.”

Darby grumbled, “Whatever.”

Late in the day we reassembled in the conference room, where Selfie and Molly told us what they’d pulled together on Hopkins.

“He’s a trip and slip specialist in Chicago,” Selfie said. “He’s got his own team of ambulance chasers there and has made a small fortune. He’s been in the process of expanding his enterprise to California. He passed the bar here about six months ago.”

“That means he might have been in this area,” Mel said.

Molly nodded. “He’s rented office space in the Wilshire Corridor and is lining up his legal team.”

“Which puts him in close proximity to Campbell.”

“There’s something else,” Selfie said. “He was arrested for a DUI on New Year’s Eve. The reports show a woman named Abby O’Dell was in the car with him. She wasn’t arrested, but we have her address. The reports indicated she was his girlfriend.”

“Let’s go talk to her tomorrow,” Mel said to her partner.

He shrugged. “It’s not like we have anything else to do.”

Mel looked at me. “Maybe the lieutenant will let you go with us.”

“She’s still on the beach,” Darby said, “probably facing discipline for having a big mouth.”

I started to respond, but decided the little worm wasn’t worth the effort. I said to Mel, “Let me know what you turn up. I’ll be in a lounge chair, under an umbrella, sipping a drink.”

***

I was about to leave the station when Mel came by my desk. We chatted for a few minutes as she again expressed her condolences about Joe’s death. She then said, “Would you be interested in getting a bite to eat? My treat for you having to put up with my partner.”

I laughed and pulled my coat off the back of my chair. “Since we both have to put up with him, maybe we should treat one another.”

We went to the Pig ‘n Whistle on Hollywood Boulevard, not too far from the station. I remembered that Pearl had been seen there and scanned the patrons as we found seats and ordered drinks. After I settled Bernie down and was satisfied that Pearl was nowhere in sight, I thanked her for having dinner with me.

She sipped her soda, then said, “Like I said, it’s the least I can do for you putting up with Darby.”

“I honestly don’t know how you stand him.”

“It might not be much longer if Dunbar makes good on his threat to get rid of Section One.”

We went on, chatting about our assignment for a few minutes, Mel telling me that she was much happier working at Hollywood Station than in the Police Administration Building. After our food arrived, she mentioned the investigation into my adoptive father’s homicide.

“I want to apologize to you for not being more proactive about reopening the investigation earlier. I was...” She shook her head, breaking eye contact for a moment. “...I guess you could say I was taking the party line, worried about trying to score promotion points. I was wrong.”

I thanked her for what she’d said, then told her, “I never understood the resistance to reopening the investigation. Do you know who was behind that?”

“Commander Miles told me that much of it was coming from David Bronson, one of the deputy chiefs.”

I’d only met Bronson once, but knew he had more than thirty years on the job and the political clout that came with his position. It could be that he’d had some issues with my adoptive dad in the past.

Mel continued. “Of course, Dunbar was also against reopening the case.”

“Speaking of Dunbar, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” I took a moment, knowing this was a difficult subject for her. I tried to choose my words carefully. “You told me before about...” I lowered my voice, “...our chief using drugs on the women he was involved with in the past. I’m thinking that issue needs to be exposed.”

Her gaze moved off for a moment. “What are you suggesting?”

“There’s someone I know. I want to meet with her and discretely tell her about Dunbar’s past. You don’t have to worry, I would leave you completely out of the discussion.”

She took some time before responding. I could tell the subject weighed heavily on her. “You’re talking about a reporter?” I nodded. “If Dunbar ever found out that either you or I went to the press...” Her eyes fixed on me. “I think he would be a very dangerous adversary.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but if the rumors are true and there are women out there who were raped, it’s the right thing to do.”

She took another long moment, then nodded her head. “Okay, but please be sure my name isn’t mentioned. Maybe I’m a coward, but I don’t want anything to do with our new chief—ever.”