Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller (21 page)

I spent a quiet night at home—too quiet. The feds were monitoring my phone, hoping I would hear from Jenson Moore or Lindsay, but no one called. The next morning when I got to the station, things heated up quickly on the Campbell Turner case. Mel got a call from Abby O’Dell, then gathered everyone together in the lieutenant’s office.

“O’Dell said she’s being held against her will near the beach, handcuffed in a trailer that belongs to Patrick Hopkins. She said Hopkins somehow learned that we’d contacted her. She described him as angry, drunk, and out of control.”

“Where is Hopkins now?” Edna asked.

“He went to the store, apparently for more booze, and forgot to take her phone away.”

“Where’s the trailer?”

“In the state park off Pacific Coast Highway, just south of Malibu.”

“Let’s contact the sheriff’s department and head over there. Maybe we can get there before Hopkins gets back.”

“Can I go?” I asked him.

“Yeah, but leave the dog here and keep a low profile. I don’t want the brass knowing you’re in the field.”

The state park where Abby O’Dell was being held was in the Santa Monica Mountains, on a hillside overlooking the ocean. The area featured miles of shoreline and rocky bluffs, with several hiking trails. We found the trailer where O’Dell had been held, but no sign of her or Patrick Hopkins.

“He must have come back and taken her,” Darby said. “They could be miles away by now.”

“Don’t bet on that,” I said. “I just checked with the sheriff’s department. They have a unit following Hopkins’ car. He’s heading south on PCH. Fast.”

Mel snatched the car keys out of Darby’s hand. “Get in. I’m driving.”

We followed the winding highway south along the ocean, getting updates from the sheriff’s dispatcher as we went.

We were in Ventura County, moving inland, when we got another call. “Our suspect is at Channel Islands State University. There’s a report that he’s on foot. No word on the victim.”

The state university was located on the grounds of a former psychiatric hospital, about five miles from the ocean. It was like going back in time as we entered the sprawling campus with 1930s Spanish architecture and signature bell tower. By the time we caught up to the pursuing sheriff’s unit, it was stopped behind a car at the college. Abby O’Dell was standing on the sidewalk, talking to an officer. There was no sign of Hopkins.

“He got out and ran into the parking garage,” O’Dell told us. “He’s drunk and talking crazy.”

We were headed over to check out the garage when a motorcycle came racing out of the exit, winding its way through the campus, and heading for the freeway.

“It’s Hopkins,” Mel said. “He’s probably going to head south, back toward LA. Let’s go.”

The pursuit of Hopkins was covered by all the media outlets, who sent their helicopters to cover the chase. Even though he was drunk, Hopkins was proficient on a motorcycle, leading a parade of police units on a winding high speed pursuit through the San Fernando Valley and back toward Los Angeles.

The police units fell behind when Hopkins took a narrow, winding lane through the hills before returning to surface streets. We got word from the highway patrol dispatch about what happened next.

“Suspect was last seen beneath the overpass to the 405 and 101 freeway. Our units are there now. They have his motorcycle, but there’s no sign of the suspect.”

By the time Mel, Darby, and I got there, we learned what happened from an on-scene sergeant, who spoke to us over the roar of cars on the freeway above us. “He forced their car off the road and hijacked it.” I saw him motion to a family that was huddled together beneath the overpass. “Our units have the make and model of their car, but he apparently slipped away in the flow of traffic.”

An hour later, we ended our search for Patrick Hopkins. He had done the impossible. While millions of TV viewers watched, helicopters circled overhead, and dozens of patrol cars were in pursuit, he’d gotten away in broad daylight.

We spent our afternoon questioning Abby O’Dell about what Patrick Hopkins had said and done while he held her captive. We learned that her former boyfriend had told her there was a lot more about what happened to Campbell Turner than anyone realized. He didn’t give her details, but said he was innocent and that if the truth ever came out about what happened, everyone would be shocked. Despite what Hopkins had purportedly said, O’Dell described him as a violent drunk and again told us she thought he was capable of murder.

After leaving work, Natalie called to remind me that she and Mo had a meeting with Howie to plan her payback for Izzy’s cheating. After my crazy day, I was in no mood for their nonsense, but she said they were going to get together with Howie in the back room at Musso & Frank’s, where his uncle was a waiter. I loved the food at the iconic Hollywood eatery and agreed to stop by for a few minutes on my way home. After finding my friends in a private room with Forrest Gump, I almost turned around and left.

“Mama always said Kate is like a box of chocolates,” Howie said, in the persona of the Tom Hanks movie character, as I took a seat at a table with him and my friends. He was wearing a tan suit and checkered shirt, buttoned to the top, like Forrest Gump from the film. “You never know if you’re gonna get grumpy Kate or depressed Kate.”

While Natalie and Mo laughed, a server from the bar brought me a martini, even though I’d just sat down and hadn’t ordered anything.

“It’s called a Splat,” Natalie said, referencing the drink she’d ordered for me. “Two of those and there’s a good chance you’ll just fall down and go splat.”

I glanced at Bernie, who was eyeballing some shrimp appetizers Mo was downing, and said, “If I go splat, promise to drag me home.”

“Mama also said stupid is as stupid does,” Howie, or Forrest, said.

There was more laughter that, I decided, I could only deal with by taking a big sip of my Splat. It tasted like a Manhattan on steroids, with enough whiskey to open a distillery.

While Howie went off to find his uncle, my friends asked me about my day. Natalie told me, “We saw that crazy chase on the telly. Do you think that Hopkins guy whacked Campbell?”

Hopkins’ name had somehow been picked up by the media, along with the fact that he was Campbell’s ex-boyfriend and might have had a hand in killing her.

“It’s too soon to say,” I told her. “He’s just wanted for questioning and several traffic violations at this point.”

“I heard some bad shit on the street ‘bout him,” Mo said, munching on her appetizer. “Word has it he’s crazier than a bird in a bucket of turds. You ask me, he had a hand in what happened to that poor girl.”

“That might be the case. Time will tell.”

Mo, who was wearing green dreadlocks tonight, fixed one of her dark eyes on me. “You doin’ okay, Kate?”

I exhaled. “I’m fine, just a little exhausted and worried about Lindsay.” I went on for a moment, telling them I hadn’t heard from her or Jenson Moore.

Natalie took a gulp of her Splat and asked me, “Any word on Pearl, or info about that bloke you found in the photograph in his closet?”

“Nothing, and I think the department is spinning its wheels on my father’s investigation.”

Natalie slapped me on the back. “Cheer up. We got us that appointment with Carla Manson comin’ up. She’s gonna help us both find new guys, make us feel like new women.”

I had visions of sitting in a shrink’s office, with a woman who looked like Charles Manson, as Howie came back into the room. He told everyone, “Earl’s bringing us the works, everything from peas to carrots.”

“Earl?” I said to my friends.

“Howie’s uncle,” Mo said. She looked at Howie, or Forrest. “I’m gonna need me something more substantial than veggies.”

“It’s just an expression,” Natalie assured her. “Earl’s gonna bring us Philly Minion.”

“What?” I said.

“I think baby sis means
filet mignon
,” Mo told me.

As Earl arrived, introduced himself, and began delivering mounds of food, Natalie began the discussion about the payback for her cheating boyfriend. “I want something big, something that will make the cheatin’ wazzock never forget what he did.”

“I gotta pee,” Howie said, getting up and dashing out of the room.

“The boy’s got his priorities,” Earl said, still delivering enough food to feed an army.

“Has Howie always been the way he is?” Natalie asked him. “I mean, a little on the different side.”

Earl regarded her. “You’re just lucky you haven’t seen his Freddie Krueger personality.” Howie’s uncle, who was in his fifties, with a slightly manic look, then fixed his eyes on us all. “None of you would ever be the same.”

Howie came back into the room and got right down to business, telling us about his plans for Izzy’s performance. “I’m still a part-time assistant during his magic show, so I’m in the perfect position to perform a miracle.”

“A miracle?” Mo said. “We just wanna have Izzy end up being a fool, not walk on water.”

“Mama said miracles happen all the time,” Howie told her. “You just gotta look for them.”

“What’s on your mind?” Natalie asked him.

Howie held up a hand and opened it as though it contained an invisible bird that he was releasing. “The greatest magic isn’t what you see,” he said, “it’s what you don’t.”

“Huh?” Mo said. She looked at me, chewing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Howie told her before I could answer, “that Izzy’s greatest illusion will be exposed for everyone to see. You just need to trust me.”

Natalie was working on her second Splat and gave us her thoughts. “I’m up for whatever you got in mind. Just make sure it’s spectacular.”

“Mama will be proud,” Izzy said, in the voice of Forrest Gump. “I’m not a smart man, but I know what magic is.”

We spent the next hour stuffing our faces. After we’d settled our bill and were on the sidewalk, Howie said his goodbyes, then added, “Did you know I can run like the wind...” He hesitated, scratching his head. “Or is it break wind and run?”

A moment later he was sprinting down the sidewalk and disappeared around a corner.

“I’ve never met anyone quite like him,” I told my friends.

Mo shook her dreadlocked head, agreeing with me, and in her best Forrest Gump voice said, “Life
is
like a box of chocolates, and you never know which ones are full of nuts.”

When I got home I took a long, hot shower, cursing the fact that I’d eaten half the food in Hollywood. I was watching a TV program about couples who went on dates in the nude and trying to imagine myself in their circumstances when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number as I answered.

“Kate, it’s me,” the subdued female caller said.

My sister’s voice sounded weak and strained, but I would recognize it anywhere. “Lindsay! Are you okay?”

“I’m...I need to meet with someone.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m...I’m not sure. Do you know a man named John Greer?”

“Yes. He’s...he was Joe Dawson’s boss.”

“I...I need to talk to him...tomorrow. It’s about what’s going to happen. Can you arrange for us to meet?”

“He’s with the FBI. I can take you to see him in the morning.”

After a hesitation, she came back on the line. “Okay, I’ll meet you at the police station at ten. You can take me from there.”

“Why do you need to see Greer? What’s going to happen?”

“I can’t talk anymore. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Lindsay!”

The line went dead. I hit redial, but no one picked up. I then called a technical analyst I knew with SID and had her try and trace where the call had originated. I got a call back, telling me there was a hit on a cell tower in Long Beach, but nothing more definitive.

It then took me an hour to track down John Greer. When I got him on the line, I explained what was happening. “Lindsay said she needs to meet with you about what’s going to happen next. She wouldn’t give me any other information, but I told her I would meet her at Hollywood Station, then bring her to the FBI building.”

“We’ll have our people watching your station. If Jenson Moore is with her or he drops her off, we’ll take him down.”

“Just be careful. I don’t want Lindsay hurt.”

“Understood. See you downtown in the morning, if not sooner.”

Lindsay’s call had left me restless and full of anxiety. An hour later, I went to bed, but as I tried to sleep, the
what if’s
constantly ran through my mind.

What if Lindsay showed up wearing a suicide vest again? What if my sister was actually working for Jenson Moore and wasn’t on our side? And, what if Lindsay had already been targeted by Moore to die after she delivered his message?

I spent a long, sleepless night, reliving the long, tortuous road that had brought me to this moment. I realized that my path had been full of people I’d never really known. I had a sister who I never knew existed until a few months ago. There was also my biological mother, someone I’d only met on her deathbed. My adoptive father then came to mind. While some vague memories about him had finally begun to surface, I’d never really known him either.

I knew in that moment that my entire life had been shrouded in mystery. And then another unknown came to mind, the biggest mystery of all. Who was the father I’d never met, the man who had disowned me when I was born?

My entire life felt like it was crashing down around me. The power I’d felt after my meeting with Francesca now seemed lost. Something told me that tomorrow would either be a turning point in everything or it would signal the beginning of the end; the final thing that would push me so far into the darkness that I might never see the light again.