Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller (8 page)

I got to work a few minutes early, where I found Leo already at his desk. My big partner was a morning person, whereas I was…I wasn’t sure what I was anymore, except an insomniac. I’d spent a restless night with images of my sister, Jenson Moore, and Harlee Ryland swimming through my mind.

“Welcome back,” Leo said, as I took a seat, and Bernie settled at my feet. He complimented me on my new hairdo, then said, “I heard you had an eventful week in New York.”

I took a sip of the latte I’d bought on the way to work. “You might say that.”

“Any word on that Jenson Moore fellow?”

“In the wind, but with half the federal government looking for him, he’s bound to surface.”
Like on Friday night.
“How are things around here?”

“Warm weather, cold cases. Edna wants to meet in a few. Rumor has it he’s ready to move on from the Slayer.”

“We can’t just move on. What about Barbara Slauson and the other victims?”

Leo mentioned attending Slauson’s funeral, then added, “According to Mel, MRS is trying to spin things with the press for the chief. Our suspect has gone to ground, and since Dunbar’s new to his job, he wants to distance himself from an unsolved case.”

I exhaled and ran a hand through my hair. “Why am I not surprised? Did I ever mention that I hate politics, not to mention the brass?”

Leo had his perpetual smile. “Once or twice.” His gaze shifted, his dark eyes fixing on something across the room. I glanced in that direction and saw my former partner coming into the building.

“Is that really Charlie?” I said.

“He looks like he got a haircut.”

“And a new suit.” I stood, and Bernie came up to my side. “I’m going to go over and say hello.”

My former partner had a history of drinking and gambling problems, not to mention making poor choices when it came to the opposite sex. I found Charlie at a temporary workstation and took a seat across from him while Bernie settled at my feet. In addition to the new clothes, it was obvious that he’d also used some black hair dye on his graying sideburns.

“You look like a new man,” I said.

He straightened his tie and smiled. It was a tell. Charlie only smiled if he was getting laid. “I feel like a new man since I dumped that shrew Jessica.”

“I see you got a new wardrobe.”

“I had a few bucks left over from that money your ex-landlord gave me. I let your friends take me shopping.”

“The SharkMamas?”

“Yeah, they said some nonsense about doing makeovers.” Charlie lowered his voice. “I do have a little problem that I could use your help with, though.”

“If you’re going to ask for money, I’m broke.”

He shook his head, his fleshy jowls jiggling. “I need some advice.”

“About?”

His voice came down a notch. “Sex.”

As former partners, Charlie and I had shared information about our personal lives. In recent years he’d become obsessed with sex, so his request wasn’t too surprising.

“I think maybe you should talk to the SharkMamas,” I said. “They’re experts on the subject, and I’m out of circulation.”

“I don’t think they would understand.”

My brows inched together. Bernie lifted his head, maybe also wondering about Charlie’s problem. “What gives?”

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I met someone, but I’ve got something going on down there when we get physical, if you know what I mean.” He lowered his gaze to a place I didn’t want to think about.

Really? You’re asking me about erection problems, Charlie?

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” I said.

“I don’t have a doctor, and if I did, it’s not something I could talk to him about.” His voice was still barely audible, his gaze scanning the office to make sure we couldn’t be overheard. He looked back at me. “I’ve turned into some kind of freak.”

It was against my better judgment, but I said, “What exactly is your problem?”

“I’m ah…”

He whispered something that I couldn’t understand. “What did you say?”

His words were barely audible. “I’m red.”

“Red?”

“Yeah, down there.” It took every ounce of strength I possessed not to burst out laughing as he went on. “Suzie, she’s my new girlfriend, she said she’s never seen anything like it. I swell up and look like a tomato when we get frisky.” He looked around to make sure we were still alone. “You ever heard of that happening to a guy—I mean, all of a sudden? Maybe it’s some kind of blockage.”

I gulped in a breath and put my hand over my mouth. “It’s a new one on me.” I started to go on, but had to stop to keep from laughing. It took me several seconds, but I finally found some composure. “Maybe you should google your condition.”

“I did. There’s nothing about it on the Internet. I think I’m one of a kind.”

I looked over and saw that Leo was heading for Edna’s office. I looked back at Charlie as I rose. “I’ve got to go. I still think you should see a doctor. I’m sure he’s seen everything, including a red…” My voice pitched higher as I said, “…penis.” It came out as a half-laugh. I took a moment, then added, “Sorry, I really need to run.”
Rudolph!

When I got to the bat cave, Bernie trotted off to a corner for his morning nap.

Leo must have seen my lack of composure as I took a seat next to him, across from Darby and Mel. “Everything okay?”

I nodded, stifling another wave of mirth. I tried to speak, but lost control and it came out as a blast of laughter that went on for several seconds. I finally regained enough composure to say, “Sorry. I think maybe I’m just delirious from lack of sleep.”

“She’s goofier than ever from working with the feds,” Darby said to Mel. “I’ve heard some people never recover.”

“What’s going on?” Mel demanded of me.

I took a couple deep breaths. “It’s nothing.” I did my best to control myself, but burst out laughing again as Edna came into the room with our two crime analysts.

“Did somebody put fucking laughing gas in the air conditioning vents?” the lieutenant asked, making a point of using his favorite adjective.

I finally got myself under control. “Sorry. I’m just…” I took a breath. “…maybe I’m stressed out.”

“Well, get fucking unstressed.” Edna looked at Darby. “You wanna tell them?”

“The Slayer case is going to Markley and Waters. Section One is out.”

My laughter of a minute earlier now seemed like ancient history. Even though Leo had warned me about this, I felt my anger surfacing.

“This is wrong,” I said to Edna. “We’ve got multiple victims, including one of our own, and…”

The lieutenant held up a hand. “Don’t you think I know that? The decision came from on high.” His eyes bore into me. “You might also be interested to know that Horton and Braden have been moved to the PAB, along with the investigation into the attack on you and your father’s old murder case.”

The PAB was the Police Administrative Building.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“It’s been deemed a special interest case.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“It’s Chief Dunbar’s new baby. He wants to keep certain cases close to administration.”

“Cases that might cause him problems. He’s just trying to keep me out of it.”

“It’s the right call,” Mel said. “You’re too close to it with it being at the division level.”

My eyes bore into her. “I don’t recall anyone asking for your opinion.”

“If I have an opinion, I’m going to express…”

“Enough!” Edna barked. “These decisions have been made. We’re moving on.” He looked at our crime analysts, Selfie Rogers and Molly Wingate. “Let’s talk about Turner.”

While I did a slow burn, Selfie, the younger of our two analysts, who had a fondness for different hair colors and piercings, began laying out our new case.

“Campbell Turner, an actress on the soap opera
Stolen Desires,
was found beaten to death on her living room floor last night,” Selfie said, tucking a strand of blue hair behind one ear. “She was found by Blake Lambert, her boyfriend, who’s also an actor. Lambert said that Luke Morgan, a stagehand that Campbell worked with on her set, was in the home when he arrived and came after him with the hammer used on Campbell. He said he had a gun that he always carried, confronted Morgan, and shot him when he came after him. Selfie looked at her counterpart. “Molly has the 911 tape and some photos of the crime scene.”

Molly used a remote to activate one of the overhead monitors. “I’ll put up some still shots, as well as some video taken last night by the responding detectives, while I play the audio.”

In a moment, we saw the bloody photographs of the crime scene and heard the recording of the dispatcher’s voice.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“My girlfriend…she’s…” The man’s voice, who I assumed was Blake Lambert, trailed off as he broke down crying.

“She’s what?”

“She’s been killed…oh, God…I need help. Please!”

After the dispatcher confirmed the address and Lambert said the victim wasn’t breathing, she asked him what happened. It took him several seconds to respond. “I…I got here a few minutes ago and found her…there was a man with a hammer who attacked her. He came after me and I had to shoot him.”

Lambert went on in fits of starts and stops, telling the dispatcher that the intruder was Luke Morgan, who worked at Klondike Studios, where his girlfriend’s TV show was filmed. He said that Morgan had been stalking Campbell in recent weeks. The audio went on with Lambert breaking down several times until the responding officers arrived at the scene.

“As you can see from the photographs, our victim suffered multiple blows from the hammer,” Selfie said.

“The autopsy?” Edna asked.

“Pending. Not sure if it’s been scheduled yet.”

“This is more video of the crime scene,” Molly said, activating another monitor.

We saw images of the body, with a trail of blood behind it. It looked like Campbell Turner had been chased as she’d suffered multiple hammer blows before succumbing. There were numerous blunt force injuries to her head.

The camera swung around, and we now saw images of Luke Morgan’s body on the floor about ten feet from Turner. There was a gun near the body that I assumed was Lambert’s.

“According to the responding officers,” Molly said, “Morgan suffered two gunshot wounds, one to the upper torso and one to the head.” The camera panned around in another direction, and we saw a man sitting in a chair. Molly added, “That’s Blake Lambert. As Selfie mentioned, he’s also an actor. He’s had some walk-on roles in TV shows and has done a few commercials.”

Lambert’s face was puffy and red. It was apparent that he’d been crying. Molly mentioned that he was thirty-four years of age, he lived in North Hollywood, and was divorced.

“What do we know about Luke Morgan?” Leo asked, after the overhead monitors were turned off.

Molly answered. “He was twenty-nine, lived with his parents. He had a history of drug use and mental illness. His mother said he was bipolar, but that he was never violent. She said Luke did handyman work, and speculated he might have gone by Campbell’s place to give her a quote. She doesn’t believe he murdered Campbell.”

“But he was infatuated with her,” Darby said, apparently already familiar with the details of the case.

“Mom said he sent Campbell flowers a couple of weeks ago on her thirtieth birthday as a thank-you for her kindness to him. She said her son always talked fondly about her, but she didn’t think there was any kind of stalking going on like Lambert said.”

“So we’ve got a mentally ill stagehand who becomes infatuated with our victim,” Mel said, playing out a scenario. “He sends flowers to her, then comes by her house. Something happens between them, maybe she rebuffs his advances, and he bludgeons her to death with a hammer. The victim’s boyfriend comes by, finds her murdered, and shoots Morgan when he turns on him. It sounds pretty cut and dried to me.”

“What do we know about the murder weapon?” I asked our crime analysts.

“It belonged to Lambert,” Selfie said. “He said he left it in Campbell’s garage with his toolbox when he’d repaired her fence a few weeks earlier. The hammer was a gift from his father when he was a boy and had his initials engraved on it.”

“And the gun?”

“As you saw from the video, it was found on the floor a few feet from Morgan’s body. It was unregistered. Lambert said he always carried it for protection, even though he didn’t have a permit.”

“Why is this case coming to Section One?” I asked Edna.

“Campbell Turner’s father is Jimmy Castello.”

“Who?”

“The TV detective,” Darby said.

“Used to be,” Edna corrected.

“I always thought that guy looked like he should be a member of the mafia, instead of a detective,” Darby said.

“Detective Skip Conrad, NYPD’s best and baddest,” Leo told him.

I now remembered seeing the TV show a few times. Castello had created a TV character that had won national acclaim a few years back. He was a no-nonsense, tough-talking cop, who solved what seemed like impossible cases. It was nothing like real life police work, but the role had made him famous.