Hollywood Murder

by M. Z. Kelly

  HOLLYWOOD MURDER

  MZ Kelly

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS:

  SPECIAL OFFERS:

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-ONE

  SIXTY-TWO

  SIXTY-THREE

  SIXTY-FOUR

  SIXTY-FIVE

  SIXTY-SIX

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  SIXTY-NINE

  SEVENTY

  SEVENTY-ONE

  SEVENTY-TWO

  SEVENTY-THREE

  SEVENTY-FOUR

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  More by This Author:

  COMING SOON

  ONE

  Collin Russell pointed a gun at my head.

  The man, who I’d at one time thought might be my biological father, had been a friend of my deceased mother. He had a son named Kellen Malone, who had possibly killed the man who raised me, along with Jean Winslow, one of the most famous stars in Hollywood history.

  “Don’t do this,” I said, at the same time thinking about my boyfriend. After years of loneliness and bad choices in relationships, I’d finally put my shattered personal life back together. Noah and I had recently professed our love to one another. Our future together was now in the hands of the madman holding me at gunpoint.

  Russell’s hand tensed on the weapon. “I’m sorry.”

  I waited for the bullet that would crash into my skull, ending my life and my dreams for the future. Russell’s attention appeared to shift for an instant. I saw a slight tremor and his hand relaxed. He dropped the gun. It bounced on the tile floor and skidded away from him.

  Tears sprang from my adversary’s eyes. “I don’t know what possessed me.”

  I scrambled over and got the weapon, at the same time Russell fell on his knees, sobbing like a child.

  I held the gun on him, taking several deep breaths and trying to steady my nerves. I thought about my options. I could call for a police unit and have him arrested for attempted murder, but I knew how the system worked. Russell was a billionaire philanthropist. Given his wealth and influence, he’d likely go down for a lesser charge, maybe even be released on probation for attempted assault.

  I decided to use the weapon as a communication tool. There’s nothing like the motivation that comes from pointing a gun at someone to loosen their lips.

  I motioned to a table in the corner of the sunroom. “Let’s have a little chat.”

  “I need a moment,” Russell said. He went over, found some tissues, and blew his nose. I followed him just to make sure he didn’t have a change of heart and another gun.

  I should probably explain how I ended up in a Malibu mansion, narrowly escaping death at the hands of Collin Russell, while trying to find a killer. For that you’re going to need some background.

  My name is Kate Sexton. I’m a detective with LAPD’s Robbery Homicide Division or RHD. My canine partner Bernie and I are assigned to Section One, a homicide unit that operates out of Hollywood Station and handles some of the department’s highest profile cases. Bernie, a cross between a German Shepherd and an unknown species, possibly related to the Star Wars creature Chewbacca, is the first ever canine assigned to RHD. When he isn’t taking down bad guys my big dog is always looking for trouble in the form of love. He’d already sired a couple of love puppies and I had my doubts that he had finished sowing his wild oats.

  Bernie was spending the day with my best friends, Natalie and Mo, who live next door to us, at the Barkley Bungalows, an apartment complex in North Hollywood. Natalie’s in her early twenties, British, and gorgeous, with a mouth that would make a Las Vegas comedian blush. Mo is her opposite. She’s African-American and heavyset, with an attitude that makes the women on those real housewives TV shows look tame by comparison. My friends work as part-time actors on a sitcom called Hollywood Girlz and as private investigators known as the Sweet Sistahs. They try to insert themselves into my cases every chance they get, not to mention my personal life, which, thanks to Noah, was finally back on track.

  Russell finished drying his eyes and went over to the table with me. I’d come here wanting answers about Kellen Malone, who I’d just learned was Russell’s son, and might possibly be responsible for ordering the murder of John Sexton, the man who raised me.

  When we were seated, I said, “Tell me about your son.”

  “Kellen.” He sighed. “Where do I begin?”

  “I want to hear everything.”

  Russell brushed his thinning gray hair off his forehead. He was in his sixties, tall, with green eyes and olive skin. The similarities in our height and features were part of the reason I’d previously thought he might be my biological father. The one-time actor had appeared in some movies with my deceased mother, Judie Crawford, about three decades earlier.

  “As you know, I was married before I came to terms with my sexuality,” Russell said. “After I came out, my marriage ended along with my relationship with Kellen.”

  “Because he didn’t accept that you’re gay?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to my son…” He sighed and choked up, “…since he threatened to kill me if I ever told anyone I was his father.”

  My eyebrows inched closer together. “I don’t understand. What destroyed your relationship with your son?”

  Russell controlled his emotions and his watery eyes fixed on me. “My son is a monster.”

  TWO

  “Tell me about him.” I still had the weapon in my hand but lowered it, concealing it beneath the table.

  Russell made a chortling sound that fell short of laughter. He started to say something about his son’s wealth and influence, but stopped in mid-sentence, “Thi
s is all about John, isn’t it?”

  Russell knew that I’d recently learned that John Sexton was not my biological father. My love-dad, as I call him, had been involved with my bio-mom, Judie Crawford, at one time. After they’d broken up, Judie had gotten pregnant by another man and had given birth to me.

  Judie’s mentally unstable former boyfriend and future husband, Ryan Cooper, had subsequently come back into her life. She was so concerned that Cooper might harm both her and me if he ever learned she’d given birth while they were estranged that she’d made the life-altering decision to give me to my love-dad to raise. Four years after I was born, he was gunned down by Cooper in a local park right in front of me. I’d come to believe that he’d been killed in a jealous rage after Cooper learned that my mother had been romantically involved with him at one time. I’d only recently learned that his death might have been part of a conspiracy to cover up the murder of the actress, Jean Winslow.

  I confirmed what Russell had speculated, adding, “John Sexton raised me and I want to know who, besides Ryan Cooper, was involved in his death.” When he didn’t respond, I said, “Tell me how your son fits into the picture. I know he was involved with Jean Winslow at one time.”

  Russell took a moment, his gaze drifting over to the easels set up in his sunroom. He was a painter, of a sort. The room was cluttered with works in progress and art supplies. He finally looked back at me and said, “My son and Donald Regis stopped at nothing to control the studios and the stars back in the 1980s. It’s just a guess on my part, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Jean became the prize both men coveted and she ended up paying the price.”

  Donald Regis was a Hollywood producer. He’d recently committed suicide, but I suspected someone might have helped him along with that process. Jean Winslow’s death had also been officially ruled a suicide back in the early 1980s, but there had been lots of speculation to the contrary over the years. “Do you think Winslow was murdered?”

  He shrugged. “I have no personal knowledge about what happened, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  I had reason to believe that my love-dad might have found out Winslow’s death hadn’t been a suicide and that either Donald Regis or Kellen Malone had murdered her. My dad had been a police officer and worked part-time at the studios doing security work where he’d befriended Winslow. I’d also learned that Ryan Cooper, who worked at the studios as a make-up artist, had connections to Regis.

  “Do you think your son could have killed John Sexton to cover up Winslow’s death?”

  “Anything’s possible, but I have no way of knowing and it wouldn’t be healthy for me to speculate.”

  I held on his eyes until he flinched, his gaze moving off. “You’re afraid of him—your son.”

  He looked back at me and nodded. “Please do me a favor and never tell anyone that we talked. It wouldn’t be healthy for me.”

  I agreed to keep our conversation confidential, for now. I thought about the letters that Russell had given me when we’d previously talked. My mother had written three letters, giving them to him, with instructions that, in the event of her death, he was to give them to me if I ever found him.

  Those letters confirmed that John Sexton, my love-dad, was not my biological father, something I’d already determined on my own. She’d also said that his murder was part of a cover-up, orchestrated at the highest levels in Hollywood, to silence what he knew about Jean Winslow’s death. My mother hadn’t revealed who my biological father was, but had made the cryptic comment that he’d made a vow never to reveal himself in order to protect me, whatever that meant. I’d learned she was planning to turn Ryan Cooper in to the authorities for abusing her, when he’d effectively ended her life by putting her in a coma. She later died in a convalescent hospital.

  “What about my mother’s letters?” I said, “Were they authentic?”

  “Oh my, yes. I kept my word to Judie all these years. I never read the letters.” He looked away from me and sighed. “I didn’t think you’d ever find out about my son, since Judie really didn’t know him.”

  “What about my biological father?”

  “As I told you before, I have no idea who he was. Judie made it clear that she wouldn’t talk about him.”

  I felt deflated by what he’d said, but was still determined not to leave until I learned everything he knew. “Let’s cut to the chase. You said your son was a monster. What exactly did you mean?”

  Russell blanched. He looked away from me and didn’t respond to my question. I decided he needed some prompting. “I’m willing to forget your earlier indiscretion when you nearly killed me, but only if you answer my question.”

  The man, who a few moments earlier held my life in his hands, finally looked back at me. He leaned closer to me, lowered his voice, and said, “My son is part of the inner circle.”

  My brows inched closer together. “What are you talking about?”

  Russell’s gaze swam around the room for a moment and he lowered his voice even further until it was just above a whisper. “Kellen Malone is a member of the Revelation.”

  THREE

  I sat there for probably a full minute, stunned by what he’d told me. I’d hear rumors about the secret society operating in Hollywood for years, influencing both the stars and the studios, but assumed it was one of those urban legends that had little basis in reality. The Revelation was rumored to hold ultra-exclusive parties, providing sex hook-ups for their members. According to what I’d heard, participation also involved initiation rites and secret passwords. The Revelation allegedly used violence against anyone who crossed them.

  “Tell me what you know about Kellen’s involvement.”

  Russell took a moment to collect his thoughts. When he spoke, he kept his voice low again, like someone might overhear our conversation even though we were alone. “From what I know, Kellen became involved in the secret society when he was in college. He was recruited by their leadership council. The organization seeks to control others and spread their message. Money and the media are used in that process, and, even at a young age, Kellen was very good at both endeavors.”

  “What exactly is their message?”

  “They believe in a form of enlightenment and that those involved in their group will eventually take over and change society. From what I know, they not only operate in Hollywood, but have members throughout the country. It’s all very clandestine.”

  “You make it sound like they have a lot of power.”

  “Money talks and the Revelation couldn’t operate without money—a lot of money. From what I know, they form investment corporations that provide the financial backing for the movies that support their hidden agenda. Those movies are full of subliminal messages meant for the members of their group. Everything they do is secret and hidden from the general public, but it’s pervasive.” He took a breath and shook his head. “And my son is involved in it all.”

  Russell was describing an organization that was all about power and control. If the secret society did, in fact, exist, it meant there was an underworld of deception, sex and money that influenced everything that went on in Hollywood. I’d heard rumors that the Revelation went back to the beginnings of Hollywood. If Russell’s son had been involved in the organization back in the 1980s, it could mean that the murders of Jean Winslow and my love-dad had been part of a much larger agenda. It might even be that they’d learned about the secret society and were killed because they’d threatened to expose those involved.

  “Who, along with your son, is part of this group?”

  “There have been rumors there are politicians, producers, stars, and even cops involved, but I can’t say for sure. I do know that my son’s wealth and influence gives him the ability to make or break anyone in the industry. It also gives him the power to eliminate his enemies.”

  “As in Donald Regis?” When he didn’t respond, I said, “Do you think Regis could have been involved in their organization and crossed your son?”


  Russell shrugged. “Perhaps, but I don’t know. I’ve purposely stayed out of things for my own good.”

  “And the death of Jean Winslow and my father? Could the Revelation have been behind their murders?”

  He didn’t look at me. “Same answer.”

  I studied Russell for a moment. I had a feeling that he knew a lot more about the secret society and his son’s involvement, but he was deathly afraid to say anything. If Kellen Malone was truly the monster his father had made him out to be, it meant that he would stop at nothing to keep his organization a secret. That meant possibly killing my love-dad and his own father if it suited his purposes.

  “You told me earlier that the last time you talked to your son he threatened to kill you if you ever told anyone you were his father. What exactly happened between you two?”

  Russell’s watery eyes met mine. His voice was subdued. I had the feeling I was looking at a man who had been broken by the events surrounding the estrangement from his son. “Something happened to…to my partner. He was an up and coming star many years ago. I had my suspicions that my son and the Revelation were behind everything. I confronted Kellen about it. He denied being involved and disowned me. That’s when he threatened my life if I ever brought up what happened again or told anyone that he was my son.”

  “Your partner…was he killed?”

  Tears were on Russell’s cheeks. He nodded. “I can’t prove it, but I believe the Revelation had a hitman who was behind his death and possibly the others that we’ve talked about.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Ryan Cooper.”

  FOUR

  I got home late that afternoon and went next door to pick up Bernie from Natalie and Mo. I stopped at their front door and heard Nana’s all-too-familiar high-pitched warble. While my friends are what I call tact-deficient, Nana has never heard of the term. She made a habit of blurting out any errant thought she had, usually at my expense.

  The elderly widow had been our landlord at one time, before she married a man named Claude Whipple. Her new husband dropped dead on their wedding day, leaving Nana with about a hundred million dollars and a horde of angry relatives who looked remarkably like ghouls. The last I heard, Claude’s family was contesting the will, but in the meantime, Nana was busy spending every penny she’d inherited.