by M. Z. Kelly
“You’re starting to sound very domestic.”
He lowered his voice. “I think you’ll find that’s not entirely true.”
“I’m counting on it. See you Saturday night.”
I stayed in bed, thinking about how my life had changed in the few short weeks since Noah and I had met. Dr. Noah Fraser was a former marine. He’d lost his leg below the knee when an IED hit his armored vehicle while he was on patrol in Iraq. After several surgeries, he’d come through the experience remarkably well, thanks to lots of therapy, including the companionship of a therapy dog. Noah’s lifelong love of animals and his traumatic experiences in Iraq had convinced him to become a vet.
I’d fallen asleep to pleasant thoughts about our lives together when my phone rang. I saw that it was just after midnight when I answered the call from my lieutenant, Ozzie Powell.
“You and Leo just caught a case over in Hancock Park,” Oz said. “Dembowski says it’s going to be high profile when the media gets some of the details. He wants Hall and Peters on it with you. Now that I’m awake, I might also stop by.”
Melvin Dembowski was our captain. Darby Hall and Melvina Peters were a couple of detectives recently assigned to Section One.
I sat up on the bed, rubbing my eyes. “What do you know about the case?”
“Just that the maid was murdered and the family’s gone missing.”
“Missing, as in kidnapped?”
“Maybe. We’re not sure at this point. All I do know is that it’s a pretty bad scene at the house.”
“What do you mean?”
“The maid’s sister went by the residence to check on her when she didn’t come home. She said the front door was open and she found a body inside that she thinks is her sister.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, deciding I must still be half asleep. “I’m not sure I understand. Why didn’t she recognize her own sister?”
“The body was missing the head.”
***
Even though Section One was stationed in Hollywood, the unit was authorized to handle high-profile homicide cases occurring anywhere within the boundaries of LAPD. Hancock Park was a historic district in central Los Angeles, just south of Hollywood and surrounded by the Wilshire Country Club. The affluent subdivision was developed in the 1920s, with architecturally distinct homes and large yards. I remembered reading somewhere that the area had several celebrities living in the sprawling homes over the years, including the legendary actor John Barrymore Sr. and Muhammad Ali.
Bernie and I met Leo Kingsley at Hollywood Station where he drove us to the murder scene. Leo was an African-American detective in his mid-fifties, with over thirty years on the job, and, as I recently found out, a PhD in psychology. He was a big man, with a shaved head, who had previously been assigned to the department’s cold case unit, anticipating his retirement in a few years. That all changed when Section One had recently worked with cold case on a homicide. That investigation had inspired Leo to take a more active assignment in the years before he turned in his badge. In some circles, my new partner was considered a legend; a hard-working detective who was tenacious and dedicated to his job.
I filled Leo in on what little I knew about the case as he drove, adding, “It sounds like a pretty gruesome scene. Oz thinks the press will be all over what happened.”
I’d seldom seen Leo without a smile, and tonight was no exception. “What would we do without the press?”
“I wonder what this does to our Potter investigation?”
Walter and Maggie Potter were the victims in our upcoming Hollywood Detective TV series. They’d been murdered while their nine-year-old daughter had been asleep in a nearby bedroom. Samantha had awoken the next morning to find her parents bludgeoned to death.
I’d been motivated to take the case because of Samantha’s personal plea for me to find her parents’ killer and because of her mother’s illness. I’d learned from the autopsy reports that Maggie Potter was suffering from terminal brain cancer at the time of her death and had less than six months to live. It was something that she’d kept from everyone, except her husband. Neither Samantha, nor her extended family, had been aware of her illness. The fact that Samantha’s mother had bravely carried on with her life, keeping her illness to herself, had touched me deeply. I was determined to find justice for her.
“I got a feeling we’re gonna be pulling double-duty for a few weeks,” Leo said, referring to the fact that we’d be working both the Marsh and Potter cases at the same time. “I hope you enjoyed your time off.”
It was my turn to smile. “I can honestly say, it was one of the best weeks of my life.”
Leo nodded but otherwise didn’t respond. He knew I’d been dating Noah and was probably filling in some of the blanks on his own. My new partner also knew about my personal investigation into the murder of my love-dad and the possible involvement of Kellen Malone. As he drove, I took a couple of minutes, filling him in on what I’d learned from Collin Russell before we turned into the Hancock Park subdivision.
“The Revelation—really?”
“Really. I don’t know much about the group, but Russell made it sound like they control a lot of what goes on behind the scenes in Hollywood.
Leo parked up the block from where we saw the flashing lights from a couple of patrol cars, and said, “I did a little background work on Kellen Malone while you were on vacation. He’s apparently got a lot of influence behind the scenes and has made a fortune, but he stays in the background. Not sure about him being involved in a secret society.”
“I’m going to fill Oz in on everything and see how he wants to proceed. You’re welcome to sit in on the discussion, if you’d like.”
“Count me in.”
I got Bernie on his leash and we walked up the street. The night was damp and cool. I glanced down the road, now seeing the press had already arrived and was beginning to set up behind the police lines. As we got closer, I recognized one of the reporters as the woman Leo and I were supposed to work with on our upcoming TV show.
Shelia Woods worked for the Sentinel Dispatch and a cable news show called Blast TV. She’d been given special permission by our police chief, Bradley East, to work on the TV show with us. If I was a cynic, I might have thought Woods had been given the assignment because she looked like a supermodel and our big moose of a chief was smitten with her. Since I don’t consider myself a cynic, all I could do was assume Woods had won the LAPD lottery.
“Detectives,” Woods called over to us. “What can you tell me about what happened here?”
Since we were destined to work together, I stopped and said, “We just got the call, so there isn’t really anything we can tell you at this time.”
Woods came closer. Even though it was the middle of the night, her blonde hair and makeup were flawless. It also looked like she was wearing a designer outfit from one of those stores on Rodeo Boulevard that I felt guilty about even browsing in.
“The victim…” She looked at a notepad. “…Maria Chavez.” Her blue-gray eyes met me again. “I understand she was decapitated.”
I shrugged, giving nothing up. “Then you know as much as we do.” I started to walk away.
“Can we meet tomorrow morning on the Potter case? The production staff is ready to go.”
I stopped and dragged a hand through my messy hair, wondering why my brother, who is a hairdresser, couldn’t do something similar to the reporter’s luxurious coiffure. “We’ll talk to our lieutenant and let you know.”
When we walked away, I whispered to Leo. “Could you just shoot me now, Dr. Kingsley.”
He smiled. “You aren’t taking the easy way out.”
When we got to the residence, a sprawling white-washed Spanish colonial, we met up with Hall and Peters, who were talking to one of the patrol officers. Darby Hall, a middle-aged detective with dark hair and muddy brown eyes, asked the officer to repeat what he’d already told them for our benefit.
“The vic was the maid, Maria Chavez,�
�� the youthful officer told us. “She was found in the kitchen by her sister. No head, lots of blood. The sister’s name is Paula Ramirez.” He motioned to a dark-haired woman who was with another officer. “She’s pretty torn up.”
“What about the family who lives here?” I asked.
He shrugged. “A Vincent and Allison Marsh, and their two kids. Gone missing. Ramirez says nobody was home when she got here. She can’t explain where they might have gone. The couple’s got two cars registered in their names: a BMW that’s missing, and a mini-van that’s in the garage.”
We thanked him and walked over to our victim’s sister. Since Melvina, or Mel as everyone called her, spoke Spanish, we waited while she introduced herself and had a brief conversation with Paula Ramirez.
After chatting with the distraught woman for a couple of minutes, Mel filled us in on what she’d learned. “She says her sister has worked with the Marsh family for a couple of years. She usually got off at ten and came straight home. Ramirez got worried when Maria didn’t answer her phone, and drove over here. The front door was cracked open, so she went inside. She positively identified the body as her sister by the tattoo of a cross on her arm.”
“Did she say anything about Maria’s relationship with the family?” Leo asked.
Mel brushed her hair out of her eyes. The detective was in her mid-thirties, attractive and slender. “She said as far as she knows it was good. The husband, Vincent, works for a law firm in downtown Los Angeles. The wife doesn’t work.” She glanced at her notes. “The kids are Jenna, age six, and Bobby, who is four. She said the girl has autism and doesn’t speak.”
I saw a van from the coroner’s office coming down the street. The department’s SID, or Scientific Investigation Division, was already here, unloading supplies. Unlike the TV version of a crime scene unit, SID staff were notorious for tampering with, or misplacing evidence. That was something I was determined not to let happen.
“Let’s get inside and take a look before everything gets trampled,” I said.
After gloving up, putting on paper booties, and moving past a uniform that was standing guard at the front door, we found the victim on the floor of the home’s expansive marble kitchen. Maybe it was the fact that the kitchen was white and all the lights were on, but the scene was as bad as anything I’d ever encountered.
In most homicides, the victim’s blood is pooled or confined to an area in fairly close proximity to the body. In the case of Maria Chavez, her blood looked like it had been sprayed around the room. I pushed down the bile rising in my throat, trying to come to terms with the horrific scene.
After examining the body for a couple of minutes, Leo said, “I’ve got a feeling she was placed on the kitchen island, where the sink is, and then…”
“Agreed,” Darby Hall said when Leo didn’t continue. “I think the decap was done there and her body was pushed onto the floor. The place looks like a fucking slaughterhouse.”
I now saw there was a lot of blood in proximity to the island that was in the center of the kitchen.
Hall’s partner, Mel, who was obviously also impacted by the gruesome scene, grimaced and said, “Did the responding officer see any signs…of the…head?”
Her partner answered, “Not from what I heard, but we’ll need to check the rest of the house.” Darby’s gaze wandered back over to the bloody kitchen island. “At least she didn’t suffer.”
“What makes you say that?” Leo asked.
“While it doesn’t look pretty, a decap is a lot quicker than other forms of execution. The vic bleeds out quickly and loses consciousness. Not a bad way to go.”
The murder obviously didn’t have the same impact on Darby as it had on the rest of us. I walked over to the adjacent dining room where I found a large carving knife on the floor, and called the others over. “It looks like the perp tossed the knife here on the way out.”
There was a smattering of blood where the knife had landed. I could only hope we’d catch a break and find prints on the weapon.
We held the SID staff back for a few minutes until we were satisfied that we had a good overview of the crime scene and the evidence. We limited access to four technicians. Leo and the others went upstairs while I met with the responding deputy coroner who was a friend of mine.
“It’s a pretty bad scene in there,” I said to Brie Henner after meeting her at the front door. My friend was a tall African-American woman who was being treated for breast cancer. The chemo and radiation had left her bald and thin.
Brie followed me inside and set her bag on a coffee table in the living room. “How was your vacation?”
I smiled. “Heavenly.” I was about to go on about what a good time Noah and I had, but was struck by her appearance. She looked weak and fragile. “How are you feeling?”
Her gaze moved off. “Okay.” She glanced down the hallway toward the kitchen, then met my eyes again. “Let me take a look. We can talk afterward.”
I nodded before she walked away, wondering if there was an unspoken message behind her words.
While Brie and the SID staff went over the crime scene, Selfie Rogers, the crime analyst assigned to Section One, showed up and told me what she’d learned about the family. Selfie, whose real name was Sophia, had pink hair tonight and her usual quota of a half-dozen piercings in her brows, nose, and lips.
“The husband is Vincent Marsh, a partner in the law firm of Duffy, Harrington, and Marsh. He’s thirty-three. He and his wife, Allison, have been married for almost seven years. I was able to get ahold of Allison’s sister, Karen. She lives in San Diego and was able to give me a cell number for Vince, as she calls him.” She handed me a slip of paper. “I thought you might want to try his cell phone yourself.”
Since I had seniority in Section One and the others were still upstairs, I made the call. I was surprised when Vince Marsh picked up on the second ring. I briefly explained about the maid, but didn’t go into the details about the homicide. “Are you with your family tonight?”
His voice pitched higher with anxiety. “No, I’m working late at the office. I don’t understand what you mean about…my family. Are they okay?”
“They aren’t here, Mr. Marsh.”
“Wh…where are they?”
“I don’t know. When did you last see them?”
His voice bordered on frantic now. “I came home…I think it was around six and told Allison, my wife, I had to work late. I left after a few minutes.” There was a pause on the line before he said, “Oh, God…I’m coming home now.”
“I’ll meet you in front of the residence.”
Leo came downstairs a few minutes later, telling me that Darby and Mel were still searching, but the rest of the residence looked untouched.
I told him about Marsh’s reaction to my call, adding, “He seemed at a loss to explain where his family is. Do you think this could be a kidnapping?”
Leo shrugged. “It’s probably too early to say. I wonder if there are any relationship problems in the marriage.”
“The husband seemed pretty upset, but we’ll need to follow up on that.”
Fifteen minutes later, I saw a couple of uniforms coming up the street with a man. As they got closer, I knew he was Vincent Marsh because he was moving quickly and was obviously distraught. The officers had to block the entrance to the residence when they got to the front steps.
“You don’t want to go in there, Mr. Marsh,” I said. I took a moment, introducing myself and Leo. Vincent Marsh was handsome, with caramel eyes and a full head of short, dark hair. He was about six feet tall, with a solid build.
“What’s…” Marsh tried to see beyond where the officers were blocking his view. “You said the maid was killed. What exactly happened to her?”
I decided to temper my remarks. “She was killed with a knife. It happened in your kitchen.”
“What?” He broke down, sobbing. After a moment, he said, “My family, do you have any idea where they are?”
“We wer
e hoping you could tell us that,” Leo said. “Your maid’s sister came here to check on her and found the body. The house was empty.”
Marsh brushed his tears on his long-sleeved shirt and looked at me. “I haven’t seen them since I left, around six tonight.”
“Any idea where they might have gone?” I asked.
“No. It’s not like my wife and kids go out much during the week, especially this late. I don’t understand any of this.”
Darby and Mel came outside and joined us. Mel shook her head, telling me they hadn’t turned up anything inside the home.
“Are you and the wife having any kind of problems?” Darby asked Marsh after he and Mel had been introduced to him.
The question came out of the blue. While it was necessary ground to cover, it seemed a little premature.
Marsh’s response was not unexpected. “What are you talking about?”
Darby didn’t back off. “I’m talking about a woman whose head was cut off in your kitchen tonight and a family that’s gone missing.”
“What?” Marsh looked at me.
I took a breath and confirmed what Darby had blurted out. “It’s a pretty bad scene. Whoever did this meant business.”
“Let’s get back to your relationship with your wife,” Darby said, acting like a bulldog with a bone.
Marsh looked at me. “I don’t understand this line of questioning.” His eyes found Darby again. “No, we aren’t having any problems. Our marriage is good. We have two kids.”
“What about…”
Leo cut Darby off, giving him a hard stare. “Let’s wait on this until we get back to the station.”
“The station?” Marsh’s eyes found me again. “I still don’t understand any of this.”
I studied Vincent Marsh for a moment. I had an instinctive revulsion to attorneys. Most of them sold themselves to the highest bidder. I don’t have to tell you what that makes them in my opinion. While Marsh seemed to be genuinely distraught by the night’s events, we were just a few miles from Hollywood. If all the world’s a stage, the world is full of actors, and I knew more than a few lawyers with Oscar potential. I decided to keep an open mind about Marsh’s acting chops.