Hollywood Quest

by M. Z. Kelly

  “I heard exactly what you said. You’re trying to cut me out of this.”

  Charlie locked eyes with Darby. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the investigation.” He broke eye contact and moved up the walkway to the residence, even as Darby continued to protest.

  I glanced at Leo, who was smiling. My former partner had a soothing, low key approach to interviewing subjects that often got results where others failed. If we were going to get anything out of Todd, Charlie was right—he was our best shot.

  Charlie tried the bell a couple times while the rest of us waited. Bernie was at my side, alert that something might be happening. After a third try, Charlie came off the porch, frustrated that no one was home. “Let’s take a look around the side, maybe someone’s in the back yard.”

  We walked up the driveway, seeing there was a detached garage, with a fence between it and the house. Charlie called out, announcing us, but got nothing back.

  We were walking back to our cars when a woman came over from across the street. “Are you looking for Carmen?”

  The neighbor was probably in her sixties, with long gray hair. I had the impression she was one of those people who thrived on watching the neighborhood comings and goings.

  “Yes,” I said. “Do you know if she’s home?”

  “She usually leaves for work around one. No one answered the door?”

  I shook my head. “Do you know if she lives alone?”

  “Yes. I have a key so I can check on things while she’s on vacation. I could check on her for you.” She hesitated, her gaze moving to the weapon in Darby’s shoulder holster, which was exposed. “Is there some kind of problem?”

  “We just need to talk to her about an investigation,” I said, then made brief introductions.

  We waited in front of the house until the neighbor, who’d told us her name was Alice Jones, returned with the key. We then followed her to the door.

  “I’ll just go in and check on things,” Jones said, turning back to us when she had the door open.

  We waited on the landing while she went inside, calling out. She returned a few minutes later. “No one’s home, but...” Her gaze moved off and she didn’t go on.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “There’s some things in the kitchen that don’t look right. And something’s been spilled on the floor.”

  “We need to take a look,” I said, moving past her with Bernie and drawing my weapon. “You need to wait here.”

  The others followed me inside. Other than what looked like soda being spilled on the kitchen floor and dirty dishes on the table, nothing seemed out of place. Charlie then called out to us from one of the bedrooms.

  I followed Leo and Darby down the hall, where we found my partner in a home office. Charlie held up a couple electronic devices that had been on a table. They were similar to the miniature cameras we’d found in the Brattons’ home.

  “I’d say this is the smoking gun,” Charlie said.

  Darby went over and examined the findings. He turned to Leo and me. “I told you this was a case of marital rage. Todd found out about the other family, spied on them, and then killed them.”

  I was about to respond when Charlie said, “There’s some syringes on the desk, along with the drug.”

  I went over and saw the labels on the drug packaging were for Diprivan, the brand name for propofol.

  “Case closed,” Darby said.

  “What’s going on?” Jones said from the hallway. “Is Carmen in some kind of trouble?”

  I took her back into the living room, knowing that we would need to get a warrant to search the entire grounds. “There’s going to be some additional police activity here. You’re going to need to wait outside.”

  She turned and started to leave, but stopped. “I just thought of something. There’s a home office attached to the garage. Carmen sometimes works out there.”

  “Show me.”

  I called over for Charlie to follow us. Bernie was on alert as Jones led us into the back yard. There was a light on inside the office that was adjacent to the garage as Jones knocked on the door and called out for Todd.

  When she didn’t get a response, I took her by the arm and moved her away. “Let us take a look. You need to stay back.”

  I nodded to my partner. He opened the door and went in with his gun drawn as Bernie and I followed. Seconds later, we put our weapons away. I then realized that, despite my instructions, Jones had followed us inside. The woman fell to the ground behind us, screaming.

  I looked at Charlie and shook my head in frustration. Carmen “The Bod” Todd was slumped over her desk. There was a gun in her hand, a large hole in her head, and brain matter, containing whatever secrets she knew about the murder of the Bratton family, splattered against the wall.

  SIXTEEN

  We spent the remainder of the day at Carmen Todd’s residence in Studio City. The search of the home turned up a couple dozen cameras and listening devices, ten packages of the sedative Diprivan, along with dozens of syringes, and evidence on Todd’s computer that she’d been monitoring the activities at the Bratton residence for the past two years.

  After looking at the calls and text history on Todd’s cell phone, I said to Charlie and Leo, “I wonder why there’s nothing in the way of communication with Lee Bratton about her knowing he had another family. You would think that before she decided to finally act on what she knew, they would have had some kind of falling out.”

  “I hate to say this, but maybe big mouth is right,” Charlie said, referring to Darby, who was jawing with one of the uniformed cops who had arrived at the scene. “It could be that Todd and Bratton had it out in person, it didn’t go well, and she came back later to take it out on him and the family.”

  I looked at Leo, his expression giving nothing up before he finally spoke. “Maybe it went like that, but if Todd planned what she did in advance, why was Laura Bratton left out of the killings?”

  “There’s also the matter of Amy, the tattoo, and what was written on the masks,” I said.

  “We need to go back to Laura before we come to any final conclusions,” Charlie said.

  “The press is on the street,” Darby announced, coming over to us. He looked at me and smiled. “And your favorite coroner just arrived.”

  I took a breath, glancing out the window and seeing Earl Mumford coming up the driveway toward the home office, where Carmen Todd’s body was located.

  “I need some air,” I said.

  When Bernie and I got to the front yard, I saw that the SID teams were also arriving, along with Kathy Maitland. I went over to her. “The body’s in an office attached to the garage. Mumford just arrived.”

  Kathy dragged a hand through her hair and smiled weakly. “I already feel a headache surfacing.”

  “I’ll catch up with you later.” I saw that Cynthia McFadden was on the street, along with several other reporters.

  I went over to the crime scene tape that had been set up. I fended off several questions with no comment and asked Cynthia if she wanted to take a walk.

  As we moved away from the other reporters with Bernie, Cynthia said, “When I get back, they’re going to think you gave me all the details about what happened here.”

  I glanced over at her and smiled. My friend was a reporter with the Herald-Press. She was pretty and slender, with thick brown hair. Despite our professions sometimes being at odds, I’d found her to be trustworthy and honest.

  “You can tell them I said it’s too early in the investigation to comment on anything,” I said.

  She chuckled. “That should go over like a lead balloon.”

  We stopped for a moment and I let Bernie sniff along a bed of rosebushes. “All I can say at this point is that Carmen Todd is dead from what looks like a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

  “And her connections to Lee Bratton?”

  I smiled. “Word does get around. I hate to repeat myself, but no comment. I’m sure you’
ll hear something from our Media Relations Section soon.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We continued up the street, where I mentioned our former chief of police. “I talked to Mel Peters a couple days ago. She said the DA should be making a decision about filing charges against Dunbar soon.”

  “Probably in the next week. We have three women who were sexually assaulted and are willing to testify against him.” Her blue eyes held on me. “I personally hope he spends the rest of his rotten life in jail.”

  I nodded, seeing her resolve. “He’s not only a rapist, but he violated a position of authority. There’s no lower life form, in my opinion.”

  “I think Mel is also going to testify,” Cynthia said, as we continued walking and turned a corner. “But it’s going to be difficult for her, given her profession.”

  We stopped on the street again. The day was warm, with just a soft breeze stirring the air. “She’s been threatened.”

  “By who?”

  “She doesn’t know. There have been some hang-up calls, telling her to back off and not testify. She’s told the DA, but the calls aren’t traceable.” I tucked my hair behind one ear. “She’s concerned about her safety.”

  Cynthia held on my eyes, nodding. “I think Reginald Dunbar is capable of almost anything, but I would be surprised if he’s directly threatening to harm a witness.”

  I nodded. “All this is off the record, but I wanted you to know what’s been happening.”

  We continued up the street, chatting about our personal lives. Cynthia told me she was dating another reporter, before asking me about my family situation. “How are things going with the investigation into your father’s death?”

  While I hadn’t gone into a lot of detail with her, Cynthia knew all about my background, the reopening of the investigation into my adoptive father’s murder, and my search for my biological father.

  “Nothing much,” I said. “We’re hoping a former detective who knew my bio-dad might have some information.”

  “Pearl Kramer?”

  I smiled. “You must be a reporter.”

  “There are lots of sources out there.”

  “I’m hoping Pearl will turn up something.”

  We turned back toward the street where Todd had lived. It was now jammed with even more press and marked police cars, with officers doing crowd control.

  “What about Jean Winslow?”

  Cynthia’s question surprised me. “What about her?”

  “One of those sources said that Winslow knew your adoptive father and the rumors about her death not being a suicide could be true.”

  We stopped a few yards from the crowd. “You never know about sources. Sometimes their information can be right on, other times...” My gaze moved off, and I didn’t go on.

  “And other times?”

  I looked back at her. “Let’s make a deal. When, and if, I can talk about Jean Winslow, you’ll be my first phone call.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Cynthia said, as several reporters came rushing over to us.

  “I’ll talk to you soon,” I said, pushing through the crowd.

  After touching base with Charlie and Leo, I took a deep breath and went into the back yard with Bernie, walking over to the home office. I found Kathy Maitland waiting outside while Mumford worked the scene.

  “He said he needed his space,” Kathy said, clearly frustrated by Mumford taking over.

  “Anything preliminary?”

  “Not really. It looks like a typical suicide, but, as we know, there are times when nothing in this business is ever typical.”

  We waited almost a half hour before Mumford appeared from the office and removed his latex gloves. He didn’t make eye contact with me and started to head down the driveway, giving me no choice but to follow him.

  “Your findings?” I said, when Bernie and I got to his side.

  He stopped and looked at me. “A female. Dead from a single gunshot to the head.”

  I took a breath, tamping down my anger. “And?”

  “And nothing. You’ll get my report after the autopsy.”

  I was about to follow him and give him another piece of my mind when Leo came up the driveway, seeing our confrontation.

  My former partner stopped in front of me. “It’s been a long day. How ‘bout we get a drink.”

  I was surprised by his offer, knowing that Leo didn’t drink alcohol. “What gives?”

  “I just got the message Pearl left on his sister’s phone. What he had to say is going to change everything.”

  SEVENTEEN

  I was anxious to hear Pearl’s phone message, so Leo and I ended up at a restaurant called Tilton’s that was a couple blocks from Carmen Todd’s residence in Studio City. It was just after four as we settled in on an outdoor patio with Bernie. Since it was before the dinner hour, there were only a couple other patrons nearby.

  After ordering drinks, Leo put his phone on the table. “The message is fuzzy and it cuts in and out, so you’re going to have to listen carefully. He put his phone on speaker and played the message. The recording of Pearl’s baritone voice leaving the message on his sister’s phone was muffled, but unmistakable.

  “I hope you get this, Christine. I’m back...” The message faded and became garbled before picking up again “...Brazil...plan to...home...next...” Garbled. “...looking into the disappearance of an old friend...not what I thought...the people involved are following...” There was more distortion, then, “I think he’s...” Pearl’s voice faded and I thought the call had been dropped. Several seconds later, he came back on the line. “...bad connection, not sure if you’re getting all this. If you talk to Leo Kingsley or Kate...tell them...” The message faded again, came back. “...everything that happened was a tro...” The message faded once again before we heard, “...her dad...” The message became even more distorted before finally clearing up again. Before the message ended, I heard Pearl say a name that was unmistakable. “...Harlan Ryland.”

  I listened a few seconds longer before Leo took his phone off the table. “That’s basically it. I think there was a lot more that didn’t come through.”

  I drew in a breath and released it slowly. “What’s your take on what he said?”

  “He’s definitely in Brazil.” His dark eyes held on me.

  I heard the frustration in my voice as I said, “Pearl’s not my father. But he’s looking into what happened to him and someone’s following him.”

  When I didn’t go on, Leo nodded. “I’m sorry, but that’s my take on it as well.”

  I took a breath, trying to decide if I was relieved or disappointed. While, in many respects, no one would have made a better father figure than Pearl, if he had been my father and had chosen not to be a part of my life, it would have been unforgiveable.

  I looked back at Leo. “We both know from my investigation there was a conspiracy to embezzle funds from Wallace Studios over thirty years ago. We also know that Collin Russell and Harlan Ryland were involved. I think there may have been others who helped out and are following Pearl. He’s probably in danger.”

  He nodded and rubbed his jaw. “Pearl said something else in the message that was unintelligible to me. It sounded like he said, ‘...everything that happened was a tro...’ The message then cut off. Any ideas?”

  I shook my head, my gaze moving off. “I have no idea.” I then looked back at Leo and said what had been unmistakable on the recording. “He said the name Harlan Ryland.”

  Leo nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond.

  “Jesus.” I massaged my temples that were suddenly pounding, then looked at him. “Do you think he was trying to tell us that Harlan Ryland was my father?”

  Leo’s voice softened. “It’s hard to say. There’s no way of knowing that for sure.”

  I chuckled, but realized I felt sick to my stomach. “If Ryland is my father, I might as well shoot myself.”

  “I don’t think you should draw any conclusions. Hopefully, Pe
arl will call again or be home soon and clarify everything. I’ll call his sister and make sure she tells him to call us if she hears from him.”

  “Why do you think he’s in Brazil? It’s where Ryan Cooper went after he shot my adoptive dad. It’s also where he and my bio-mom raised Lindsay.”

  “Not sure. Maybe there’s some connection there to everything that happened.”

  The server came over, but I’d lost my appetite. Leo saw my distress and sent him away. He then turned back to me. “Don’t let this get you down, Kate. What we have is a partial, garbled message. It’s a mistake to draw any conclusions from it.”

  I rose. “It’s been a long day. I’m going home to try and forget my troubles.” I was about to leave when I turned back to him. “Can you forward Pearl’s message to me?”

  “Consider it done.”

  ***

  I stopped on my way home and purchased a pity party kit, consisting of a bottle of wine and some Fugs. The latter was a cheesy carb-bomb that exploded in your mouth before a second detonation went off in your thighs. I was on my second glass of wine and dipping into the Fug rations when there was a knock on my door, and I heard a couple familiar voices.

  “Kate, you gotta open up,” I heard Natalie say. “Mo’s lower than a plumber’s ass crack.”

  I heard Tex confirming what she’d said, using his typically pretentious verbiage. “I believe her condition is such that she’s capable of doing great bodily harm to herself and other sentient beings.”

  I opened the door at the same time Bernie stuck his big head around me. “What’s going on?”

  Natalie’s hazel eyes lowered, taking in my sweatpants, the t-shirt that was covered with yellow Fug dust. “You’re on a bender, aren’t ya?”

  “I’m just...” I took a breath. “...a little down.”

  “I believe she and Mo both need immediate psychiatric intervention,” Tex said to Natalie. “There’s even a potential they could twin, spiral into a shared state of depression, and start killing people.”

  Natalie pulled out her phone. “I’m callin’ 911.”

  “STOP.” I glared at them both. “What’s the matter with Mo?”