Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer

by Lee Hollis

  Hal glared at him defiantly.

  Detective Jordan reached out with his fingers, got ahold of the duct tape, and then roughly ripped it off, causing Hal to wince and yelp. Since Hal was not a dumb man, he wisely chose to follow Jordan’s advice and kept his mouth shut. A female officer, African American, husky build, stepped forward as Sam untied the power cords.

  “Stand up, please, sir,” she ordered.

  Hal had trouble lifting his bulk off the chair, but no one made a move to assist him. He didn’t seem to have any fans in the room.

  The officer had a blasé, seen-it-all-before look on her face as she slapped a pair of handcuffs around Hal’s thick wrists. She began reading him his rights as she and two of the other officers escorted him out of the house to the squad car.

  “He’s the Pillow Talk Killer,” Poppy exclaimed breathlessly to Detective Jordan. “The original, the one who started it all back in the nineteen eighties.”

  Jordan stared at her, surprised. “Are you serious?”

  Poppy nodded. “He confessed to me and I’m willing to testify to that fact.”

  “But you don’t think he had anything to do with the current murders?” Jordan asked.

  Poppy shook her head. “There’s no way.”

  “Maybe he’s working with someone new,” Jordan suggested. “Someone he’s taken under his wing, a protégé who he has trained to do his dirty work for him.”

  “I suppose that’s possible, but I’m not inclined to believe it,” Poppy said. “Why would a killer prefer to just live vicariously through someone else instead of committing the murders himself? It doesn’t make sense he would outsource his own violent behavior.”

  “Okay, what about Chase Ehrens? He’s a dangerous guy with a volatile temper, he had a motive for Danika’s murder, she dumped him, he got fired from her movie, and the good news is, we already have him in custody,” Jordan said.

  “Chase is a vile human being, and he should be in jail for a long time, but I’m just not certain he was the one who suffocated Danika, not without concrete evidence, and even if he did kill her, then who drowned Fabian Granger? There is so much more we don’t know.”

  Jordan sighed, frustrated. He stayed another half hour taking statements from both Poppy and Sam. After finally ushering the detective out, Poppy turned to Sam. “You should be in bed.”

  “Are you kidding? After all that excitement, I feel like a new man,” Sam said, grinning. “It’s the first time I’ve felt this alive in a long time,” Sam said, pounding his chest.

  “Well, Tarzan, Jane here is very grateful for you swinging in on your vine to rescue me from the evil animal poacher, but now it’s time for you to go back to the tree house with Cheetah and get some rest.”

  “Oh, come on,” Sam scoffed. “Let’s stay up and have a celebratory drink. Together we got the despicable Hal Greenwood off the streets.”

  Poppy knew it was a lost cause battling the overpowering charm of Sam Emerson. She was never going to win. She just threw her hands up in the air. “One drink!”

  Chapter 47

  “And . . . cut!” Trent called out in his haughty, superior-sounding British accent. “Thank you, everyone. That’s a wrap here in Joshua Tree.”

  Matt bounded up to Poppy and gave her a hug. “Congratulations! You made it through. We both did.”

  “I can’t say I’m not happy that my brief return to acting is over,” Poppy chuckled. “You certainly seemed to have a much better time at this than I did.”

  “What can I say, I got the bug!” Matt said with a bright smile.

  They had both just completed their final scene on the film, a simple group shot for the last big sequence in the movie; neither of them had any dialogue. It was customary for the director to announce an actor’s completion on the film followed by applause from the rest of the cast and crew, but Trent had forgotten or willfully declined to mention Poppy and Matt. There would be no cake or tearful good-byes, and Poppy was fine with that. She did not relish any further attention on herself. She was eager to put this whole experience behind her, and prayed she did not embarrass herself in the final product, which would be released later in the year on Netflix.

  The crew got to work breaking down the set. Although the company was done shooting in Joshua Tree, the production was now scheduled to move back to the resort with Joselyn to reshoot Danika’s scenes that were already in the can.

  The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind. Word of Hal Greenwood’s arrest had leaked almost instantly, and headlines around the world blared that the infamous Pillow Talk Killer had finally been caught after almost forty years. Some less judicious reporters failed to mention that Greenwood had an alibi for the recent Danika Delgado murder, preferring to ignore the facts and pin the blame directly on him despite the lack of evidence. It was a better headline. CRAZED HOLLYWOOD SERIAL KILLER BROUGHT DOWN AFTER STAGING COMEBACK!

  Despite the police stressing that they believed a killer was still at large, Hal Greenwood became the face of the new devil of the moment like Charles Manson. He was everywhere on TV and online. His lawyers cried, “Fake news!” But nobody really listened because Hal Greenwood looked the part of a depraved, privileged monster who felt entitled to prey upon those young women who showed so much promise, whose lives he had so insidiously cut short.

  Poppy was understandably frustrated, too. The Desert Flowers Detective Agency got a few mentions in the press as having been key in exposing Hal Greenwood. A few journalists even picked up on Poppy’s personal connection back in the 1980s and wrote breathlessly about her forty-year struggle to find the killer of her dear friends, the original three victims, even though in reality, Poppy only knew one just in passing.

  Poppy and Matt had both been surprised when they received phone calls from Trent’s assistant director asking them to report to the Joshua Tree set at 5:00 AM for makeup and hair so they could shoot their final scene. They had assumed the film would be inevitably delayed once more after Hal’s arrest and impending arraignment. But the investors had decided otherwise. They refused to be deterred any longer. They had already lost millions from the initial production shutdown after Danika’s death; they were not going to lose another cent. A meeting was hastily called, and in a unanimous decision, the production was placed under the guiding hand of Hal’s loyal sidekick, Greta Van Damm. In an e-mail to the cast and crew, Greta trumpeted that the production would move full steam ahead and finish on time and on budget, or rather the revised budget with an additional two million to cover the costly delays and overruns.

  “Hey, I’m going to go say good-bye to Joselyn before we head home. Meet you in your trailer?” Matt said to Poppy.

  “Fine,” Poppy answered.

  Matt hustled off and Poppy fixed her attention on Trent. He was busy flagging down Greta, who appeared to be on the phone with her office back in LA.

  Poppy started approaching Trent. She didn’t know what she was going to say, but she knew she should at least thank him for believing in her, fighting to cast her in the part when there was a lot of pressure on him to use a bigger name. She just hoped she had not disappointed the up-and-coming director. As she moved toward them, Greta finally got off her call and Trent was suddenly in her face, aggressively wagging a finger at her.

  Greta appeared slightly stunned, slowly backing away from him, a distasteful, annoyed look on her face. Poppy stopped a few feet away from them, and was able to overhear bits of their conversation.

  “I was in her trailer giving her direction on an upcoming scene and that’s when Joselyn noticed him staring at us through the window. He must have been using an apple box to stand on so he could get a good view!” Trent spat out angrily.

  Greta dismissively mimed air quotes with her fingers and sneered, “Direction?”

  “Yeah, we are shooting a movie and she is my leading lady! That’s what I do. Give direction!” Trent huffed.

  Greta folded her arms and smirked skeptically. “Yes, you’ve proven ti
me and time again you’re a hands-on director.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what it means, Trent. I don’t have to explain it to you.”

  Trent swatted away an annoying fly buzzing around him and then focused on Greta again. “Look, it doesn’t matter what we were actually doing. That doesn’t give your creepy son the right to play Peeping Tom. This shoot has had enough problems and you certainly don’t need your new star slapping you with a lawsuit.”

  The word lawsuit finally got Greta’s attention. “I’ll talk to him, okay?”

  “Thank you,” Trent sighed.

  Greta stalked off, clearly rattled.

  Trent watched her go and Poppy stepped forward. “Trent?”

  The director spun around and growled, “What?”

  His pinched face softened a bit at the sight of his former childhood crush.

  Poppy smiled. “I know it’s been a bumpy ride, but I appreciate all you’ve done, giving me this chance . . .”

  “You were great. We were lucky to have you. You really classed up my movie,” he said, slightly rushed. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and was about to move on.

  Poppy stepped in front of him, blocking his hasty exit. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I didn’t know Greta had a son.”

  “Yeah, she strong-armed me into hiring him. I only agreed because I figured if I gave her a win, she’d have to cave on some of my casting choices, like you, for instance, so I guess it all worked out in the end.”

  “What does her son do on the set?” Poppy asked, looking around.

  Trent raised an eyebrow. “It’s Timothy.”

  Poppy stumbled back, floored. “The PA?”

  “Yes. I thought you knew.”

  “No, I-I had no idea. . . .”

  “Have you ever really talked to him? He’s a strange bird, that one. I got a weird vibe from him on the day he started. And now it turns out he’s a pervert just like his dad.”

  “His dad? Who is his father?”

  Trent glanced around to make sure Greta was nowhere in sight, then leaned in closer. “Well, nobody knows for sure, but there has been a rumor going around that Hal Greenwood is the father.”

  Poppy let out an audible gasp.

  Trent nodded knowingly. “I heard a few in the know call him ‘Little Hal.’ ”

  Chapter 48

  Armed with this startling, disturbing, potentially game-changing new information, Poppy knew she had to catch Greta before she left the set back to LA. A grip packing up some cables pointed Poppy in the direction of the base camp parking lot where he had last seen Greta heading. Poppy made a mad dash in hot pursuit, but was stopped in her tracks at the sight of Iris and Violet lumbering toward her, Violet wildly waving at her and shouting, “Poppy! Poppy!”

  “What are you two doing here?” Poppy asked, utterly confused.

  “The last time I was here with Wyatt, watching the car chase scene, which of course ended so badly for Matt, anyway I met that handsome helicopter pilot . . .”

  “Roy Heller,” Iris almost sang, clearly smitten.

  “Yes, Roy,” Violet sighed.

  “He is a very attractive man,” Iris cooed, as much as Iris was capable of cooing.

  “He most certainly is, that swagger of his is just so manly,” Violet agreed, turning back to Poppy. “Anyway, Roy was kind enough to invite me and Wyatt for a ride in his helicopter once the film wrapped here in Joshua Tree. Wyatt was so disappointed he had school today and couldn’t join us, which is why Iris insisted on coming along to take his place.”

  “But, Iris, you’re afraid of heights,” Poppy remarked.

  Iris shrugged. “I will be fine. I trust Roy to keep me safe.” She turned to Violet. “And for the record, Violet, you already have one man, that corporate spy Phil McKellan, drooling all over you so why not be a good friend and let me sit up front in the co-pilot’s seat with Roy?”

  “But it was me he personally invited not you—” Violet began to argue before Poppy pushed past them.

  “I’ve already flown around with Roy in his helicopter so you two go on and have fun. I need to find Greta. . . .”

  Poppy scurried off. Behind her, Violet called after her, “Is everything all right?”

  There was no time to explain. She kept going.

  As she neared the base camp, Poppy spotted Greta’s car pulling out of the parking lot toward the paved road leading out of the park. She practically threw herself in front of the vehicle in order to stop it. Greta slammed down on the brakes and the car jerked to a halt. She rolled down the driver’s-side window as Poppy approached.

  “Are you crazy? I nearly hit you,” Greta snapped.

  “I just wanted to have a quick word with you before you left,” Poppy said calmly.

  Greta eyed her warily. Poppy could tell she had little interest in engaging in any kind of conversation with her, but then Greta softened a little and said, “I suppose I should thank you. It’s because of you Hal is behind bars. He’s finally going to pay for his depraved, unspeakable actions back in the nineteen eighties. Those poor women are finally going to get some justice.”

  Poppy stared at Greta stone-faced, which made her uncomfortable as she pressed on. “I just want to make perfectly clear to you, Poppy, I had no idea Hal Greenwood was the Pillow Talk Killer back then. I never in a million years would have partnered with him, worked side by side for all those years. . . .”

  Poppy held her tongue, resisting the urge to remind Greta that although she may have been clueless about Hal’s past as a serial killer, she had spent years covering up his gross sexual misconduct.

  History would judge her role in those crimes.

  “As satisfying as it is to know Linda Appleton and the others will finally get justice, I’m just frustrated we haven’t been able to find the Pillow Talk Killer 2.0, the one on the loose now, ready and able to strike again at any moment. Danika, and perhaps Fabian Granger, are still waiting for their justice,” Poppy said.

  Greta studied Poppy, then almost as if brushing her off, said, “Well, I have faith that the police will find him or her eventually. It took forty years to finally expose Hal.”

  Greta gripped the steering wheel, pressed down on the gas, and slowly started to drive away when Poppy grabbed ahold of the rearview mirror, almost running alongside the car. “It’s remarkable how similar the MOs of both killers are, Hal in the eighties and the one now. . . .”

  Greta kept her eyes fixed ahead, speeding up some more, hoping Poppy would let go of the mirror and fall away so she could finally escape this conversation.

  Unable to keep up, Poppy finally released her grip on the mirror and the car raced ahead of her, kicking up dust and sand. Poppy cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted, “It’s almost as if they both share the same DNA!”

  The car screeched to a stop, engine idling.

  Behind the wheel, Greta sat motionless.

  Poppy slowly, methodically walked back up to the driver’s-side window, instantly noticing the stricken look on Greta’s face.

  “Whatever wild, unprovable theories you may want to throw out there doesn’t make them true,” Greta huffed.

  “I had no idea Timothy was your son.”

  Greta flinched but kept her cool. “It’s hardly a secret. Everyone on the crew knows. You just didn’t ask.”

  “You two look nothing alike,” Poppy noted, her eyes falling on Greta’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Does he take after his father?”

  Greta flinched again, this time more noticeably. She let go of the wheel, flopped back in her seat, and sighed. “Look, there is no point in dancing around it. You obviously already know Hal is Timothy’s father.”

  Poppy nodded solemnly.

  “The result of a messy, drunken encounter at the Cannes Film Festival over twenty years ago. Hal made it perfectly clear he had no interest in being a father and I respected that. I raised Timothy all on my own. I suppose I should
give Hal credit for continuing to work with me, encouraging me to produce his films that made me quite a lot of money I could use to support my son. But other than a financial boost, Hal was definitely out of the picture when it came to Timothy.”

  “Does Timothy know who his father is?”

  “Yes. I tried to keep it from him, but he was too determined to find out and figured it on his own. I admit Timothy takes after Hal in many ways, and has some challenging emotional issues, but he most certainly is not a killer!”

  “You didn’t know Hal Greenwood was a killer until yesterday,” Poppy said quietly.

  “Timothy has nothing to do with the Pillow Talk Killer, and if you try to pin blame, or even associate his name with any of these awful crimes, I will sue you with a vengeance,” Greta warned. “Believe me, I have the means to do it, so leave my son alone!” Greta cried as she stomped on the gas and peeled away.

  Poppy watched her disappear in a cloud of dust. She could tell Greta was shaken because she simply could not even face the possibility that she might be wrong about her son. Hal had an airtight alibi for Danika’s murder, but as far as she knew, Timothy did not.

  Poppy hurried back to her trailer where Matt had told her he would meet her after saying his good-byes to Joselyn and the crew. She clattered up the metal steps and inside to pack up her things, barely making it past the door when it slammed shut behind her and a hand roughly grabbed her by the arm and spun her around.

  It was Timothy, brandishing a Glock pistol in one hand while squeezing her arm so tight with the other it began to cut off her circulation. His eyes were dark and menacing, and the malevolent sneer on his face chilled her to the bone.

  Chapter 49

  Timothy forcefully shoved Poppy down on the hard, uncomfortable couch and took a step back, the pistol pointed directly at her.