Hollywood Rage (The Hollywood Alphabet Series Book 18)

by M. Z. Kelly

  I searched for something positive to say. “Jessica and I went to school together. She’s...she’s...ah, very driven.”

  “Driven.” She chugged her drink. “You mean she is what you be calling in this country a ‘golden digger’.”

  “Of course not,” I lied. “She’s just...I think she only wants the best for your son.” Like for him to stop crowing like a rooster and wearing his undies when they make love.

  I was saved from further small talk because Natalie and Mo came over, telling us that Jessica and Boris had arrived.

  Natalie told Wilhelmina, “Your son’s dressed like he thinks he’s flippin’ Henry the Eighth.” She lowered her voice. “And I think he’s got an erection.”

  We looked over, seeing that Boris and Jessica were coming our way. Jessica was wearing a flowing white gown, like something a princess might wear. She looked radiant, if radiant was a word you could use with Jessica.

  Boris’s attire was another matter. While he didn’t look exactly like the former king of England that Natalie had mentioned, there was something in his ostentatious dress and tights that was reminiscent of the dead monarch. There was also the matter of the rather pronounced bulge in his groin area.

  Several of Wilhelmina’s family members came over as Boris’s mother glared at Natalie. “For your information, my son be wearing a codpiece. It is a common way for men to assert their masculinity in the old country.”

  “Looks to me like he’s got a giant boner,” Mo chimed in.

  Maybe what happened next was because of the alcohol in Wilhelmina’s system, or encouragement from the ghouls—I mean family members—surrounding her, or maybe it was simply that Boris’s mother felt the need to defend her son’s codpiece. All I know is that Wilhelmina tossed her drink at my friends and wound her arm up like a prizefighter ready to throw a roundhouse punch. Unfortunately, she missed my friends and hit me square in the nose, knocking me out.

  SEVENTY-TWO

  I woke up the next morning with a throbbing pain. I stumbled out of bed and looked in the mirror.

  “I think my nose is broken!” I screamed.

  Bernie came over, turning his head from side to side as he studied me. If he could talk, he probably would have said, “Your schnoz looks like hell.”

  Natalie and Mo heard my scream and burst into my bedroom.

  “You see another ghost?” Natalie asked, rushing over to me.

  “It’s my nose,” I said. “It’s all swollen.”

  Mo regarded me. “I seen worse lookin’ snouts. It ain’t that bad. You’re just lucky you were out cold during the zombie riot.”

  After Wilhelmina had punched me, I was completely out of it while Otto drove me home. “What are you talking about?”

  “’Fraid things didn’t end so well for Jessica and Boris,” Mo said.

  “One of the ghouls ripped Jessica’s dress off durin’ the fight, and she went berserk,” Natalie said. “That’s when she grabbed Boris’s codpiece and whacked the guy over the head. Then she turned on Wilhelmina and did the same thing to her. I think the engagement is history.”

  Mo agreed with her, adding, “Things got worse from there when Wilhelmina’s family got their clubs out.”

  I groaned. “I don’t want to hear it. What am I going to do about my nose? I have to go to work today.”

  “I got me some new lady paste,” Natalie said. “It covers everything from giant zits to craters in your face. Let me get it.”

  While she was gone, Mo asked me about Ross. “You two really on the outs?”

  I shrugged. “Probably.” Her gaze remained fixed on me. I sighed. “Yeah, I think so. We probably weren’t a very good match anyway.”

  “What ‘bout Joe?”

  I shrugged again. “The jury’s still out. Not sure we’re a good fit either.”

  “Maybe you need to start fishin’ off a different pier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We both know cops got lots of baggage. Maybe you should find yourself a plumber, like Cleo.”

  I sighed. “Keep me in mind if Cleo has a friend.”

  Natalie came back into the room with her lady paste and went to work on my nose. When she was finished, I was amazed. My nose was still a little swollen, but the redness was gone.

  “That stuff’s like magic,” I told her.

  She smiled. “Yeah, maybe I should send Wilhelmina a batch. Betcha her face is still swollen from Jessica whackin’ her with Boris’s willy warmer.”

  ***

  I checked my phone before leaving for work and saw that I had a text from Cynthia McFadden, asking if I had time to meet her for coffee. I texted Olivia, telling her that I would be a few minutes late. I then stopped by Latigo’s café on Sunset, where I met my reporter friend.

  After ordering coffee and a muffin, Bernie and I joined Cynthia at a sidewalk table. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought she was looking at my nose as I settled in.

  “Let’s just get the elephant in the room out of the way,” I said.

  “The elephant?”

  “Take a close look at me. Do you notice anything different?”

  She studied me for a moment. “Did you change your hair?”

  I laughed. “I was punched in the nose and knocked out by a ghoul last night.” I took a moment and told her about the engagement party and Wilhelmina.

  After hearing my story, she tucked a strand of her dark hair behind an ear and laughed. “You certainly have a more exciting life than me.”

  “That’s one word for it. Mostly, it’s just a disaster.”

  After we exchanged a couple disaster stories, the topic turned to Reginald Dunbar. “I heard Chuck Waxman is going to make a motion to get him released on bail today,” Cynthia said.

  Waxman was an attorney, well known by law enforcement and the press, often representing high profile clientele. “Considering Dunbar’s in jail for the first degree murder of a police officer, that’s going to be a tough sell.”

  “I’m just glad justice was finally served.”

  “Me too.”

  When I didn’t say anything more, Cynthia said, “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Off the record?”

  “Our conversations are always off the record, unless we both agree beforehand they’re not.”

  I took a breath. “I appreciate that.” I took a moment, telling her the concerns Olivia and I had discussed yesterday. “The murder weapon was left at the scene. If Dunbar was involved, it doesn’t add up.”

  Cynthia brought up the same possibility that I had yesterday, mentioning that Dunbar might have panicked after shooting Mel and left the scene in a hurry.

  When I told her I didn’t think that was likely, she said, “If Dunbar’s innocent, do you think one of the men Mel was seeing might have killed her?”

  “We’ve checked on everyone we know about. No one seems to have had a motive.”

  Cynthia sipped her coffee, then said, “Maybe there was someone else?”

  “Maybe. If you think of anything or anyone, let me know.”

  Cynthia agreed to give it some thought, then mentioned Harlee Ryland. “I’m hearing lots of scuttlebutt about her and her grandfather planning another attack.”

  I remembered what Joe had said. “Maybe, but, as far as we know, they’re out of the country.”

  She lowered her voice. “Anything new on your thoughts that she might be...related to you?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing, and, to tell you the truth, I haven’t even wanted to think about it.” I checked the time on my phone. “I’d better get going.”

  We stood and hugged one another.

  “Just remember,” Cynthia said, “I’m here as a friend if you need to talk.”

  SEVENTY-THREE

  When I got to the station, I stopped by Woody’s office to chat for a minute. After I took a seat across from him, and Bernie settled down, he told me something that surprised me. “Chuck Waxman is on his way over. He told Olivia he
has something that will show his client is innocent.”

  “Any idea what?”

  Woody shook his head. “All I know is he said Dunbar’s going to walk.”

  “Do you think we’ve missed something?”

  “Maybe, but I sure as hell don’t know what it is.”

  I rose. “I guess we’ll find out when he gets here.” I started to leave, but then realized Darby wasn’t around. “Where’s your partner?”

  “Doctor’s appointment, said he’ll be in this afternoon.”

  I smiled. “Maybe his doctor has a remedy for him being the world’s biggest pain in the ass.”

  Woody also grinned. “That would be a miracle cure.”

  A half hour later, Woody and I took a seat in Olivia’s office after Chuck Waxman arrived. The attorney was in his fifties, with dyed black hair and oily skin. I had a thought about his middle name being “Sleaze” as Olivia made introductions, then asked him what was on his mind.

  The attorney removed a laptop from his briefcase. As he booted it up, he said, “My client had nothing to do with the death of Melvina Peters or her sister, and this will prove it.”

  When the screen lit up, Waxman told us we were seeing security camera footage from Reginald Dunbar’s rear yard. “As you can see from the date stamp, this video was taken less than three weeks ago, when Mr. Dunbar wasn’t home and his residence was burglarized.”

  We all watched as a shadowy figure wearing a watch cap appeared on the screen. The man broke a pane on Dunbar’s French doors and entered the residence as an alarm sounded. Less than five minutes elapsed before he exited the residence with something in a black bag. Due to the subdued lighting and shadows, it was impossible to identify the subject or what, exactly, he was carrying.

  “Mr. Dunbar’s Walther P38 was taken from his residence during the burglary,” Waxman told us. “Nothing else was removed, so obviously he was set up.”

  “How do we know the gun was taken?” Olivia asked.

  “I have before and after photographs of Mr. Dunbar’s gun safe.” Waxman pushed still photos across the desk to us. “My client had left the safe unlocked. As you can clearly see from the second photograph, the weapon in question is missing.”

  Olivia scoffed. “Save it for the jury. There’s nothing here to prove what was taken. And, might I ask, why this burglary was never reported to the police?”

  Waxman sniffed. “You know, as well as I do, the gun wasn’t registered, hence the matter was handled by the security company.”

  “You mean your client broke the law by purchasing the gun illegally.”

  “That may be, but it hardly makes him a killer.” Waxman shook his head. “Do you really believe that my client would leave the murder weapon at the scene of the crime?”

  Olivia was unimpressed. “Leave me a flash drive and I’ll send everything to the DA. But, unless you can identify the man who broke into your client’s house and he admits being in possession of the murder weapon, I’d say you still have a big problem.”

  Waxman stood, handed Olivia the flash drive, and pushed his laptop into his briefcase. “We’ll see about that.”

  After he was gone, Olivia said to Woody and me, “What do you think?”

  Woody answered. “I think Waxman was setting the stage for Dunbar’s defense. The residence probably was burglarized, but that’s all he proved. And, at the very least, Dunbar’s now admitted through his attorney that he was in possession of the murder weapon.”

  “Confirming what Jimmy Rayburn told us,” I said.

  Olivia nodded. “But the fact is we’ve still got a suspect in jail that we’re not completely convinced is guilty.” She picked up her phone. “Let’s get Jenny and Molly in here and backtrack what we know about this case.”

  After a short break, our crime analysts took seats at the table, and Olivia asked them to summarize everything, beginning with the homicide of my friend.

  “Detective Mel Peters was found on the floor of her residence, not far from the patio doors, where an intruder likely made entry,” Jenny began. “There were two rounds to her chest. The murder weapon was found near the body, a German Walther P38.”

  Molly took over. “Three days later, our victim’s sister, Marilyn, was found in bed with her throat slashed. Analysis of Mel’s computer led us to find out they, or maybe just Marilyn, had a relationship with Jackson Ellis, who calls himself Lazarus and developed a cult following that he named the Society.”

  “Let’s leave Ellis out of the discussion, for now,” Olivia said. “We know he was extorting money from our victims’ parents, and probably Marilyn, but he may not have been responsible for the death of her or Mel.”

  “That brings us back to the weapon used to murder Mel,” Jenny said. “We know the P38 was a German weapon, manufactured during World War II. It was used by Clayton Hollingsworth in a liquor store robbery last year and the gun was booked into evidence at Metro. And, as we all know, it was subsequently stolen.”

  “By David Baxter,” Molly said, “who later sold it to a felon named Jimmy Rayburn.”

  “I think we know the rest of the story,” Olivia said exhaling, “including Reginald Dunbar’s attorney’s spin on everything.”

  Woody had been quiet during the summary, but spoke up for the first time. “Speaking of Waxman, can I see the video of Dunbar’s house being burglarized again?”

  Olivia gave Jenny the flash drive the attorney had left. She put the security video on an overhead monitor. When we saw the images of the man breaking the window on Dunbar’s French doors, Woody asked her to freeze the frame. He walked over and took a closer look at the monitor.

  “What is it?” Olivia asked.

  “The guy’s shoes. I can’t be positive, but...” He didn’t go on, instead, coming back over to the table and taking a seat. “I don’t even want to say what I’m thinking out loud.”

  Olivia took a moment, maybe realizing the gravity of Woody’s concerns. She said to Jenny and Molly. “Can you give us the room for a couple minutes?”

  After our crime analysts were gone, Olivia said to Woody and me. “Everything that’s said here is confidential, just between the three of us.” She looked at Woody. “Tell us what’s on your mind.”

  I saw the pain in Woody’s youthful face as he looked back at the burglary suspect on the overhead monitor. “The shoes in the video. They look familiar.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Someone at the station was complaining about his feet hurting the other day and took his shoes off. I can’t be positive, but they looked similar to the Oxfords the guy in the video’s wearing.”

  Olivia asked the question that was on both our minds. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Darby.”

  The room was so quiet we could hear the muffled sound of voices in the stationhouse beyond Olivia’s office.

  “Let’s play out a scenario,” Olivia finally said. “But let’s keep in mind this is only speculation. Nothing said ever leaves this room, unless I say it does.” She cleared her throat and continued. “We all know that Darby and Mel were partners at one time. Maybe their relationship was something more than that.”

  I looked at Woody. “It’s something that Olivia and I have thought about over the past few days. When I mentioned to Darby that Ron Peters had said he’d made a positive impression on his daughter, he seemed uncomfortable with the discussion and just said something about them sharing some good times.”

  Woody acknowledged what I said, then told us, “I haven’t said anything until now, but I know Darby had some issues with David Baxter in the past.”

  “What kind of issues?” Olivia asked.

  “I’m not sure. He just went on a rant when I mentioned Baxter’s name a while back, saying that he was a worthless...” He smiled. “You get my drift.”

  Olivia nodded. “Let’s suppose for a moment that Darby found out that Baxter stole the P38 from our evidence locker. He wants the gun to frame Dunbar and uses Rayburn to buy it
from Baxter. Darby knows that Dunbar loves guns and gun shows, and, in turn, uses Rayburn to set him up. It might even be that Rayburn, in fact, approached Dunbar about the gun and sold it to him at a discount. Once that happened, it was a matter of getting the gun back from Dunbar and leaving it at the murder scene.”

  “And Darby knew that Dunbar already had a motive for killing Mel,” I said. “She had been drugged and raped by him, and there was a possibility that she might testify against him.”

  “But why would Darby want Mel dead?” Woody asked. “What’s the motive?”

  “Maybe he knew about the other men she was seeing, or even Baxter, maybe especially Baxter, and he felt betrayed. We all know that Darby’s someone who lets his emotions take over.”

  “And Marilyn?”

  “It could be that she knew what happened to her sister and threatened to talk,” Olivia said. “With Marilyn dead, it closed a loop. No one else knew that he and Mel had dated, and that Darby was upset because he felt Mel was cheating on him.”

  “Darby waffled on who he thought was guilty, but he seemed to be trying to keep the focus on Jackson Ellis during our investigation,” I said. “If he originally set up Dunbar for the crime, why take the focus off him?”

  Olivia took a moment, then speculated, “Maybe he thought the frame wouldn’t stick, and when Ellis came along, he became the perfect suspect.”

  “Or it could be that Darby thought the murder weapon might eventually be somehow connected to him,” Woody suggested.

  I agreed that was a possibility. “I wonder if he and Jimmy Rayburn have any past connections.”

  Olivia picked up her phone. “Let’s ask his parole agent.”

  While Olivia made the call, I saw that Woody was still distraught over our discussion. I tried to console him. “If it did go down like we speculated, you couldn’t have known.”

  He sighed. “I know. It’s just that he’s one of our own. I don’t want to believe it.”

  “No one does, but as the saying goes, we follow the evidence where it leads. No exceptions.”

  When Olivia ended her call, I again learned the truth of that adage.