Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “Maybe,” I said, still trying to be non-committal.

  She and Mo went on for a few minutes, asking me more about my near-death experience. After I told them I felt less fearful about my life and relationships after hearing the voice, Natalie downed the last of her drink and said, “Speaking of relationships. I think Izzy’s cheatin’ on me.”

  “Cheatin’?” Mo said. “If that’s true, we need to make him disappear.”

  Izzy Cluck was a magician. He and Natalie had been together for the better part of the past year. He seemed remarkably normal, despite his chosen profession.

  “I think he’s hookin’ up with one of the assistants in his magic show,” Natalie told us. “I’m gonna get the low down on what’s going down, then I’m gonna work on a payback. The truth is, Izzy can’t brush his teeth while peeing, let alone do real magic.”

  “What you got in mind, baby sis?” Mo asked, rubbing her hands together. “We need to do something to make sure he gets the message.”

  “I’m not sure, yet. Maybe I’ll slap the bum’s ass, use his own magic on him, and change him into a warthog or a hyena with horns.”

  “Speaking of a hyena,” Mo said. “I heard that Nana’s hookin’ up with Claude’s brother Boris.”

  Our eighty-something former landlord’s husband, Claude, had dropped dead on their wedding day, resulting in Nana inheriting his considerable fortune. His brother Boris had contested the will. I’d recently heard that he’d succeeded in getting half of Claude’s net worth back and half of his brother’s former estate, which he was now occupying with Nana.

  Over my protest, Natalie poured us all another drink and said, “Nana’s pretty stressed out ‘bout everything. I heard the bloke looks like some kinda ghoul, just like the rest of the family.”

  “He needs the world’s biggest makeover,” Mo said. “I seen him once, and he looks like he crawled outta a grave.”

  “You mean he looks half-dead?” I asked.

  “Worse than that.”

  “I heard he used to be the mayor of Transylvania,” Natalie said. “He had a reputation for givin’ out vampire hickeys.”

  My friends went on for a moment, disparaging Boris, and Nana’s choice in men. They had a point—at least about Nana—she’d been taking a sexual rejuvenation drug and lacked any discretion when it came to the opposite sex. If Boris had any sense, he’d think twice about hooking up with her.

  After they chatted about Nana’s problems for a few minutes, Mo changed the subject, asking me about my sister, Lindsay. “Any word on her getting free from that group that’s been holdin’ her hostage?”

  Lindsay was my half-sister; someone I never knew existed, until a few months back. “I’m still waiting for a call from Joe Dawson,” I said. “Lindsay’s supposedly working on our side to take down the Swarm.”

  “I hope she hasn’t gone over to the dark side,” Natalie said. “I hear that group is full of crazies.”

  The Swarm was a group of domestic terrorists that would stop at nothing to impose their will on society. They’d been responsible for dozens of killings over the past several months. Joe Dawson was the FBI agent assigned to the case.

  “Joe’s pretty confident that Lindsay’s working undercover to expose those involved,” I said. “I just hope we can get her out safely.”

  Mo checked the time on her phone and stood. She said to Natalie, “We’d better get goin’, baby sis.”

  Natalie brushed a hand through Bernie’s fur and got her sweater. “Yeah, we don’t wanna keep the public waiting.”

  “What gives?” I asked.

  Mo said to Natalie, “Remember, we’re on a need-to-know basis.”

  Natalie looked at me. “All I can say are two words: flash ‘n’ dash.”

  SEVEN

  I had no idea what Natalie meant by flash ‘n’ dash, and forgot all about it as I drove to the station the next morning. Bernie settled at my feet as I took a seat at my desk, across from Leo, and told him Chief Dunbar had approved me being present during the search of Harlan Ryland’s estate.

  “We’ve got a meeting in ten to discuss tactical issues,” Leo said. “The brass is concerned that Ryland’s security force might put up some resistance.”

  “Anything new on Russell’s homicide?”

  He shook his head. “According to Woody and Harry, it was a single shot, close range. No suspects.”

  “If Harlan Ryland was involved, he would have hired a professional, both because he’s in his eighties and to distance himself from the killing. The case won’t likely go anywhere.”

  “Unless we find something at Ryland’s estate tying him to it.”

  I smiled. “If that’s the case, he’s probably also got a herd of flying pigs in his yard.”

  The ten-minute wait for our tactical meeting turned into forty minutes while we waited for Captain Dembowski to arrive. Our captain was a no-nonsense bureaucrat who began the meeting by giving us platitudes about teamwork and safety before turning things over to Lieutenant Edna and his two detectives, Woody Horton and Harry Braden.

  Our lieutenant was in his early fifties, with a shock of graying hair, and a colorful vocabulary. When the brass wasn’t around, he made extensive use of the f-word. Edna and I generally got along well because neither of us had any use for command staff.

  “I want this operation to go like clockwork,” Edna said, after taking over from the captain. “Once the warrant is served, the brass will release a general statement to the press about the basis for the search. I want to make it crystal clear that no one is to talk to the media about this matter. All communication goes through MRS.”

  MRS was the department’s Media Relations Section that worked closely with the chief and mayor’s office, trying to do damage control.

  Edna went on. “Detective Melvina ‘Mel’ Peters has recently been reassigned to Section One.” The lieutenant’s gaze drifted in my direction for a moment, before looking at Peters, who was just coming into the room. “She’ll be working with Detective Hall, but will also be reporting directly to MRS on this matter.”

  I did a slow burn, glancing at Leo, whose silver brows went up. Mel Peters had been instrumental in preventing the investigation into my father’s murder from being reopened. She and Darby had been partners at one time. I knew she had past issues with our new chief, so I wasn’t entirely surprised by the announcement. Still, as I glanced over at her and Darby, I felt my irritation with her resurfacing. I knew it would take all my willpower to keep my resentment under control. The fact that Darby was sitting here with a new partner a few hours after the death of Barbara Slauson also wasn’t lost on me.

  Woody Horton took over from Edna, telling us what he and his partner knew about Harlan Ryland’s home. “The estate is over ten thousand square feet, with several live-in staff and security. Rumor has it the security force consists of former military personnel and is highly trained.”

  “If possible, we want to make our entrance low key, but at the same time show the security people that we have sufficient staff to meet any resistance,” Harry Braden said. “We’ll have an airship overhead and make entrance through the rear delivery gate. Woody and I will serve the paperwork once we’re inside and we’re sure the grounds are secure.”

  Woody took over again. “We have over thirty officers involved in this operation, including command staff, detectives and patrol units, but all communication is to run through Harry and me. No one is to make a decision without us being in the loop.” His gaze moved over the gathering, lingering on the captain. “No exceptions.”

  ***

  The Tauist Retreat was near the city of Calabasas, about an hour north of Hollywood. The property consisted of several hundred acres of rolling hills behind ivy-covered stone walls. The main entrance was marked by a large iron gate with the Greek letter tau—a capital T—carved into each side of the supporting columns.

  I was familiar with the place because my mother had gone on a retreat there several months ago.
At the time, I’d heard a rumor that she planned to give all her worldly possessions to the Tauists, something that was common practice for adherents of the New Age religion. My brother, Robin, and I had gone on a rescue mission, only to find our mother meditating in the nude. While we convinced Mom to leave the retreat, the image of her sitting stark naked in the woods had scarred us both for life.

  Ryland’s residence rested on a hill at the highest point of the surrounding countryside. Just like the public areas of the center, his massive home looked like something the ancient Greeks might have built, with stone columns and decorative friezes.

  Since I wasn’t allowed to actively participate in the search, Bernie and I were forced to catch a ride with one of the detective teams that had room for us. As it turned out, the only pairing with available space was Darby Hall and Mel Peters.

  After some idle chit chat as we drove through the hills to the service entrance of the retreat, I asked Mel about her return to Section One. “I’m surprised you’re back working at the division level,” I said.

  Mel, who was in her mid-thirties, with dark hair and sultry eyes, craned her neck toward me. “I’m still on the hook with MRS, but I’m hoping they’ll permanently cut me loose before long.”

  “Does this have anything to do with our new chief?”

  “He’s an asshole,” Darby barked, answering for her. “I don’t see how anybody works with him.”

  Mel’s partner was in his late thirties, about thirty pounds overweight. He had a receding hairline and a weak chin, not to mention a mouth that I was convinced had been made expressly for irritating the hell out of me.

  Mel agreed with what Darby said, then cut her eyes to me. “You know that the chief and I have some history, back when we worked together.” She exhaled. “I’d just as soon forget about him and concentrate on my new assignment.”

  I told her I understood, then asked Darby about the upcoming funeral services for Barbara Slauson.

  His muddy eyes found me in the rearview mirror as the convoy of police cars slowed. “The services are planned for the end of the week. I’m not looking forward to it.”

  “I understand.”

  “It’s not what you think. Slauson went off the reservation. She was a loose cannon who insisted on going after the Slayer without backup. It’s just dumb luck that we weren’t both killed.”

  It was the first I’d heard about Slauson not following orders, but I knew that sometimes happened, especially with younger detectives. It was possible that Slauson was trying to prove herself, since she was new to Section One, and it had cost her dearly.

  “What do you know about this Tauist group?” Darby asked as we slowed even further near the service entrance to the retreat.

  “The Tauists were originally part of the Revelation, a group that had considerable power over the Hollywood Studios about thirty years ago. Harlan Ryland and Collin Russell split from them and formed the Tauist Society. Tau is a letter in the Greek alphabet that in ancient times was considered a symbol for life and resurrection. You’ve probably seen their so-called priests around Hollywood, looking for converts.”

  “You mean looking for people to cheat out of their life savings,” Darby said.

  “Exactly. From what I know, Ryland and Russell stopped at nothing to gain control over their converts and, at the same time, make themselves a fortune.”

  “Do you really believe they both had something to do with your father’s death?” Peters asked me.

  Since I believed she had been instrumental in convincing her superiors not to reopen the investigation into my dad’s death several months ago, I had no interest in discussing the issues with her. I tried to be noncommittal. “I guess time will tell.”

  Her dark eyes remained fixed on me for a long moment before she turned away.

  The truth was, I had every reason to believe that Ryland and Russell had murdered my adoptive father, or love-dad, as I sometimes call him. I’d recently met with Russell’s son, Kellen Malone. He’d confirmed that thirty years ago Ryan Cooper was a hit man, working for the duo. My love-dad had done security work for the studios when he was off duty and had met the actress Jean Winslow there. According to Malone, Winslow had found out that Donald Regis, the owner of Wallace Studios, was working with Collin Russell in an embezzlement scheme to divert millions from the studio coffers. It was my belief that after Winslow told my father what was happening, both their days were numbered. Winslow’s death had officially been ruled a suicide, but I had no doubt that Collin Russell and Harlan Ryland were behind what happened.

  The warrant service on Ryland’s estate didn’t go as planned. Woody and Harry met with resistance and delays at the service entrance to the grounds. Despite them wanting to use force to move through the gate, Captain Dembowski insisted that they get approval from the chief’s office first. By the time word came down that force was authorized, the gates had swung open and we were allowed entry. We all knew that the delay had probably allowed Ryland and his staff ample time to destroy any evidence linking him to either Russell’s death or his past crimes.

  When we entered the home, several other detectives had already secured the residence and were beginning to search the living areas. I heard Woody Horton’s voice coming from a nearby room. I went over and found him in a home office with his partner. They were talking to a big guy with a shaved head. Leo was also in the room and walked over to me, telling me that the man was Kirk Collins, the head of the Tauist security force.

  “Where’s your boss?” Woody demanded of Collins.

  “Mr. Ryland is indisposed,” Collins said. The muscle-bound bodyguard had arms that looked like they were about to burst the seams of his coat.

  “Indisposed,” Harry said. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t have to tell you shit,” the bodyguard barked.

  “Is that so?” Harry motioned to one of the uniformed officers. “Cuff him.”

  “You can’t arrest me,” Collins complained, as the officer came over to put the handcuffs on him.

  “No one is arresting anyone,” Woody said. “You’re being detained as a material witness for further questioning.”

  “Let him go.”

  The woman’s voice was coming from the doorway. I looked over at her, my heart suddenly beating a staccato thump in my chest. I recognized her as the same woman my former boyfriend, Noah Fraser, had been seeing before he tried to kill me. I’d followed Noah one night after he’d met with Collin Russell and had seen them together at a nightclub.

  “Who are you?” Woody demanded of her.

  The woman walked over and stood less than a foot from Woody. Her dark eyes drilled into him as she said, “I’m Harlee Ryland. I own this property and I expect you all to vacate the premises.”

  Before Woody could respond, she looked in my direction, locked eyes with me, and smiled.

  Harry Braden’s baritone voice drew her attention over to him. “We have a lawful court order signed by a judge to search these premises.”

  Harlee Ryland flashed a smile at him and brushed a hand through her thick dark hair. “Your court order allows you to search property owned by my grandfather. He’s dead. This residence now belongs to me.”

  Woody stepped forward, his youthful features hardening with anger. “There’s no record of Mr. Ryland’s passing or your inheritance of this property.”

  She went over to a desk, produced a pile of paperwork, and handed it over. “This is my grandfather’s death certificate and the recording of his will. I now own all his worldly possessions, including this estate.” Her bright smile returned. “That makes you all trespassers.”

  Woody and Harry studied the paperwork for a moment, before Harry went off to find the captain.

  “Why was Mr. Ryland’s death kept a secret?” Woody demanded of her

  “We’ve been busy preparing my grandfather’s stasis for his future revival.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

&n
bsp; Ryland motioned toward the doorway. “If you’d like, I’ll show you.” Her dark gaze found me again. “You might also be interested in this, Detective.”

  I took a step toward her and regarded her. “Why is that?”

  Ryland’s tone was brittle, like an icy tree branch breaking in the dead of winter. “Because you insist on spreading lies about my father and Mr. Russell. You’re also responsible for my fiancé’s death.”

  I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Noah had not only been cheating on me, he’d been engaged to Ryland’s granddaughter. I found some composure and spat, “Your father and Mr. Russell hired Ryan Cooper to murder my father.”

  Her features remained stony, even as the smile came back. “That’s something you will never be able to prove.”

  She turned away, and we followed her down a long corridor. Leo came over to my side as we made our way past several rooms. “Do you believe what she just said?”

  I glanced at him. “About Noah?” He nodded. “I followed him to a bar in Los Angeles and saw them together.”

  His gray brows shot up. “You sure?”

  “Positive. And, since she’s apparently recently inherited her grandfather’s estate, she has an interest in denying it was all built on deception and murder.”

  Harlee Ryland stopped in front of some double doors at the end of a long corridor and turned back to us. Her voice took on a dramatic edge. “What you’re about to see is something called a stasis chamber. This is my grandfather’s path to resurrection.”

  EIGHT

  “What the hell is that?” Leo said to me, as Harlee Ryland pushed the double doors open.

  There was a large glass enclosure in the center of the room, with attached tubing and electrical conduit. As we got closer, we saw there was an elderly man inside the chamber who I assumed was Harlan Ryland. His nude body was encased in an inner glass enclosure and was held upright by mechanical arms that supported his weight. The entire scene looked like something out of a science fiction movie.