Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  Before we ended the meeting, Selfie and Molly updated us on the Slayer case.

  “We got a call from a detective in the city of Taft,” Molly said. “He’s working cold cases there and said they had a similar murder to ours back in 2012.”

  “Why didn’t it show up in our databases?” I asked.

  “The PD there is small. I got the impression they’re pretty much off the grid.”

  “The MO is similar to our case,” Selfie said. “The victim was held in a rural area, probably for weeks, while she was assaulted and starved. The COD was a knife wound that slashed the carotid artery. We’re supposed to get the police reports later today, so we’ll let you know if there’s anything more.”

  “Stay on top of it,” Leo said. “We need to catch a break.”

  “If you’ll remember, that investigation is now with RHD,” Darby said. “It belongs to Markley and Waters.”

  “Thanks to the chief trying to take the heat off an unsolved investigation,” Mel said. She glared at her partner and surprised me by saying, “There’s no reason we can’t take a look at the reports, then pass them along.”

  Darby bit his lip but kept quiet. Maybe he and his partner weren’t seeing eye to eye on things.

  Forty minutes later, when we were in the car headed to SID, I mentioned Mel’s reaction to Leo. “I don’t get the impression she’s happy with our new chief moving cases.” I then remembered that she’d supported the decision to make my father’s homicide a special interest case. “At least some cases.”

  “She and Dunbar must have a whole lot of bad blood. You might want to talk to her one of these days. See if she’ll open up to you.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly best buds.” I exhaled. “I’ll try.”

  Leo glanced at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I get the impression you’re pretty stressed. Maybe returning to work so soon wasn’t the best idea.”

  “I’m fine.” I was irritated by his comment, but had to admit he might be right. “I’m just…there’s a lot that’s happened in a short period of time. I think I’m still processing everything.”

  Leo nodded, but kept quiet. The truth was, my upcoming meeting with Jenson Moore was on my mind. I didn’t have the slightest clue about how to handle him and I knew that both my life and my sister’s life could be at stake. I again toyed with the idea of telling Joe Dawson about the meeting, but decided the risk to Lindsay was too great.

  The department’s SID division was located on the state university campus in Los Angeles. The criminalistics laboratory handled field investigations of crime scenes, firearm analysis, narcotic evidence, and did DNA, blood, and urine analysis.

  We met with Kathy Maitland, the forensics supervisor who handled the Campbell Turner investigation, at the division’s technical laboratory. After discussing the autopsy results and issues related to where the bodies were located in relation to blood and tissue splatter patterns, Maitland gave us her overview of the crime scene.

  “It looks like our perpetrator came into the house from the garage and confronted Campbell in her kitchen,” Maitland said. The crime scene supervisor was in her late thirties and rather plain, with mousy brown hair. “There was probably some kind of argument that ensued, and the attack started there. There was a blood trail across the tile in the kitchen that continued into the living room, where the body was found. It looks like Campbell fought back there, but quickly succumbed to the violent attack.”

  Maitland went on for some time, talking about the amount of blood and tissue found near the body. I could tell that she’d been impacted by the gruesome scene and asked for her personal thoughts about what happened.

  “It’s just a guess and nothing that can go into any reports,” she said, “but this crime was extremely vicious. The attack probably went on for some time, even after the victim was dead. I think anger played a big role in what happened.”

  I looked at Leo. “If Luke Morgan did it, that would mean that he and Campbell were likely in some kind of relationship, and something went wrong that made him very angry.”

  Leo nodded. “And, if they weren’t in a relationship, and Morgan was just infatuated with her, it doesn’t account for the level of anger or violence displayed.”

  We went on for a few minutes, spinning scenarios, including the possibility that Blake Lambert murdered Campbell, even though there was nothing in the physical evidence that supported that. Maitland then turned her attention to Morgan, giving us her opinion about how he was killed.

  “A single shell casing was found in the living room, about ten feet from where Campbell’s body was located. Morgan would have been several feet from Lambert when that shot occurred. The second shot was, as Brie indicated, made at a much closer range. It also appears likely that Morgan was down on the floor between the living room and the kitchen when it occurred.”

  “Meaning that Lambert followed him and shot him at close range,” I said.

  “Do you think Morgan would have been able to resist Lambert at that point?” Leo asked her. “Is there any chance he could have posed a threat to him?”

  Maitland shrugged. “It’s impossible to say. But, considering the fact that Morgan had been shot once and was down on the floor…any resistance would have probably been minimal.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Darby and Mel were unable to locate Blake Lambert, so they met up with Leo and me in front of Campbell Turner’s house to canvass the neighborhood. We told them about our meeting with Kathy Maitland.

  Darby then gave us his opinion. “Maybe Lambert just lost control when he found his girlfriend’s body. He shot Morgan once, then went over and finished him off.”

  “That’s the way it might have gone,” Leo agreed. “And, if that’s the case, we need to present the facts to the DA. I doubt that he’ll file charges on Lambert, but we’ve got to present the facts.”

  “Lambert’s not returning calls,” Mel said. “According to his studio, he’s renting a place somewhere at the beach for a few days.”

  “Somebody’s got to know where he is,” I said. “What about his parents?”

  “They’re both dead, and he didn’t have any close friends. I think this might be a case where going into seclusion means exactly that.”

  We spent the rest of the afternoon knocking on doors in the neighborhood, not getting much that was useful. It was getting late, and I told Leo we would have to go by Klondike Studios in the morning. We had almost given up canvassing the area when an elderly woman arrived at a house across the street from our crime scene.

  We went over to her as she was unlocking her front door and heard a dog barking from inside the residence. After showing her our credentials, she said, “Give me a minute to put Billie in the back yard.”

  The minute she asked for turned into five before the door finally swung open again. “I wondered when you’d get to me,” the woman said. “I saw everything that happened.”

  Our witness was Winifred Shaw, who we learned was a retired school teacher. She looked to be in her late seventies, with silver hair and a pleasant round face. After learning that she’d lived in the neighborhood for over thirty years, she led us into her living room, where she told us about being friends with Campbell Turner.

  “She was an absolute dear,” Shaw said. “We had coffee a couple of times, and she even walked Billie for me when I was sick.” We learned that Billie was a cocker spaniel. She looked at Bernie. “Is he really a police dog?”

  “Yes,” I said, as Bernie rested at my feet, panting. “We’ve been partners for over four years.”

  “He’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you. What can you tell us about what happened the day Campbell was killed?”

  “I saw her boyfriend arrive around five-thirty. That’s when I heard the shots. I heard he killed that handyman.”

  “His name was Luke Morgan. He worked with Campbell at her studio. Had you ever seen him at her house before?”

  She
shook her head. “No, but Campbell told me someone was coming by to talk about remodeling the kitchen.”

  “Did she say it was Mr. Morgan?” Leo asked.

  “No, just that it was someone she knew who was a handyman.”

  “Did you see him arrive at the house?”

  “No, but there was a truck parked out front that I think was his.”

  “Was it there when Mr. Lambert arrived?”

  She took a moment, then said, “I think so.”

  “What about Campbell’s boyfriend?” I asked. “Have you ever talked to him?”

  “Just once when I went over to ask if Campbell was home. He wasn’t very nice and told me she was at the store.”

  “Did Campbell ever say anything about their relationship?”

  She didn’t answer, her gaze moving off.

  I tried again. “Please, Ms. Shaw. This is important.”

  She finally looked back at us. “She didn’t want me to say anything.”

  I softened my tone. “Campbell is gone, Ms. Shaw. We need to find justice for her.”

  She met my eyes and nodded slowly. “She said he hit her.”

  “He abused her?”

  She nodded. “She was afraid of him.”

  “Did she say how many times this happened?”

  She twisted her hands together in her lap. “Not exactly, but I think it was more than once. She had a cut on her lip a few weeks back.”

  “Did she say that Blake caused that?” I got a nod and she looked away. It occurred to me she might be afraid of Lambert. “Thank you for helping us. Is there anything else you can tell us about what happened?”

  “Don’t you want to know about the other man?”

  I looked at Leo, back at her. “What other man?”

  “The man in the blue car. He came by about an hour before Campbell’s boyfriend.”

  “Do you know who he was?” I got a headshake. “Can you describe him?”

  “He was older, maybe around fifty, with sandy hair like that actor.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “That actor who played baseball and met his dead father.”

  Leo spoke up. “Do you mean Kevin Costner?”

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  Leo smiled. “Field of Dreams was the name of the movie.”

  After she acknowledged the film, I asked her, “What else can you tell us about him?”

  “He was in a hurry when he left, maybe because of the blood.”

  “What blood?”

  “I think maybe he’s the one who hurt Campbell. He had blood on his shirt.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  We spent another half hour with Winifred Shaw trying to get details about the man she saw leaving Campbell Turner’s house. Other than telling us the man was probably close to six feet tall, with an average build and sandy hair, we didn’t get much. Shaw did agree to work with a sketch artist to provide a likeness of the subject. We then met with Darby and Mel in a nearby coffee shop and updated them on what we’d learned.

  “It could be that someone murdered Campbell before anyone else arrived at the house,” Leo suggested. “Lambert finds the body when he gets there, blames Morgan, and shoots him.”

  “Just to cover all the possibilities,” Mel said, “maybe Campbell was having an affair with this older guy the neighbor saw, they had some kind of an argument, he killed her, then left before Lambert and Morgan got there.”

  “It could also be that the guy who came by the house was Campbell’s dealer, and she paid the price for not paying her drug debts,” Darby said.

  “It doesn’t explain the level of violence used on Campbell,” I said. “Whoever murdered her was full of rage.”

  “I’ve known a lot of angry drug dealers.”

  I ignored his comment as Mel asked, “So where do we go from here?”

  Bernie was eyeing the muffin I was having with my coffee, so I broke off a piece and gave it to him. “We need to go by Klondike Studios tomorrow, see what they know about Campbell’s drug use and her relationship with Morgan. We should also talk to her parents again, ask them what they know about her using heroin.”

  “We also need to talk to Luke Morgan’s parents,” Mel said. “Maybe they know something more about his relationship with Campbell.”

  Leo agreed, adding, “Maybe in the meantime, Lambert will come out of seclusion and we can get some answers from him.”

  “I was just looking at a news feed on my phone,” Mel said. “The press is calling Lambert a hero.”

  “Depending on how things shake out, he might go from hero to zero,” I said.

  After we told Darby and Mel that we would see them at the station in the morning, Leo and I left the city and drove up into the hills near Runyon Canyon. Pearl rented a caretaker’s cottage on a large estate there. Even though he’d left the residence several weeks earlier, we hoped that since he’d been seen in Hollywood, that maybe he’d returned home.

  The estate’s caretaker granted us access to the property and unlocked the cottage. After telling him that we’d be sure to lock up when we were finished, he left us alone to take a look at things.

  “Everything looks about the same as the last time I was here,” Leo said, after we’d taken a cursory look through the living room and kitchen.

  We’d both gone by the property previously, on separate occasions, looking for Pearl. I agreed with what he’d said, adding, “I don’t think he’s been back here.” I glanced down the hallway. “Let’s check the bedroom, then call it a day.”

  We went into the bedroom, where things looked the same as the last time we’d been there. I decided to check the walk-in closet. I saw there were a couple shirts that had fallen off their hangers, again giving me the impression that Pearl had left in a hurry. I was about to leave the closet when I looked up and saw there was an access panel in the ceiling that looked like it led to the attic.

  Leo came over. “Find anything?”

  I pointed out the panel. “I just noticed there’s a covering at the top of the closet. Do you think it’s worth taking a look up there?”

  He shrugged. “Why not. Let me get a chair from the kitchen.”

  A couple minutes later, he returned with a chair and was able to lift the covering up. He used a small flashlight and took a moment looking around before saying, “There’s a shoebox up here.”

  He handed the box down to me and, after helping him down, we went over to the dresser. I lifted the lid on the shoebox and saw there were several old photographs inside.

  “Anything interesting?” Leo asked, looking over my shoulder in the dim light.

  “It looks like…” I paused, shuffling through the dozen or so old photographs. They were mostly candid shots, taken with people neither of us recognized. “…maybe these were taken several years ago, around the time Pearl would have been new to the police department.”

  Leo pointed to one of the last photos in the group. “What about that one?”

  I reached over and turned on a lamp so that we could take a better look at the photograph. It took me several seconds to realize what we were seeing.

  “It’s Pearl as a very young man,” Leo said. “He’s with…”

  I interrupted him, the realization about the woman in the photo now registering. “My mother.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  An hour later, Natalie and Mo saw me and Bernie arriving home and came over. We took seats on my patio, where I showed them the photograph I’d found.

  “It was in a shoebox at the top of Pearl’s closet. The woman he’s with is my biological mother, Judie Crawford.”

  Natalie clapped her hands, raised her voice. “This proves he is your daddy.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Why else would he keep a picture of himself and your mama hidden away all these years?” Mo said. “What other explanation could there be?”

  I sighed. “It’s hard to say. All I do know is that I’m more confused than ever. And I don’t understand why
Pearl would be hiding out.”

  Natalie had brought wine with her and poured us all glasses. “Maybe that Harlee Ryland beeatch has taken over where her granddaddy left off and has it in for both you and Pearl.”

  “That might explain what’s happening,” Mo agreed.

  I accepted the glass of wine from Natalie and took a sip. “All I know is that I’ve got to find Pearl and find out what’s going on.”

  “Speakin’ of finding people, what’s the latest with you finding Campbell Turner’s killer?”

  “You mean your source hasn’t updated you?” I said.

  “Charlie’s got bigger issues to deal with,” Natalie said, giggling.

  I played dumb. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “He’s like a squirrel on a leash, but we managed to pry things out of him.”

  “It’s a classic case of RPS,” Mo said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Red Penis Syndrome.”

  I worked on my wine again, then said, “You mean it’s a real medical condition?”

  “’Course. You forget, I was a pimp, gettin’ girls off the streets not too long ago. The technical name for what he’s got is dysaesthesia. Lotta guys end up with it.”

  “Mo’s like a doctor when it comes to penises,” Natalie chimed in.

  “What’s the cure?” I asked Mo.

  She shrugged. “There’s some medications, but that would require him going to the doctor. I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “He’s also gotta stop having sex,” Natalie said.

  I chuckled, already feeling the effects of my wine. “It looks like Charlie might be in for a permanent case of RPS.”

  “Let’s go back to Campbell Turner,” Mo said. “I heard something about her dealer today.”

  She now had my attention. I set my glass down. “The case is stalling out a bit, so we can use all the help we can get.”

  “Word has it there’s a guy who worked at Klondike Studios with Campbell. He’s a dealer and goes by the name Garth. Not sure that’s his real name, or ‘bout his last name.”