Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “Where’d that crazy suit he’s got on come from?” Mo said, her heavy brow suddenly developing as many lines as Nana’s.

  “Who the hell are you to make fun of my son? Boris can’t help it if somebody picked out a stupid outfit for him.”

  I looked over and saw that it was Boris’s mother defiantly responding to what Mo had said. While Wilhelmina didn’t exactly look like a woman who had been cursed or even a warthog, as Natalie had warned us, I had to admit there was a porcine aspect to her features. It was also obvious that she was angry—no, make that livid.

  “Watch what you’re saying,” Howie said to Boris’s mother, in the persona of Norman Bates. He placed his hands on his hips, moving closer to Wilhelmina and taking exception to what she’d said. “I chose his outfit, but I can’t be responsible for him not being able to pull it off.”

  The outfit was, to borrow one of Natalie’s favorite adjectives, ridiculous. It consisted of a ruffled white shirt, short pants, with white tights, and a flowing crimson robe. And then there was Boris’s black hair. While it didn’t exactly look like the bearskin hat Natalie had described, it did stick straight up on his head like he had his finger stuck in a light socket.

  “The popinjay looks like he’s flippin’ Henry the Eighth,” Natalie said, laughing.

  I looked over at Mo and saw that her mouth was gaped open, but she wasn’t speaking. Maybe she’d had that stroke she warned us was coming.

  “This is an outrage,” Wilhelmina said, looking at her relatives for support. “I won’t allow my son to be seen in public like this.”

  “’Fraid it’s too late for that,” Natalie said. “He’s probably gonna end up in one of them gossip rags as the world’s ugliest man.” She looked over at Boris and shook her head. “Hey, maybe we should make him a crown.”

  That got the crowd really stirred up. Several people began shouting that the family had been disgraced.

  Mo finally found her voice, telling me, “I think there could be a riot.”

  Howie, or Norman, came over to us and said, “Don’t try and blame me for this. I didn’t have a lot to work with.” He looked at Estelle. “I think it’s his hair that’s the problem.”

  “His hair can’t even technically be called hair,” Estelle said. “I would describe it as a quill.”

  What she said caused more shouting. The crowd began to advance in our direction. The only thing that stopped them was the sound of a helicopter coming over the hill. It landed in an area of the yard that had been roped off from the crowd.

  Nana and her new beau made their way over to the helicopter as children came out of the crowd, scattering flower petals in front of them. The couple stopped before getting into the chopper and turned to the crowd.

  “Boris and I are going on holiday,” Nana announced. “Ta-ta, for now.”

  The happy couple made their way over to the helicopter and, a couple minutes later, the chopper rose above the estate, banked, and disappeared over the horizon.

  After it was gone, a deathly silence settled over the crowd. Then, all at once, the partygoers seemed to turn in our direction and began moving toward us.

  “They don’t look happy,” Howie said.

  “I think they’re really angry,” Estelle agreed.

  Even Natalie seemed to sense the urgency of the situation. “We’d better say our goodbyes.”

  Mo was more direct. “Run for your lives!”

  What followed was a stampede, as the crowd again surged in our direction. I was moving quickly down the driveway with Bernie when I glanced back at the swell of humanity descending on us. Then I realized I was wrong. This wasn’t humanity coming for us.

  This was the zombie apocalypse!

  THIRTY-FIVE

  My friends and I escaped the zombies—barely. I got a good night’s sleep, for once, and as I was getting ready for work the next morning, Leo called. “I’m going to take a couple of days off and help out my daughter with Meg. She’s still in the hospital.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Not sure. Her blood pressure spiked, so they’re running some tests. Hopefully, it’s nothing serious, but I want to be here.”

  “No worries. Take care, and I hope Meg’s okay.”

  After ending the call, I checked my phone and saw that Selfie had forwarded the sketch that the artist who worked with Winifred Shaw had completed. The subject looked like he was in his fifties, with sandy hair and blue eyes, but was otherwise unremarkable. I sent a text to Selfie, asking that she and Molly distribute the sketch to Klondike Studios to see if anyone there recognized him. I then went next door to have coffee with Natalie and Mo.

  “I heard twelve people were crushed in the zombie stampede last night,” Mo said, after I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table with her and Natalie.

  “Are you serious?”

  She shook her head. “Just wanted to get your heart started. I heard the party went on for a couple of hours after we left, then the blood suckers all went back to their graves.”

  “I can’t believe Boris and Nana are hooking up,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it hookin’,” Natalie said. “I heard Boris didn’t leave willingly.”

  “It looked like it to me.”

  “We think Nana’s got some dirt on him,” Mo said. “That’s why he went along with everything.”

  “What kind of dirt?”

  “Not sure, but it must be bad.”

  “Maybe the bloke did crawl out of a mass grave somewhere,” Natalie speculated. “And Nana’s threatened to turn him into the authorities unless he cooperates.”

  I sipped my coffee. “If I were Boris, I’d give myself up and ask to be put into protective custody.”

  Mo changed the subject, mentioning Garth Henry. “Heard you took down Campbell’s dealer after Bernie got a piece of the scumbag.”

  Since she’d given us the lead on Henry, I saw no reason not to share the details with her. “Henry said Campbell was a recreational user. He also said she had some family problems, including a cheating boyfriend.”

  “Maybe Lambert’s girlfriend whacked Campbell, then shot him and made it look like a suicide,” Natalie suggested, referencing the fact that the press was already speculating Lambert’s death wasn’t self-inflicted.

  “Maybe,” I said, “but we have a witness telling us that this man left Campbell’s house about an hour before Lambert and Morgan arrived.” I showed them the sketch artist’s likeness on my phone.

  “He looks familiar,” Natalie said, “but I can’t place him.”

  I took my phone back. “I think he’s just got one of those pleasant faces that looks like your next door neighbor. We’re going to show it around Klondike Studios.” I checked the time. “I’ve got to be going. Leo’s out with a family illness, and I’ve got a busy day.”

  As I headed for the door, Natalie said, “Me and Mo are still workin’ on the payback for Izzy. When we get things set up, we’ll let you know.”

  I cautioned her not to do anything that would get her into trouble, then thought about what Mo had said about her possibly hooking up with Howie. I mentioned his odd personality shift last night, adding, “He reminded me of that character Norman Bates from the old movie Psycho.

  “Not to worry,” Natalie said. “Howie’s as harmless as they come. We got us a date tomorrow night.”

  I looked at Mo, who was standing behind Natalie and shaking her head in disapproval. I then said to Natalie, “Do you really think that’s a good idea? You and Izzy just broke up.”

  “I’ve been seein’ me a relationship coach. She said I need to get back in the game before I forget how to play.” Her face lit up and she added, “I got me another appointment with her. Why don’t you tag along? Maybe she can give you some pointers on thawin’ out your privates.”

  I chuckled. “My privates aren’t exactly frozen, but I’m not interested in a relationship. I think I’ll pass.”

  Mo took a step
forward and winked at me from behind Natalie’s back. “Kate’s gonna think about it.” She then said to me, “I think it would be a real good idea if you tagged along with baby sis.”

  ***

  The traffic was light as I drove to work with Bernie. I looked at my furry partner in the rearview mirror and said, “A relationship coach. Really?”

  I knew that Mo wanted me to use my influence to try and keep Natalie and Howie apart. I had a better chance of making it snow in July in Hollywood than influencing Natalie when it came to the opposite sex.

  When I got to work, Molly met me in the hallway and said Lieutenant Edna wanted everyone to meet in his office. As we gathered around the table, I explained about Leo being out on a family illness. Edna then ruined my day.

  “You can team up with Darby and Mel until Leo gets back.” His tired eyes moved around the table. “I guess you all got the fucking message yesterday about Dunbar wanting action. Let’s talk about the latest with Blake Lambert.”

  We took turns, going over what SID and Brie had said about his death likely being a homicide, staged to look like suicide.

  Mel then said, “I talked to Maitland with SID when I got in. They had one of their handwriting experts compare a sample found in Lambert’s home with the suicide note. There are discrepancies. They don’t believe he wrote it.”

  “What do we know about Lambert’s background?” Edna asked, looking at Selfie and Molly.

  Molly had the bio. “He grew up in Florida, but has been in Hollywood for almost ten years. Both parents are deceased, no siblings. He had a few minor roles, but rumor had it he was going to be tapped for a supporting role in an upcoming Wescott Pane movie.”

  “What about relationships, either before or during his marriage?”

  “There were several rumors about him hooking up with various actresses,” Selfie said. “He lived with a woman named Alexis Teller for about a year before he became involved with Campbell.” She looked at me. “I’ve got Teller’s address, if you want to follow-up with her.”

  I took the information and said to Edna, “According to Garth Henry, Lambert was cheating on Campbell. That’s an angle we still need to develop, so we’ll talk to Teller and also go back to Klondike Studios today.”

  “What about the composite drawing the neighbor came up with?” Edna asked.

  Molly used a remote to activate a monitor, bringing up the drawing. “As you can see,” I said, “he looks like your average Joe. We’re sending it to the studios…” I looked at Molly.

  “It went over about an hour ago,” she said. “So far, we don’t have anything back.”

  The lieutenant scribbled on his notepad. “I’ll check with Media Relations, see if we can release it to the press.”

  Darby spoke up. “We need to get with Castello today, and…”

  “Hold on that,” Edna said. “Dunbar made nice with him last night, so let’s see how things go with the investigation today.” He looked around the room. “What else?”

  “Selfie and I have something,” Molly said.

  Selfie, who this morning had red hair and a matching blouse, took over. “We talked to Adriana, the singer who was in the drug program with Campbell. She’s willing to meet with us this afternoon at two at her recording studio on Fairfax.”

  “I still don’t see what good is going to come from talking to her,” Darby whined. “The drug program is ancient history.”

  “Kate and I will go,” Mel said. She looked at me, raising her brows.

  I said to Selfie. “Tell her we’ll be there.”

  “Whatever,” Darby grumbled, clearly unhappy with his partner.

  “There is one other avenue I think we should explore,” I said, ignoring him. “We need to talk to Luke Morgan’s mother. Maybe she’s got some insight into his relationship with Campbell.”

  “Make it happen, and make something positive happen today,” Edna said. “This will probably be our swan song.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Edna exhaled and ran a hand through his perpetually tousled hair. “Our new chief doesn’t think Section One is pulling its weight. According to Dembowski, he’s going to pull the plug on the unit once this case is closed.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Bernie and I rode with Darby and Mel to talk to Luke Morgan’s mother. Along the way, we discussed what Edna had said about Dunbar wanting to disband Section One.

  “I think our new chief wants total control,” Mel said. “My guess is you’re going to see more so-called special interest cases moved to administration, and fewer specialized units at the division level.”

  “It goes against the concept of community policing,” I said. “Crimes have to be worked and solved in the communities where they happen, not in some ivory tower by administrators.”

  “It’s the way of the future, you ask me,” Darby said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means we’re going to have less and less control over everything we do.” He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “They don’t want any loose cannons working cases.”

  I started to take exception, knowing he was talking about my past issues with the brass, but kept quiet. Taking cases away from the division and ending Section One might be a reaction to that. I knew it could also be Dunbar’s method of payback for me using his past indiscretions in Vice against him.

  Luke Morgan’s mother, Norma, lived in an apartment complex in Van Nuys, about forty minutes from Hollywood. She was a small, bird-like woman, with mousy brown hair and a solemn expression. I got the impression she was still in a state of shock and grief over what had happened to her son.

  After introductions, we gathered around her kitchen table, while Bernie settled at my feet. Mel took the lead in questioning her after we declined an offer of coffee.

  “Tell us about Luke, what kind of person he was,” Mel said, softening her tone and beginning the discussion.

  “My son was…” She sniffed and found a paper towel to wipe her tears. “…I had Luke when I was sixteen. He was my only child. He was kind and considerate to everyone.”

  Mel nodded. “We understand that he worked as a stagehand and also did carpentry in his spare time.”

  “He was very talented. Luke could build anything.”

  “Did he ever mention Campbell Turner to you?”

  “Yes. I’d seen her show a few times, and we talked about his work at the studio. He said she was very nice to him.”

  “Did Luke ever talk about doing some handyman or carpentry work for her?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I remember.”

  Mel began taking the conversation in a different direction. “Can you tell us about your son’s medical problems?”

  Morgan took a moment before responding. “Luke started having problems when he was a teenager. At first, I thought he was just depressed, but then he started having mood swings. The doctors said he was bipolar.”

  “Was he taking medication for his condition?”

  “Sometimes, but it wasn’t that severe. I think they called it Cyclo…I’m not sure how to pronounce it.”

  “Cyclothymia?” I said, knowing it was a mild form of the disorder.

  She looked at me. “Yes, I think that was it. He didn’t like the way his meds made him feel, so he usually didn’t take them.”

  “What about street drugs?” Mel said. “Did Luke ever use them?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What about heroin?”

  She twisted her hands together in her lap. “I’m not sure.”

  Darby demonstrated his impatience with the pace of the conversation. “Mrs. Morgan, do you think your son killed Campbell?”

  For the first time since we began questioning her, Norma Morgan became defiant. “Absolutely not. My son wasn’t violent.”

  Mel glared at her partner and took over again. “Do you have any thoughts on who might have killed her and your son?”

  She shook her head slowly
, and her gaze moved off. “All I know is that Luke once told me that Campbell was sad. Maybe their deaths had something to do with problems she was having with her boyfriend, the one who killed himself.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that Luke and Campbell were involved and it made her boyfriend jealous?”

  “Goodness, no. Luke was very shy. He only had one girlfriend, and…” She brushed a tear. “I just can’t see him being involved with anyone who was a big time actress.”

  There was a pause in the conversation, and I took the opportunity to ask, “When you said before that Luke said Campbell was sad, do you know what he meant by that?”

  She took a moment, then nodded as she answered. “Luke told me that he understood how she felt. He said when he had one of his episodes, when he felt depressed, he knew exactly how Campbell felt when she was down.”

  “But did he ever say what made her sad?”

  She thought for a moment, then said, “I just remember him saying it had something to do with her family.”

  “Her family. As in her parents, or her boyfriend?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  We spent an hour with Norma Morgan, not getting much that was useful, but what she’d said about Campbell Turner being sad or depressed seemed to fit with what Garth Henry had told us.

  “Maybe Campbell was also bipolar,” I said to Darby and Mel over an early lunch at a sandwich shop. “It could be that she had that in common with Morgan.”

  “It could also be that Morgan used the hammer on her during one of his manic states,” Darby said. “He came onto her, she rebuffed him, and she paid the price.”

  Mel rolled her eyes, then looked at me. “What do we know about Campbell’s medical history?”

  “Selfie and Molly are working on it, but, so far, there’s nothing remarkable they’ve turned up.”

  “I still think this was a three-way,” Darby said.

  Mel didn’t acknowledge what he’d said, so I told him, “You want to explain that?”

  “Morgan came by to do some handyman work for Campbell. Things heated up between them that Campbell initially encouraged as a way to pay back her cheating boyfriend. When she had second thoughts about going all the way, Morgan got angry and killed her. Lambert came home, saw what Morgan had done and paid him back.”