by M. Z. Kelly
As Darby huffed and puffed, Edna said to me, “Let’s hear it, but this better be good.” He looked at his unhappy detective. “I’m about out of patience.”
SIXTY-TWO
“We know that both Campbell Turner and Blake Lambert were cheating on one another,” I said, laying out the scenario. “Campbell was seeing her college boyfriend, Patrick Hopkins, while Lambert was seeing Alexis Teller. Let’s suppose for a moment that Lambert found out Campbell was cheating on him with her old boyfriend. He became jealous and enraged, but the focus of his anger was Campbell, rather than Hopkins. In time, he came up with a plan for the ultimate payback—to murder Campbell.
“Last Tuesday, Lambert began to put his plan in place. He went to Campbell’s house to kill her, but found that she’d already been murdered. She’d been beaten to death with his own hammer, which he’d left in a toolbox in her garage. While Lambert was still there, Luke Morgan came by the house, probably to give Campbell a quote for some remodeling, and realized she was dead. Lambert knew then he had a big problem. Morgan would tell the authorities that when he arrived at the home, he found him there with his dead girlfriend. Since Lambert knew his initials were engraved on the murder weapon, he also knew that would make him the prime suspect.”
“So Lambert decides to shoot Morgan, to take the blame off himself,” Leo said. “He then tells everyone that Morgan was already in the house, having killed Campbell before he got there. He claims Morgan came after him with the hammer and he had no choice but to shoot him. He later concocts a motive for the murder, telling everyone that Morgan had been stalking his girlfriend.”
“And we know now that the second, fatal shot to Morgan was at close range,” Mel added. “Making Lambert’s story less credible. We also know that Morgan was shy and immature, not someone prone to stalking behavior.”
Darby scratched his thinning hair and looked at me. “So, playing along with your crazy ass scenario, who killed Campbell?”
“Patrick Hopkins,” I said.
“I’m fucking confused,” Edna told me.
“Let’s suppose that when Blake Lambert found out Campbell was cheating on him with Hopkins, he confronted her. Campbell begged his forgiveness and once again broke things off with Hopkins. We know that Hopkins has an extreme problem with anger and alcohol, and this was the second time Campbell had chosen Lambert over him. He became so infuriated that he also came up with his own plan to kill Campbell. He knew, maybe from helping out around the house, that Lambert’s hammer was in the garage. He used that weapon to murder Campbell, thereby setting up Lambert for the crime.”
Leo followed along. “That, in turn, left Lambert with only one option to get out of the frame that had been set in place. He set Morgan up for Campbell’s death, telling us that he had no choice but to shoot him when Morgan came after him with the murder weapon.”
Edna shook his head. “It’s a huge stretch to think both Hopkins and Lambert went to Campbell’s house on the same day to murder her.”
“Not if they both knew it was rare for Campbell to have time off from shooting her soap opera. Hannah Montague told us they’d been shooting the show non-stop for a month. The day Campbell was murdered was the first day they weren’t in production in weeks.”
“I still don’t understand how Lambert ends up dead in a faked suicide,” Darby said. “Who killed him?”
“Hopkins. He knew that Lambert was aware that he and Campbell were involved again. He was probably worried that Lambert would eventually put things together about how he’d been framed and begin pointing his finger at him. Hopkins’ solution to the problem was to kill Lambert, make it look like a suicide, and leave a note blaming Morgan for Campbell’s murder. He believed that with Lambert’s suicide, all the loose ends would be tied up and the case would be closed.”
“It’s a nice story,” Edna said, “but it still leaves us with no explanation for the man the neighbor saw.”
“Agreed,” I said. “Some things might have gone the way we laid them out, but there’s still some missing pieces.”
“It’s a total wag,” Darby said.
“A what?”
“A wild ass guess, nothing but pure speculation.”
“Maybe the man who came by Campbell’s house was Jimmy Castello,” Mel suggested, ignoring her partner and going back to the lieutenant’s concern. “It could be that the neighbor just didn’t recognize him because he’s older than when he was on TV. I think we still need to go back to Castello.”
Edna levelled his eyes on her. “We’ve got enough problems with the brass and the press. We’re not going back to Castello unless we’ve got something solid.” The lieutenant leaned forward in his chair and dragged both hands through his graying hair. “Hopkins has to be found.” He looked at Selfie and Molly. “Does he have any ties to this area, other than to our victim?”
Selfie tugged on one of her half dozen ear piercings. “His parents are dead, no siblings.”
Molly had a mountain of paperwork that she’d been digging through. “There is an uncle, or...” She found a piece of paper in the stack, “...more precisely, he’s a half-uncle. Hopkins’ mother’s half-brother is Declan Murphy. He owns a cloud-based computing company called Murphy Industries. He’s worth a fortune and lives on a yacht in Marina del Rey.”
“Any indication Hopkins has ties to him?” Edna asked.
“None, but, since we’ve got nothing else, maybe it’s worth checking out.”
“Let’s do it,” Edna said. He looked at me. “You keep a low profile, like before. I want Hopkins found and I want those questions you have answered.” He cut his eyes to Darby. “Every now and then, a wild ass guess pays off.”
SIXTY-THREE
After our meeting broke up, Molly asked me to stop by her desk. I got two cups of Starbucks coffee, left over from another meeting, and took them with me to her workstation.
“Don’t tell me,” I said, after giving her one of the cups, and Bernie settled in next to me, “you’ve decided we should murder Darby and you’ve come up with a plan.”
She giggled and swept her auburn hair off her forehead. “It’s tempting, but I like my freedom.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I just wanted to give you an update on things in Taft.”
“You took the evidence back there?”
“Yesterday.” She smiled. “By the way, Detective Adams asked me about you. I think he’s interested.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Just that you’re not currently seeing anyone.” Her smile grew wider. “I also found out he’s divorced and has been single for about five years, no kids.”
I was flattered that Adams was interested, but said, “I’m on the shelf...” My lips turned up as I thought about my session with Francesca. “...for now.”
“I understand. Anyway, Detective Adams said he’s been putting some feelers out, checking on anyone in the area who might be a blacksmith. He found a guy who lives about ten miles out of town, who supposedly forges a variety of tools in his own workshop. He said he was going to go by and check out the guy today. I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Was Adams going to call you after he talked to him?”
Her smile came back. “I think he’s planning to call you.”
I saw that Leo was in the hallway with Darby and Mel. “Thanks. I’ll let you know what he says.”
“One more thing. This is about Declan Murphy. I came across something on the Internet about him that you need to know about.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s apparently pretty paranoid about...I guess you could say outsiders. He’s got his own security force that goes with him everywhere. If he’s on his yacht, they’re probably close by.”
***
I mentioned to the others what Molly had said, about Murphy, before we left the station. Leo and I took our own car, following Darby and Mel. As we drove, and Bernie poked his nose through a rear window, Leo talked abo
ut Section One.
“I’m a little worried about where I might end up if One goes away.” He glanced at me. “You given any thought to another assignment?”
I remembered what Mel had said about giving me permission to talk to Cynthia McFadden as I answered. “I wouldn’t fold the tent, just yet. Something might come up that will change Dunbar’s mind.”
“You mean like solving our case?”
I smiled, then realized I’d snagged the cuff of my blouse on something and it was torn. “Damn.” I exhaled, deciding I was a walking wardrobe malfunction. “Maybe. Time will tell.”
Leo saw that I was upset and said, “Cheer up. You just got a reason to go shopping.”
I chuckled. “I like your attitude.”
He then changed the subject, telling me, “Just so you know, I never mentioned anything about Joe to Darby or Mel.”
“I know. I’m sure Darby’s just looking for something to needle me with.”
“How did you and Joe leave things?”
I glanced at him, unsure about my feelings for Joe. “We’re just friends...for now.”
As we got closer to Marina del Rey, I googled Murphy Industries and told Leo what I’d learned. “Mr. Murphy developed some proprietary software that uploads data to the cloud and encrypts it. Once it’s downloaded, the information is supposedly completely secure. The software is being used by all the major financial institutions. It’s made him a billionaire.”
Leo smiled. “Did I ever tell you I hate overachievers?”
I thought about Murphy’s nephew. “Did I ever tell you I hate lawyers?”
When we got to the marina, we found that Declan Murphy’s yacht was named Enterprise. I told Leo that maybe the billionaire was a Star Trek fan. The vessel was about the size of a football field and off limits, thanks to the security force Molly had warned us about.
When we got to a check point near the dock, Leo did the talking, showing his credentials to a security guard and asking to speak with Mr. Murphy.
“What’s this about?” a big guy with a shaved head asked.
“A police matter,” Leo said. “I’m not at liberty to say anything more until I talk to Mr. Murphy.”
Several phone calls followed, before we were allowed onto the dock, where we were met by Declan Murphy’s chief of staff, a man named Nolan Blaine.
“I’m afraid Mr. Murphy is indisposed,” Blaine said. “How can I help you?”
Murphy’s assistant was handsome, with silver hair and blue eyes. His suit was dark, and looked like it might be Armani.
Leo glanced at me, then decided to play his hand. “We’re here to talk to his nephew, Patrick Hopkins.”
The pupils in Blaine’s eyes widened. He hesitated before answering. “I believe you’re mistaken. There’s no such individual present.”
Leo continued to play it out, knowing we had no other option. “There’s two ways this can go: Either you let us onboard, so we can have a talk with Mr. Hopkins, or we station our officers on the dock, while we get a warrant and search Mr. Murphy’s yacht. I doubt that would make your boss very happy.”
Blaine rubbed his jaw, glancing at the multi-million-dollar palace floating in the water. “Let me make a call.”
The call turned into a ten-minute wait, before Nolan Blaine returned. “I’ll escort you to the forward executive parlor. Mr. Murphy is expecting you.”
Leo raised a brow and glanced at me as we walked toward the yacht. Everything that had transpired told us that Hopkins was on the yacht. It was now a question of whether or not we would be allowed access to him.
The executive parlor of the Enterprise confirmed my earlier thought about the yacht being named after a starship. It was like walking onto the bridge of a vessel made for space flight, the only exception being, this bridge had a bar and a billionaire.
“Please, have a seat,” Declan Murphy said, after coming over and shaking our hands. He got on one knee and ran a hand through Bernie’s fur.
Hopkins’ half-uncle was casually dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He was probably around seventy, with a spritz of white hair and the air of someone who was used to getting his way.
After Bernie settled down, and we took seats, Leo said, “We’re here because...”
Murphy cut him off. “What’s the boy done now?”
Leo didn’t mince words, maybe sensing Murphy valued a direct approach. “He’s wanted for questioning in a homicide.”
The billionaire shook his head. “I didn’t want to believe what I saw on TV about him being wanted in connection with the murder of that TV actress.”
“Is Mr. Hopkins onboard?”
Murphy locked eyes with him. “He’s here, I’m just not sure he’s vertical.”
“You mean he’s drunk,” Darby said, stating the obvious.
Murphy chuckled. “Let me put it this way: My nephew is on the lower deck of this ship. If you get on the elevator, you can smell the alcohol seeping from his pores from two floors up.”
Leo said, “If you can show us where...”
Nolan Blaine rushed over and whispered something to his boss.
Murphy’s brows shot up, and he said, “Really?”
“What’s going on?” Leo asked.
Murphy looked at him. “I’m afraid it won’t be possible to talk to my nephew.”
“Why is that?”
“He just stole one of the skiffs that we use to ferry supplies. He’s drunk and speeding out of the marina as we speak.”
SIXTY-FOUR
The “skiff” Patrick Hopkins stole from his uncle turned out to be a twenty-eight foot, high-speed cigarette boat. By the time we got to the deck of the Enterprise, we got a glimpse of Hopkins disappearing into open water.
“I’ll call it in,” Mel said. “Maybe the Coast Guard has a boat in the area.”
“Any idea where he might be headed?” I asked Declan Murphy.
“There’s no telling. As far as I know, he has no experience piloting a boat.”
As it turned out, Hopkins’ lack of experience and being drunk worked in our favor. Mel got a call from the Coast Guard fifteen minutes later, telling us that Hopkins’ boat was dead in the water.
“He hit some pilings on the Santa Monica Pier,” Mel said, after ending the call. “The boat is taking on water, and Hopkins is in the water.”
By the time we got to the Santa Monica Pier, a large crowd had gathered at the railing. A Coast Guard cutter was hovering offshore, and some firemen were on the pier.
“What’s going on?” Leo asked, after showing his credentials to one of the firemen.
“His boat sank, and he’s been crying off and on, refusing to come out of the water.”
I looked over the railing and saw that Hopkins was clinging to one of the pier’s pilings. He looked cold, wet, and confused. I said to Leo, “I think somebody needs to get down there and talk to him.”
Leo looked at the pilings beneath the planks. “No way down there, unless...”
“We can put a line over the side,” the fireman said, “but he’s already made it clear he won’t talk to us.”
I handed Bernie’s leash to Leo. “Let me give it a try. The worst that will happen is he’ll refuse to talk and stay down there until he loses strength and falls into the water. Then we can fish him out.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’d been fitted with a harness and hoisted up and over the pier railing. The water was choppy, and I was cold by the time I made the descent and was dangling above the water, a few feet away from Hopkins.
“Go away,” Hopkins said. He must have seen the badge on my belt, adding, “I’m refusing to waive my rights.”
“That’s your right. All I’m concerned about is your safety.”
He laughed. “Of course you are. As soon as I give up, I’ll end up in prison for the rest of my life for Campbell’s murder.”
“That’s not my priority...”
“Just so you know, I didn’t do it.”
I gave him a moment.
When he didn’t go on, I said, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
His emotions took over. I gave him a couple minutes to regain some control. He finally said, “It was a job.”
“A job? What are you talking about?”
He brushed his tears on the sleeve of his wet shirt. “I’m talking about a million dollars, Detective. Enough to get my new business established here and bail me out of debt in Chicago.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I didn’t want to lose the opening. “Tell me about the job.”
He sighed. “It was because of Campbell. She’d gone into therapy and said she was going to the authorities.”
“Therapy for what? What was she going to tell the authorities?”
Hopkins was distracted, seeing some helicopters hovering on the horizon. I knew the press had picked up on the story. So much for me keeping a low profile.
“Tell me about Campbell,” I said, trying to draw his attention back to me.
He sighed, and I saw his body grow slack. “Not here...I can’t hold on...”
He slumped down and fell into the water. I looked over in time to see a couple divers on the Coast Guard cutter jump into the water. They managed to get ahold of Hopkins and swim with him back to the ship.
I realized this was a critical moment. Hopkins was willing to talk, but that window might close once he was out of the water and on dry land. The Coast Guard had a smaller boat that was standing by to help, if needed. I knew that was my best opportunity to get to Hopkins.
I called up to Leo, “You need to call the Coast Guard, make arrangements to lower me onto their smaller boat so I can get to the cutter.”
It took several minutes and lots of maneuvering, but I managed to eventually get onto the smaller boat and then board the cutter. I was given a blanket for warmth and then made my way below deck, where I found Patrick Hopkins. He also had a blanket and was sitting on a bench.
“I have no...nothing mm...more to say,” Hopkins said, his teeth chattering. “Don’t wa...waste your time.”