by M. Z. Kelly
HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE
MZ Kelly
Note from the author
This book, like all the Hollywood Alphabet Series novels, contains an interesting Hollywood fact or quote from a famous movie star. As you read, look for the fact or quote, and then look for details about how to win valuable prizes at the end of this book. Contests may be related to information in this book or Hollywood in general. All contests are updated regularly, it’s easy to enter, and the prizes are great.
Click Here to become a member of my Street Team and receive my newsletter with information about upcoming book releases, contests, and special offers.
Also in the Hollywood Alphabet Series:
Hollywood Assassin
Hollywood Blood
Hollywood Crazy
Hollywood Dirty
Hollywood Enemy
Hollywood Forbidden
Hollywood Games
Hollywood Intrigue (Coming Soon)
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY ONE
TWENTY TWO
TWENTY THREE
TWENTY FOUR
TWENTY FIVE
TWENTY SIX
TWENTY SEVEN
TWENTY EIGHT
TWENTY NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY ONE
THIRTY TWO
THIRTY THREE
THIRTY FOUR
THIRTY FIVE
THIRTY SIX
THIRTY SEVEN
THIRTY EIGHT
THIRTY NINE
FORTY
FORTY ONE
FORTY TWO
FORTY THREE
FORTY FOUR
FORTY FIVE
FORTY SIX
FORTY SEVEN
FORTY EIGHT
FORTY NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY ONE
FIFTY TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY FOUR
FIFTY FIVE
FIFTY SIX
FIFTY SEVEN
FIFTY EIGHT
FIFTY NINE
SIXTY
SIXTY ONE
SIXTY TWO
SIXTY THREE
SIXTY FOUR
SIXTY FIVE
SIXTY SIX
SIXTY SEVEN
SIXTY EIGHT
SIXTY NINE
SEVENTY
SEVENTY ONE
SEVENTY TWO
SEVENTY THREE
Thanks for reading
Contests . . . Giveaways . . . Free Stuff . . .
COMING SOON
ONE
Dead.
That’s the fate I had in mind for The Sadist. He was a brutal serial rapist who had created a reign of terror, prowling the streets of Hollywood and other cities around Los Angeles for the past three years. His latest victim, Marcy Dunn, had survived her ordeal—barely. We were unsure if Marcy would ever talk or walk again. The Sadist had engaged in some knife work, disfiguring the girl, before raping and dumping her from a moving car a couple of blocks north of where I stood.
The late December night was cool, the temperature probably hovering in the forty degree range, as I stood on the street corner with about a half a dozen other women. I’d already had a confrontation with someone named Billie Jean who told me that she had territorial rights to the block I was working. Rather than blowing my cover, I moved on, taking my off-the-shoulder little black dress, with the wire concealed beneath the skimpy material, a couple of blocks down the street.
“Time check,” I heard Earl Handy say into my earpiece.
Handy, a Hollywood vice cop, called Handyman by the locals, was in an unmarked car in a parking lot less than a block up the street with Pearl Kramer. Kramer was a retired one-time chief of detectives who worked part-time on special assignments. He was also my friend, one of the few good guys in a department that sometimes forgot what it means to work the streets.
I knew there were two other unmarked cars in the vicinity out of sight as I answered Handyman. “Ten-four. All quiet here.”
I took a break from the street action to remove one of my stiletto heels and massage my foot, watching as the customers slowed down looking for dates. I purposely turned away from a couple of the johns, knowing they didn’t fit the profile of our suspect.
I should probably explain how I ended up half-naked, standing on Hollywood Boulevard, and looking for sex partners. My name is Kate Sexton. My usual assignment was with LAPD’s Robbery Homicide Division, or RHD, where I worked with my canine partner, Bernie. My furry hairball companion was home with my mother tonight. My big dog was probably wishing that he could sink his teeth into a rapist rather than deal with Miss Daisy, as my new age psychic guru mother sometimes called herself. Mom was suffering some emotional problems lately. I’d made the mistake of putting on my stupid hat a couple of weeks ago and agreed to move in with her.
I volunteered for the vice duty after I’d heard about the girls being attacked. I knew it was a dangerous assignment but I didn’t care. I was feeling hollow inside from the cases I’d worked over the past few years and from some relationship issues in my personal life. A shrink might have even said that in some ways I was punishing myself for what I perceived as my life having gone off the rails. The analysis probably wouldn’t be too far off the mark.
“We’ve got a visual on a white van coming up the street in your direction,” I heard Handyman say over my wireless earpiece. “No plates. Older model. The general description matches our suspect vehicle.”
I put my shoe back on and glanced up the boulevard. I held my breath as I watched the vehicle approach. It was a dirty Ford panel van, at least ten years old. No license plates. Windows tinted. It all fit, but I also knew it probably matched the description of dozens of other vans in Hollywood.
The driver slowed down about twenty yards up the street. Maybe it was my imagination but I had the sense that he was studying me. If he was The Sadist he was probably also looking for witnesses or maybe even my fellow officers who were parked in the shadows around the area.
Despite my feelings of dread, I put on my best hooker smile. I’m tall with dark hair, green eyes, and even features, but I hardly fit the typical stereotype of a street walker. Even so, I tugged at the top of my dress, revealing what little cleavage I had, and conjured up what I thought might be my best come fuck me look.
Ten yards away the van began to accelerate. I’d decided that the driver had made a decision to move on when the vehicle suddenly swerved closer to me and the side door rumbled open. A pair of hands reached out and grabbed me before I could react, yanking me inside. I tumbled onto the floorboard, turned, and looked up into the face of a monster.
“Eleven ninety-nine,” I said into my wire, giving the department’s ten code for an officer needs help. My voice pitched higher and I repeated the need for immediate assistance.
Then I regained my bearings, looked over, and saw the girl. She was naked and chained to a bar. She’d suffered the same fate that I imagined The Sadist had in mind for me.
She was dead.
TWO
I tried to scramble away from the madman as the van jerked away from the curb and accelerated. The vehicle’s interior wa
s dark, the air rank, giving me the impression that the dead girl hadn’t been the first victim to see the inside of the van. I then felt a meaty hand on my back and heard the sound of fabric ripping.
“She’s got a wire,” my assailant yelled to the driver as my dress came down to my waist. “We picked up a fucking cop.”
“Eleven ninety-nine,” I shouted out again before my attacker stomped on the wireless communication device.
The monster then turned his full attention on me, his real purpose surfacing. “Let’s have a little fun while we lose your friends.”
The van lurched forward, accelerating faster, and fishtailing as my attacker’s massive hands locked around my neck. My airway was clamped off. I desperately fought back, trying to gouge his eyes and pull away.
Despite the terror of the moment, my police training kicked in and I concentrated on my assailant. I was able to take in his features, maybe because they were burned into my consciousness by the adrenaline surging through my body. Heavy forehead. Round face. Squat nose. Acne scars. Dark, empty eyes. It all fit. This was the man I’d seen in the police artist’s rendering of Marcy Dunn’s attacker. This was The Sadist.
“Save something for me,” I heard the driver calling back to his partner.
My vision began to narrow and I felt weak. I sensed that I had moments to act before I lost consciousness. I brought my knee up in a power move that I’d been taught in an officer safety class at the police academy, concentrating my energy in my assailant’s most vulnerable area.
“Fuuucckkk,” the monster bellowed as his hands came lose and he stumbled back.
I took the opportunity to glance about the van as we skidded around a corner. I lost my balance and went down. I desperately felt around the floorboard in the dim light, my hands brushing against a chain that had probably been meant to imprison me.
My attacker was on me again, this time pulling me up and slamming a fist into my jaw. I fell back but he held onto me, pummeling me a second time. My consciousness began to dim again, at the same time my heart hammered against my ribcage. I knew instinctively this was a fight for survival. I had no idea if my fellow officers were somewhere behind us in pursuit, but even if they were I knew that I had moments to react and save my own life.
I gathered all my strength and pushed away from my attacker. I found the chain on the floorboard and brought it up, lashing out at him. He fell back as I struck him in the face.
The monster stood up, screamed obscenities, and brought out a knife, saying, “You’re going to die, bitch.”
He lunged at me, but I shifted my weight. The knife found nothing but air. I simultaneously brought the chain down, striking him across the face. He went down, losing the knife during the fall. I took the opportunity to wrap the chain around his neck, cutting off his airway, at the same time wishing I had a way to reach out for the knife.
His hands came up to his neck as he desperately clawed for air. I took a moment to glance toward the front of the van. I had the sense that we’d crossed over the freeway and were now in a residential area. As I twisted harder on the chain I realized that the driver was reaching over into the glove compartment. I saw the shiny glint of light on metal as he swung his hand back in my direction.
He had a gun.
THREE
A shot rang out, echoing through the van. I scrambled back, using my attacker as a shield. The monster’s body was already limp from me cutting off his airway, but the bullet missed him. I wasn’t sure if he was dead, but he was no longer the center of my universe. My world was now the crazed gunman shooting at me. There was a second blast of gunfire that blew out a window. The shot echoed through the van, deafening me, at the same time the air filled with the distinctive odor of gunshot residue.
The van lurched and hit a curb. The driver had to use both hands to recover. I took that moment to act. I removed the chain from The Sadist’s neck and moved toward the driver, striking out at him. He screamed and the van lurched around a corner, glancing off a parked car. I regained my balance, brought the chain up over his head, and twisted it around his neck.
As the driver fought me off, he accelerated, the van lurching wildly through the residential area. He turned hard on the wheel and I was thrown back. When I got back on my feet I saw that he still had the gun. I reached out, pushing his hand away at the same time he discharged the weapon; blowing a hole in the roof of the van.
I wrestled the gun away as he tried to steady the van. We were now in a rural area. I thought I saw moonlight reflecting off a body of water. As I gained control of the gun I felt a big hand on my leg and realized that The Sadist was still alive and coming for me again.
I made a split second decision, turned, and fired the weapon at the man who had ahold of my leg. He screamed and fell back. I then turned to the driver and said, “Pull over or you die.”
He took a moment to glance back at me, stomped harder on the accelerator, and yelled, “We’re both going to hell, bitch.”
I fell back as the van lurched forward and turned. We skidded off the roadway and hit a dirt embankment. The van was on its side now, skidding wildly out of control. A moment later it felt like we were floating through the air. I had that same sensation you get when an airplane first takes off from a runway. We then came splashing back down to earth and I had a new problem.
I was drowning.
FOUR
The water came rushing into the interior of the van. I struggled to regain my bearings and choked on the water filling my lungs. I couldn’t be sure where I was, but I knew from the surrounding neighborhood that the Hollywood Reservoir was in this area. The small body of water served as part of the city’s water supply and overlooked the Hollywood Sign. On any other night, the little lake would have made for a beautiful drive. Tonight it seemed determined to fill up my lungs and suck me down into the darkness.
The water continued to pour in from the half-open passenger window. The van’s headlights were still on and I realized that we were upside down. I saw that the driver was frantically trying to claw his way to the top of the van where there was an air pocket. I took the opportunity to end his struggle.
I brought the gun up that I’d held onto as the van had overturned and plunged into the water.
“This is for Marcy and all the other girls,” I said, firing and permanently ending the driver’s struggle for air.
As the man’s screams filled the van I tossed the gun away and fought my way to the air pocket at the top of the vehicle, the headlights dimly illuminating my surroundings. I swam up to the floorboards of the overturned van that had less than a foot of airspace above the water that was still pouring in. We were sinking lower, my supply of air diminishing with each precious breath.
I knew I had seconds to react and only one chance to save my life. I gulped in a final breath, dove down, and made my way over to the passenger window. The glass was only half way down and wouldn’t budge. I used my feet, trying to break out the window but it was useless. My lungs began filling with water, panic consuming me, as I frantically tried to find a way to open the door.
I reached down and found the handle and pushed hard on the door. It came open at the same time it felt like my lungs were ready to explode. I scrambled through the opening and pushed away from the van, swimming for the surface of the lake. I broke through the water, choking and gulping in air.
I took a moment and looked back where the van had been, still trying to clear my lungs as I treaded water and tried to slow my racing heartbeat. The van had already sunk below the water line and was nowhere in sight.
I began making my way toward the shore where I saw Handyman and Pearl wading into the water to help me. They reached out, giving me a hand as I made it to dry land.
We made our way up the small cliff to the unmarked cars where Pearl brought over a blanket. I wrapped myself up in the warm cotton fiber. The elderly black cop met my eyes and said, “Are you okay, Kate?”
I looked into his leathery eyes, shook
my head, and said, “No.”
FIVE
I spent the rest of the evening at Hollywood Station, where I showered in the employee’s locker room and changed into a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt that I kept in my equipment bag. My injuries were minor, just some bruising and cuts from where The Sadist had struck me.
I was photographed for evidentiary purposes and pushed paper around for a few hours, detailing what had happened in reports that I knew would be scrutinized by the district attorney to determine whether or not the shootings had been justified. The life of a cop was great. You could defend your life by killing a couple of monsters, but being second guessed every step of the way was just part of the drill.
We’d tentatively identified the dead girl in the van as Elizabeth Walden, a prostitute who had gone missing a week earlier. Earl Handy had offered to do the death notification to the girl’s parents. I told him I was grateful for saving me from further trauma.
Just before heading for home Pearl stopped by my desk and said, “Care to go for a walk?”
My eyes found his; soft, buttery, full of compassion. “As long as it’s not on a street corner.”
We took the sidewalk in front of the station. It was a couple of weeks until Christmas, the cold of night now seeping into my bones. I hugged my sides as I saw the walkway had stars with the names of officers who had fallen in the line of duty. I stopped for a moment as we reached one of the stars and I bent down to it.
“They finally did the right thing,” I said to Pearl, as he bent down to the sidewalk with me.
He removed a handkerchief and polished my father’s name. “Took a long time, but the department finally got it right.”
My father had been murdered when I was four years old. We’d gone to Griffith Park together and I’d watched as a man named Ryan Cooper had shot him in cold blood. Years later, the same madman had come for me, gunning down my then boyfriend, Jack Bautista. In the process, Cooper had been killed by my half-sister, who’d followed him and finally stopped his reign of terror.