by M. Z. Kelly
“You said that you have some news,” Dorsey said after they look seats on a bench near a pond where some koi roiled in the water.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen the news this morning?” Landon asked, bracing himself for Dorsey’s reaction.
“Oh, you mean about Scarlett?”
He nodded, seeing nothing in the way of emotion in his friend’s eyes.
“It’s a terrible shame. She was…” Dorsey sniffed and looked at Landon. “I’m afraid Scarlett and I had grown apart in recent years, didn’t even talk. What happened is a tragedy but...” He shrugged. “We both know that bad things can happen in this world.”
Landon wanted to shake Dorsey. A terrible tragedy? Scarlett was his only child for God’s sake.
“It’s not that I don’t care,” Dorsey went on. He sniffed a couple of more times and raked a hand under his nose. “I’m just…we both know that I’m not someone who openly displays a lot of emotion. Maybe it’s gotten worse over the years with the demands of my job.”
Despite knowing that he needed to focus on the issue at hand, Landon was so incredulous at his friend’s reaction that he couldn’t help himself. “Scarlett was your daughter, your only child.”
A heavy breath escaped Dorsey’s lungs. His brown eyes met Landon. “Just between the two of us, I’m also on some medication. I’m afraid it’s inhibited my emotional reactions to events.” He looked away. “I’m sorry.”
Landon controlled his own emotions, thoughts about yelling at Mark Dorsey and telling him he was a lost soul. Instead he said, “Do you have any idea who would want to harm Scarlett?”
A head shake. “Not the foggiest. I don’t even know her friends anymore. Did she stay in touch with Madison?”
Landon nodded. He removed the photographs he’d found in the envelope in the abandoned condo and showed them to Dorsey.
His one-time friend glanced through the photos as Landon looked away, not wanting to see the vile pictures again. “Oh my…these are…” He handed them back to Landon. “How did you get these?”
Landon took a moment, explaining how he’d been called and extorted into trying to fix Scarlett’s murder scene. Mark Dorsey knew all about his past his work as a fixer, so he saw no reason to be less than truthful. “I found Scarlett’s body. She was at the Montrose Gardens, in North Hollywood. Someone used a knife on her.” He put the photographs back in the envelope. “Do you recognize either of the men they were with?”
Dorsey shook his head, again showing no emotion.
Landon removed the letter he’d found in Scarlett’s notebook and showed it to him. “Any idea who she might have been writing to, who MSL could be?”
Landon examined the letter, turned the paper over in his hands, and handed it back. “The last I heard Scarlett had been seeing an actor…” He scratched at his thinning hair. “Tom Sterling, yes, that’s it. Don’t know if they’re still involved.”
“What about Scarlett and her mother?” Landon asked. “We’re they close?”
“Oh, probably…although Susan and I haven’t spoken in several years.” His dark eyes brightened a bit. “You might have a chat with her.”
Landon nodded and stood up. He again had thoughts about grabbing his former friend by the shirt, telling him that he needed to get off whatever drugs he was taking, and try to become a human being again. Instead he just sighed and said, “Would you do me a favor, Mark?”
“Of course,” he said flatly. “We’re friends.”
“The police will be coming around, asking about Scarlett. They don’t know about my…would you do me a favor and not tell them anything about speaking to me or about me being at the scene where Scarlett was killed. I don’t want them thinking I was somehow involved.”
Dorsey’s lips quivered. Landon wasn’t sure if it was an attempt at a smile or some other emotion that he couldn’t express. “Of course. I never saw you today.”
The two men shook hands and went their separate ways. As he drove away, Pearce Landon thought about his old friend. Mark Dorsey was a shell of the person he’d once known. He might be one of the richest men in the country, but he was disconnected and lost, a chemically altered personality who couldn’t even grieve for the loss of his only child. Landon thought about that and his own daughter, Madison, wondering what it must be like to completely lose one’s humanity.
FOURTEEN
After leaving Montrose Gardens, we went by Scarlett Endicott’s small house in the Melrose District of Hollywood. We searched the residence but didn’t come up with anything worthwhile. We then drove to Santa Monica where Susan Dorsey, our murder victim’s mother, lived in a condominium complex called The Shores. It was an industrial building that had been converted to lofts, some with ocean views.
When Scarlett’s mother came to the door it was obvious that she’d already heard about her daughter on television. Before we said a word, she collapsed into my arms, sobbing.
“Tell me it’s not true,” she said through a waterfall of tears. “Please.”
I knew from doing a multitude of death notifications that the only way to handle them was to be factual and candid.
I looked into her watery blue eyes and said, “I’m so sorry. Scarlett is gone.”
My words pushed her deeper into despair and she lost all control, crying hysterically. After several tries, Ted was able to coax a phone number for the woman’s sister who lived nearby. He called her and asked her to come over. When Diane Williams came through the door the two women fell into one another’s arms.
As the emotional breakdown continued, we gave the two women a few minutes and took Bernie out onto the balcony. Unlike Hollywood, the beach city was cool and foggy, fitting the gloomy mood of the past several hours.
“How are you doing with everything?” Ted asked me.
I drew in a breath, released it slowly. I glanced back into the living room, seeing the two women holding one another. I looked back at Ted. “I’m trying to keep your words about love and homicide in mind, and doing the right thing by the victim and the survivors.”
Ted smiled, running a hand through Bernie’s fur. “There was a guy named Lyall Watson. Back in the 1960’s he said he could describe life in three simple words: self-replicating order.” The big detective’s soft brown eyes held on me. “I think he got it right. Murder takes the order out of the way life was meant to be. We’re here to restore order.”
I regarded him for a long moment. My new partner continued to surprise me by the way he described things. I glanced at the two grieving women again, before looking back at him. “Let’s go and try to do the right thing by Scarlett.”
It took several starts and stops, but Susan Dorsey finally found some composure and talked to us. I started by asking her about the film her daughter was working on.
“It’s called Final Wish.” She shook her head, sniffed. “Scarlett hated her role.”
“Why is that?”
“She played a young mother who…” Susan looked at her sister, her tears returning. “It was one of those horror movies, something about a child who was possessed by the devil.”
I gave her a moment to dry her tears. “I understand that she was working with Zig Steinberg, the director.”
She nodded. “I think Scarlett was generally happy about working with him, but she never really said.”
“But it sounds like your daughter wasn’t happy with the movie,” Ted said, making an effort to keep his gravelly voice soft.
“My daughter was depressed, unhappy about a lot of things.” She looked over at her sister for a moment, back at us but didn’t go on.
Diane Williams confirmed what she’d said. “The three of us were pretty close. Susan’s right about her depression. She was seeing a therapist but I don’t think it helped much.”
“Do either of you know the therapist’s name?” Ted asked.
“I think it was Hawkins?” Diane said, looking at her sister for confirmation.”
Susan nodded. “Richard H
awkins. He’s got an office near Scarlett’s house. I remember her telling me that she could walk to the sessions.”
“Was Scarlett involved with anyone?” I asked, as Ted made a note of the therapist.
“She was seeing a writer, Donny Kessler. I don’t think the relationship was really going anywhere. It’s another thing that Scarlett was unhappy about.”
“I’m not sure what you mean. Were Scarlett and Donny having problems?”
She nodded. “I think they were…” She took a breath, releasing it slowly. “Scarlett said something about them growing apart. I’m not even sure they were still seeing one another.”
“Was there anyone else in Scarlett’s life, friends, other actors, anyone she might have been having problems with who might have wanted to harm her?”
Susan Dorsey glanced at her sister. They both shook their heads. Diane said, “Scarlett wasn’t the kind of person that people sometimes think about when they see a young actress in Hollywood. Despite becoming a big star at a young age, she wasn’t into the party scene and didn’t have a lot of friends.”
Susan agreed with her sister, adding, “I think she stayed in touch with Lauren Hayden. She and Scarlett took some acting classes together a few years ago. You might want to talk to her.”
At my request, she went over and found a phone number for Hayden. When she came back, her sister said, “You probably need to understand something about Scarlett.” She glanced at Susan who nodded, making me think an unspoken permission was being granted. Diane Williams looked back at us. “My niece was having some mental health issues, that’s part of the reason she was seeing the therapist. Scarlett was very unhappy, both with her acting and her personal life. She was a very distraught young woman and even talked about suicide a couple of times.”
“Do you know if she was on medication?” I asked.
“Her therapist had prescribed some antidepressants,” Susan said. “But Scarlett didn’t like the way they made her feel. She stopped taking them.”
I glanced at Ted, processing what they’d said. I then asked Scarlett’s mother if the address we had for her ex-husband was current. She laughed. It seemed out of place given the context of our discussion.
“I’m not sure about an address, but you can probably find Mark at Biogent. He practically lives there.”
“The drug company?” She nodded. “Were he and Susan close?”
Another laugh. “I don’t think they’d spoken in years. He didn’t even acknowledge her birthday.”
“Did they have some sort of falling out?”
Susan sniffed. “Not really. Mark’s just…let’s just say he’s pretty much in his own world. He might be one of the richest men in America but I don’t think he cares about anything or anyone, except his job.”
FIFTEEN
After leaving Susan Dorsey and her sister, I called Scarlett’s father. Mark Dorsey told me that he already knew about his daughter’s death from the media coverage and had no idea who would want to harm her. He said he hadn’t seen his daughter in over five years and had no relationship with her. I ended the call, asking him to contact me if he thought of anything that I should know about.
“That was one of the strangest death notifications I’ve ever done,” I said, glancing over at Ted who was turning off the freeway in Hollywood. “You’d think I’d just given him the weather report, rather than telling him that his only daughter was dead.”
I winced as I’d said the words, thinking about my new partner’s own daughter. Bernie poked his big nose up from the backseat. I rewarded him with a nuzzle, at the same time deciding that I was the world’s biggest idiot.
If Ted was bothered by what I’d said, he didn’t show it. “I’ve seen that guy on TV being interviewed a couple of times. He seemed pretty cold and detached.
“I think I would have gotten more of a reaction out of a snowman.”
When we got back to Hollywood Station, Captain Dembowski met with us and showed us the new Section One office, which had been carved out of a file room and by the rearrangement of some desks. The results were surprising, giving the new unit cozy but separate offices down a hallway from the rest of the stationhouse.
“You and Ted will share desks over by the window,” the captain said. We walked over to our new work space, examining the area.
“I always did like a room with a view,” Ted said, taking a seat and checking out his desk.
I also tried out my new work station. We then discussed the Scarlett Endicott murder for a minute before I saw a change in the captain’s expression.
“There have been some new developments regarding the unit that I want you both to know about,” Dembowski said, releasing a breath and running a hand through black hair that was fading to gray. “As you know, Section One is the chief’s pet project and he wants to make sure it’s a success.”
I glanced at Ted, bracing myself. Whenever the chief of police got personally involved in something there was no telling what disasters awaited us.
Dembowski went on, “As we discussed, I was originally told that Ozzie Powell would be in charge of the unit. That’s all changed. Fred Conrad is going to be your lieutenant. He apparently impressed the right people downtown and the chief hand selected him for the job.” The captain glanced over at the converted work spaces. “He’ll be in the office with the glass window directly overlooking the bullpen.”
While Dembowski didn’t come right out and say it, he was obviously less than thrilled with Section One’s new lieutenant.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met Conrad,” I said, looking over at Ted. He shook his head.
“Just promoted,” the captain told us. “He’s going…” He took a moment, clearly choosing his words carefully. “…let’s just say that he’s going to be out to prove himself. There are also a couple of other detectives that were just chosen to come aboard.” He found a breath. “I’m sure we can all make it work. Conrad will be meeting with you both in the conference room in about twenty minutes. He’ll probably want an update on the Endicott case for the brass.”
After Dembowski was gone, I said to Ted, “I smell a rat.”
He shrugged. “We’ll see. Don’t know Conrad.”
“The chief ‘hand selecting him for the new job’ and ‘out to prove himself’ are code words for ball buster.”
Ted smiled, maybe trying to take the edge off things. “We just have to stick together, deal with things the best we can.”
Since I had a few minutes before the meeting I took the time to clean out my previous workstation and move supplies to my new desk. I was working on the bottom drawer of my desk when Harvey came by. I glanced up at him and saw that he was pale. My first thought was that he’d seen a dead body.
“You don’t look so well,” I said. “Did you and Jessica catch a case?”
He sighed, nodded slowly. “My old problem resurfaced and Jessica wasn’t very understanding.”
Harvey had what some of the other officers had referred to as vomit priors, having lost his lunch at several crime scenes. I’d arranged for him to spend some time in the morgue with Brie Henner but it apparently hadn’t helped much.
Harvey went on, “I’m thinking about requesting a move to a new assignment.”
“I think that would be a mistake. If you transfer, the fact that you couldn’t handle a homicide assignment will be in your personnel jacket. You need to stick with it, find a way to put your new partner in her place.”
A thin smile found his lips. “Any suggestions?”
“Jessica loves exploiting any weakness. Stand up to her and don’t take any of her crap.”
He nodded. “Easier said than done.” We both looked over and saw that Jessica was in the hallway, tapping a foot. Harvey looked back at me. “Thanks for the advice.”
I settled Bernie into a corner of the conference room and took a seat next to Ted while we waited for the lieutenant and the unit’s other detectives to arrive. Meanwhile Selfie showed up and set out a stack
of paperwork in front of her.
“I’ve got a list of fixers and their backgrounds, priors, and connections to the studios,” our crime analyst said. She’d adorned her eyebrows with a row of multicolored metal piercings on each brow, complimented by a couple of smaller piercings in her lips.
I barely found the time to shower and drag a brush through my limp hair. It made me wonder how long it took her to snap the hardware in place each morning. She went on, lowering her voice, “As soon as The Terminator gets here I’ll update everyone.”
“Do you know Conrad?” I asked her.
“Her mouth twisted up like she’d tasted a lemon. “Only by reputation and it’s nothing good.”
I glanced at Ted, rolled my eyes, and then looked back at Selfie. “Can I ask you something?”
She brushed a hand through her magenta hair and smiled. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“You don’t even need to waive your rights. Your name…is it a nickname?”
“Long story involving an old boyfriend.” She took out her cellphone, tapped the Instagram app, and showed us the screen with dozens of pictures of herself. “I like to record my day—everyday. Erik said it was narcissistic and took the liberty of morphing my real name Sophia into Selfie, and told everyone.” She put the phone away. “Erik is history and just FYI, I’m not a self-absorbed bitch.”
Selfie went on for another minute, berating her ex-boyfriend before the unit’s new secretary, Molly Wingate, arrived and we exchanged hellos. I knew Molly from prior cases I’d worked. She was in her mid-thirties, had red hair and green eyes. I’d heard through the grapevine that she was divorced but didn’t know that for a fact. I did know that Molly was a wizard at gathering information from different sources on short notice. My spirits about our new unit were starting to lift until our lieutenant arrived.