Hollywood Homicide: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “Excuse me for a sec,” he said after introductions. He went over to a cabinet in the corner of his office, found a bowl, and served Bernie up some expensive artisan water.

  “I’ve got a bullmastiff named Bert,” Steinberg said as Bernie slurped away. “Eats me out of house and home.”

  I smiled at the famous director. “My dog’s also got a pretty healthy appetite.”

  Steinberg took a seat next to us, instead of setting behind his desk. His face sagged, his eyes turning inward. “I’m heartbroken about Scarlett. Tell me what I can do to help.”

  Ted took a moment, summarizing what we knew about Scarlett’s death, including where her body was found, but left out the details about someone being interrupted in removing the body.

  “Scarlett checked into the hotel just after two the day before yesterday,” Ted said. “Do you know if she’d been on the set of your film that day?”

  Steinberg shook his head. “We’ve been on hiatus for a week, waiting for some of the production staff to get their act together. We weren’t scheduled to shoot again until next week.”

  “When did you last see Scarlett?”

  The director rubbed his chin. He was about fifty and thin, with sparse gray hair and brown eyes that seemed perpetually in motion, his gaze swimming around the room. “I guess it would have been about four or five days ago.” He paused. “Yeah, we wrapped last Monday night around seven. I told her I’d see her in about a week.”

  “Did she seem upset about anything or anyone at the time?”

  Steinberg met my eyes and nodded. “Maybe you’ve heard the rumors that Scarlett wasn’t happy with our film?”

  Scarlett’s mother had mentioned as much but I played dumb. “Why was that?”

  The director’s lungs rose and fell. He took a moment and nuzzled Bernie. “Final Wish, that’s our working title for the movie, is about a woman who becomes impregnated by…” His head dipped for a moment and his eyes fell away. His gaze eventually came back to me. “The storyline’s a bit convoluted. Let’s just say that her character becomes impregnated—by Satan.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t my first choice in scripts but…it seems like it’s the kind of thing the public buys tickets to these days.”

  I glanced over at Ted who lifted his gray brows. I then found Steinberg’s eyes again. “And Scarlett was upset about the story?”

  A nod. “That and the special effects. There were some pretty graphic scenes.”

  “How graphic?” Ted asked.

  Steinberg stood up and moved over to his desk. “I could tell you but…” He took a small DVD player from the desk. He smiled and pushed a button on the device. “As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.”

  Ted and I leaned over as Steinberg told us we were looking at a compilation of “dailies”. “The shots are raw and unedited but you’ll get the idea.”

  I’d seen a lot of grisly scenes, including Scarlett’s murder scene, but what we were seeing made some of those images pale by comparison. There was lots of blood, including scenes when Scarlett gave birth to Satan’s child, and then afterward when the devil child was older and murdered a classmate in a schoolyard. The birth and murder scenes were especially horrifying, the special effects extremely graphic. As Steinberg killed the images I understood why Scarlett had been upset about the film. I also thought about the way Scarlett’s body had been posed and wondered if there was any connection to the movie.

  The director put the DVD player away, sat back down, and said to us, “As you can probably tell, I’m not happy with the film either. It seems that in our business, it’s always a matter of pushing the envelope, giving the audience more in the way of graphic images.” He brushed a hand through his hair and exhaled. “I’m going to relook at everything when we eventually reshoot some of the scenes with a new actress. There’s a difference between pushing the envelope and ripping it open.”

  What he’d said brought Scarlett’s manner of death to mind. “Any thoughts on who might want to harm Scarlett? Were there any conflicts on the set or problems with anyone that you heard about?”

  He pursed his lips together, shook his head. “Nothing major. Scarlett was very private and didn’t share much.”

  “She had a boyfriend, Donny Kessler,” Ted said. “Did she ever mention him?”

  “Actually she brought him by the set a couple of times. He said he was a writer. I’m sure he wanted to use Scarlett to establish some contacts in the industry. He even mentioned a script that he was working on to me.” Steinberg’s eyes rested on Ted after drifting off. “He seemed a little nervous and desperate but I get that a lot.”

  “He wanted to impress you?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  Zig Steinberg’s personality was nothing like I’d expected. He seemed kind, even humble in the way he talked about people and circumstances. While I liked what I saw, I also had to remind myself that the famous director was in the business of working with actors and stories. I had no idea if I was looking at the real Zig Steinberg or a persona he’d created for us.

  “What about the other actors on the set, production people, writers? Was Scarlett having problems with anyone?”

  “As you probably know, the male lead was Dallas Wakefield. He’s…” Steinberg exhaled, his gaze moving off. “To be frank, Wakefield’s an asshole but so are half the actors in Hollywood. I don’t think Scarlett liked him but most people don’t.

  Ted went on for a moment, asking about everything from Scarlett’s friends, including Lauren Hayden whom her mother had mentioned, to drug and sex issues, but didn’t get much back.

  “Far as I know, Scarlett lived alone, didn’t have many friends,” the director said. “Don’t know about the Hayden woman.”

  “We heard that Scarlett was seeing a therapist, Richard Hawkins, who has a practice here in Hollywood,” I said. “Did she ever mention that?”

  Steinberg regarded me for a long moment, then shook his head.

  We spent another half hour with Steinberg but didn’t get anything more. His assistant, Alysha Roberts, walked us out of the building, chatting about the studio and films being made there. Roberts was tall, blonde, and attractive. It occurred to me that maybe her relationship with the director might be less than professional, given Steinberg’s reputation.

  As we drove out of the studio parking lot I asked Ted what he thought about the famous director.

  “He’s either a pretty good actor or a pretty good liar,” Ted said. He met my eyes. “All the world’s a stage. I think we need to keep an open mind.”

  I agreed with him. My thoughts then drifted to the graphic images of the movie Scarlett had been working on, Steinberg’s statement about ripping the envelope open.

  The dead actress had been working on a movie that seemed to push all the boundaries of decency with lots of gore and blood. She’d died in a bloody rampage by an unknown assailant. Was there a link between fantasy and real life? I had no idea, but decided to heed Ted’s words about keeping an open mind as we worked the case.

  TWENTY ONE

  Ted and I grabbed a bite to eat before heading back to the station after hearing from Selfie that Lieutenant Conrad, aka Gollum, wanted to meet with us. I stopped at my old desk out of habit and realized that Harvey had already moved out. I glanced across the stationhouse and saw him sitting alone across from Jessica’s desk.

  Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought my former partner looked miserable so Bernie and I ambled over to check on him. “How are things?”

  He exhaled, brushed a hand through hair that, without the highlights was fading to gray. “Jessica filed a complaint.”

  My eyes narrowed on him. “For what?”

  “She thinks you threatened her. She wrote this statement about what happened.”

  He pushed a paper with a typewritten paragraph across the desk. It was a sworn affidavit that I’d told Jessica I’d been selected for Section One because I had homicidal thoughts and the statement had been directed at her. It
went on to say that she felt threatened and intimidated, and was working in a hostile environment.

  I tossed the ridiculous statement back across the desk. “You’re not going to sign this, are you?”

  Harvey shrugged, blew out some air. “There were some statements made and…”

  I put my hands on my hips. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I made an off the cuff remark that was intended to be funny and it wasn’t directed at Jessica.”

  He drew in a couple of more breaths, started to respond, but was interrupted by Lieutenant Conrad. “Sexton you and the mutt in my office now.”

  I turned away to follow Conrad, then stopped and turned back to Harvey. “You haven’t heard the last of this.”

  When Bernie and I got to the lieutenant’s office, I saw that Ted, Selfie, Molly and the idiot twins, as Selfie had named them, were already there. I learned that Braden and Horton had caught a case that they were actively working and the two other detectives slated to work in Section One were still working a prior case in another division.

  The lieutenant asked for an update on our case. I was still upset by what Harvey had said, so I let Ted handle the summary of what we’d learned from Scarlett’s mother, her boyfriend, and Zig Steinberg.

  LT, as he wanted to be called, scowled when Ted finished and then looked over at Belmont and Hardy. “I want you two to go back to everyone they just talked to.” He motioned to Ted and me. “We’re going to double team everything until we shake something loose.”

  Ted said, “I don’t think that’s necessary…”

  “I don’t care what you think is necessary,” the lieutenant said, cutting him off. “You’re not running the show.”

  I felt heat spreading up from the collar of my blouse. “Since when is our every move being second guessed? Ted and I have years of experience interviewing subjects.”

  “Nothing’s breaking on the case,” Hardy said. “You guys don’t seem to realize it, but you’re already dead in the water.”

  “And sinking fast,” Christine Belmont added in her deep, raspy voice, at the same time she smiled, exposing teeth that looked like a piano keyboard.

  That was apparently Ted’s cue to abandon his Zazen. “We’re neither dead nor sinking. We’ve got to be given some space to work this case.”

  “Space is not an option,” Conrad barked. He motioned to the idiot twins. “These two are between cases, so we double up, check and recheck everything until we get something.” His gaze moved over to me, drilling holes. “That’s the way Section One works. You don’t like it, you move on, request a transfer.”

  Gollum sat there like this was Survivor and everyone but me had the immunity idol and I was being voted off the island.

  Everything was clear to me in that moment. Conrad didn’t want me and Bernie in his unit. He’d probably been pressured by Dembowski to take us and wouldn’t be happy until he forced us out. While it took every ounce of self-control I possessed, I kept my mouth shut. There was no way I was going to let the asshole pressure me into transferring. If I was going to move on from Section One at some point, it would be under my terms, not his.

  “Where are we on the shrink?” Conrad finally asked, his gaze moving over to Belmont and Hardy when it was apparent I wasn’t going to take the bait.

  “His office was closed when we went by, no one was around this morning,” Belmont said.

  “What about his house? Why the fuck didn’t you go there?”

  “No current address,” Hardy said, looking over at Molly.

  Our secretary must have realized she had to defend herself or be eaten by the wolves circling the campfire. “He sold his house about six weeks ago. There’s no forwarding address. I’m still checking…”

  “Not good enough,” Conrad bellowed. His gaze bore into Molly until her eyes took on a sheen. “Find an address.” He turned to Ted and me. “And you two get out and track him down this afternoon or I’ll go do it myself and make sure the brass knows about it.”

  Selfie had kept her head down during the fireworks, but the big bully in the room must have realized she’d been spared. “What have you got for us, Metallica?”

  Our crime analyst met Gollum’s eyes, glowered, but managed to swallow the giant lump in her throat. “Since we believe the crime scene was fixed…”

  “Might have been fixed.”

  She nodded. “Yesterday I gave Detectives Grady and Sexton information from my database on known fixers, celeb assistants, and bodyguards. I’m trying to further refine the list, see who might currently be active in the area.”

  “What do you have, so far?”

  Selfie pulled out a sheet of paper. “Collin Pasqual has been the most active fixer in recent months. There’s even been some talk about him being involved in helping Jimmy Jacks cover up the murder of one of his business rivals, a guy named, Paul Sauder.”

  “I know Pasqual,” Hardy said. “He knows he’s been made and is lying low.”

  Pasqual’s name was also familiar to me. Jimmy Jacks was a billionaire, determined to expand his business empire at the expense of anyone who got in the way. It wasn’t surprising that he might have hired a fixer to reduce his competition.

  “Who else?”

  “There’s a Joaquin Rush who’s been active within the past twelve months. There’s also a couple of lower level guys, Stan Greenbriar and a guy named Pearce Landon. They’re both small time but Landon was a suspect in fixing the Martin Beal murder scene several years ago. Nothing was ever proved.”

  Conrad scribbled notes. “Go on.”

  “I’m checking on traffic and closed circuit cameras both at the hotel and nearby businesses. I’m hoping to have something later today.”

  “And the shrink?”

  Selfie picked up another sheet of paper. “Richard Hawkins, aka the shrink to the stars, has been in the area for more than a decade. As you probably know he likes to give sound bites to the media about stars who get into trouble, speculating about their likely psychological problems. He’s even been on a few talk shows, expounding on the issues associated with celebrity status and social media.”

  “Why can’t we find the fuck then?”

  Selfie met Conrad’s dark eyes, her fingers finding her brows where there had once been piercings. “He sold his estate up in the hills a few weeks ago and then went on a cruise. Rumor has it he’s back in the area, staying with friends while he finds another place. We’ll find him.”

  Conrad’s oily eyes moved around the room, taking in each of us. “Get back out on the streets and make something happen.” His gaze fixed on Ted and me. “You also need to interview our victim’s friend, Lauren Hayden, today. We either break this case open within the next twenty-four hours or I’m telling Chief East he’s picked the wrong people for his new unit. Get out.”

  Ted and I were headed for the door when Conrad said, “Hold up a sec, Sexton.”

  After the others had gone, I sat back down while Bernie panted next to me. For some reason I had the impression I was a convicted felon facing a hanging judge.

  “You want to explain why you’re going around creating a hostile work environment?” the lieutenant said.

  I forced myself to breathe evenly, steadied my voice. “It’s just Jessica Barlow stirring up nonsense, trying to get my former partner involved.”

  Conrad tossed a paper across the desk. “Guess what?”

  I saw that it was the same statement Harvey had shown me earlier but this one had his signature at the bottom. I looked up at the lieutenant. “This is absolute nonsense. Everyone knows Jessica has it in for me and now she’s dragged her new partner into it.”

  Conrad’s eyes bore into me. “You need to stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “The harassment.”

  “I haven’t been harassing anyone.”

  He picked up the paper, shook it. “Two people think otherwise. This is going up the chain, and just so you know, it could affect your status in Section One.”

&
nbsp; I stood up, leaned over the table, and glowered at the little asshole in front of me. “You can take that paper up the chain or stick it…”

  “Watch yourself.”

  “…wherever the hell you want.” I started for the door. “I don’t engage in harassment but I sure as hell know who does.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I turned back to the bully and bit my tongue so hard that I probably drew blood. I then said, “I’d explain it to you but I’ve got to go hit the streets, shake something loose.”

  TWENTY TWO

  “What do you know about a guy named Tom Sterling?” Pearce Landon asked Jason Smith.

  The two men were sitting at a bar in Hollywood called The Swamp. The establishment gave patrons the experience of being outside, even in the middle of the day. Overhead, hundreds of small lights representing stars shined down on tables surrounded by water features designed to replicate something that might be found in the Louisiana Bayou. A collection of animatronic reptiles occasional surfaced from their watery depths, hissed or growled. Everyone knew it was a campy, over-the-top replication of something one might find in Disneyland, but the gimmick was a hit; the place was always crowded.

  Smith was a stringer for The Narrows, a small independent press that often had the inside scoop on what went on in Hollywood. Landon had known him since moving to the area, occasionally acting as an unnamed source to confirm or deny gossip that always seemed to be circulating throughout the city. In return for the favor, Smith would sometimes agree to bury a story about a celebrity who’d gotten into some minor scrapes.

  “Sterling’s a small time actor who had a couple of walk-ons, one with a sit-com on Fox that’s now off the air,” Smith said. The reporter scratched his scraggly brown beard. “I think he’s dating…”