Hollywood Homicide: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

“Yes but…” Her gaze moved off for a moment. “I think Scarlett was unsure about a lot of things…her career and her life in general.” She found my eyes. “You do know that she was seeing a shrink?”

  “Richard Hawkins.”

  She nodded. “Even that wasn’t going very well.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Scarlett didn’t think he was helping her and wanted to end the therapy sessions. She said Hawkins wanted her to continue. I got the impression he was pretty controlling.”

  Something about what she’d said made me think there might be more to the story. “Do you think he and Scarlett could have been involved in a relationship?”

  Hayden’s eyes lost focus and she hugged her sides. “You know, I never thought about that until now.” She shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. I don’t really know.”

  “You told us Scarlett was unhappy with the film she was making,” Ted said. “What about Zig Steinberg? Did she ever mention how the two of them got along?”

  She steepled her fingers. “Like I said, Scarlett wasn’t happy about the film but I don’t think it was because of the director. Everybody knows Steinberg’s got a huge ego, but there weren’t any problems between them as far as I know.”

  “What about Madison Landon?” Ted asked. “We’ve learned that she and Scarlett grew up together and stayed in touch. Did Scarlett ever talk about her?”

  “Madison…” Hayden took a moment before apparently making the connection. “Yes, now that I think about it. I never met her but Scarlett did say something about being friends with her.”

  “Do you know if they were close?”

  A shrug. “I’m not really sure. I just remember her name.”

  Ted went on to ask about any problems Scarlett had with friends, other actors, anyone who might be causing problems but got nothing back. As Lauren Hayden talked, it occurred to me that in many ways Scarlett Endicott was an enigma. Other than knowing that she was unhappy with the film she was making and her co-star, and having dated Donny Kessler at one time, she seemed a mystery.

  I remembered Scarlett’s mother and aunt saying that Scarlett was depressed. After explaining what we’d learned about her mental state, I said, “Could her depression have something to do with not fitting into the Hollywood scene?”

  “Maybe…” She drew out the word, her gaze drifting off. She then found my eyes again. “Scarlett was shy, basically an introvert who didn’t have a lot of friends, except for me and maybe the girl Madison that you mentioned. I think she was trying to find her way in life and didn’t feel things were coming together for her. Maybe it’s something a lot of people our age go through—trying to fit into the world. Scarlett was a loner in many ways. Despite the stardom, she was probably a little bit of a lost soul.”

  We left Lauren Hayden after getting nothing more and drove back to Hollywood Station. What’s Scarlett’s best friend had said about trying to fit into the world and being a lost soul registered with me. It even occurred to me that in many ways Scarlett and I were alike. While I’d lost my father as a little girl, Scarlett’s father had become estranged from her. We’d also both had relationships that hadn’t gone well. Scarlett had been depressed. I’d also had my bouts of feeling lost and abandoned. While I had Natalie and Mo to help me through some difficult times, Scarlett only had Lauren, and maybe Madison, although I got the impression the two women hadn’t been that close in recent years.

  As we parked at the station I realized that I felt a connection to the dead starlet. In many ways we’d shared a common path in trying to finding our own way in the world. While I felt like my session with Dr. Chan had finally put me back on the right course, Scarlett’s own path had been cut short by her brutal murder. Her death now felt personal to me. I made a vow that I wouldn’t rest until I brought her killer to justice.

  THIRTY SIX

  “I want a summary of where we are on everything,” Lieutenant Conrad said after we settled in around the conference table in Section One that afternoon. “Let’s start with you two,” he said to Ted and me.

  The lieutenant was flanked by Deep Throat and The Doughboy. I’d asked Selfie before the meeting began what the two detectives had turned up on our case but she said she’d come up empty. Based on their smug expressions, it looked like the duo was holding back a pair of aces, waiting for us to show our cards.

  “We started the day talking to Dallas Wakefield,” I said, after Conrad prompted me to begin. “He admitted there was a lot of conflict with Scarlett on the set of Final Wish, mainly around her claiming that he made unwanted sexual advances during the filming of a love scene.

  Scarlett’s best friend, Lauren Hayden, confirmed what Wakefield said when we talked to her later in the day. She said her co-star was pretty persistent. According to Hayden, when Scarlett refused to go back to his trailer and take things further, he became upset and Scarlett had a meltdown.”

  Conrad slurped his coffee. “Anybody confirm what happened?”

  “Zig Steinberg mentioned it, although he acted like it was no big deal. I just got the rough cut for the scene that he sent over if you want to take a look.”

  Conrad nodded and in a moment everyone gathered around as I brought up the dailies from the love scene on my iPad. Both actors were partially nude during the session. The scene was shot multiple times from various angles.

  As the filming progressed, Wakefield’s character was transformed, taking on the characteristics of a dark or evil creature who forced relations on Scarlett’s character. It was difficult to determine from what we saw whether the aggression was part of the script or Wakefield taking things farther than Scarlett wanted.

  The final scene showed Scarlett pushing away from her co-star, yelling something that was unintelligible, and stomping off the set in tears.

  As the scene ended, Alex Hardy said, “I guess the devil made him do it and Scarlett wasn’t happy about it.” The big cop smiled. At least I think it was a smile. It was hard to tell with the Chia Pet under his nose.

  “You can’t have Satan’s baby unless you do the horizontal tango,” Christine Belmont said with a giggle that came out more like a growl.

  “I guess you’d know all about that, Christine.” Okay, I didn’t say it. I just kept my big mouth shut, engaged in imaginary insults, and put my iPad away.

  “What else?” Conrad demanded.

  “As Kate mentioned, we spent part of the afternoon with Scarlett’s best friend, Lauren Hayden,” Ted said, taking over. “She knew Scarlett from them auditioning together for a small role years ago. She describes Scarlett as an introvert who was trying to find her way. She doesn’t think Scarlett was in a relationship after her breakup with Donny Kessler, but did say that she wanted to break things off with her therapist. We asked Lauren if she thought Richard Hawkins might have been having an affair with Scarlett. She said she didn’t know but it was possible.” He nodded at Selfie. “This is where things get interesting.”

  Our crime analyst shuffled some paperwork and said, “I did some research on the money behind the movie Steinberg was making. It took the director years to put together the funding, but when it fell apart at the last minute he had to turn to a private source for the money to make the film. Harlan Ryland financed Final Wish.”

  “And as it turns out both Zig Steinberg and Richard Hawkins, Scarlett’s therapist, are close friends with Ryland,” Molly added.

  Selfie confirmed what she’d said. “From what I can tell Steinberg and Hawkins were friends from when Steinberg was younger, hanging out with a lot of celebs, and involved in what some people call his rat pack days. There were lots of rumors about wild parties and sex. Hawkins was mentioned by those involved as always hanging around.”

  “And Steinberg withheld his relationship with Hawkins from us,” I added.

  “What about Ryland?” Conrad asked, ignoring me.

  “Selfie and I did a lot of research this morning,” Molly said, demonstrating that at least a couple of the people in our
unit could work together. “He and Steinberg go way back. There was a lot of talk about the two men sharing women and drugs before Ryland started his temple and became a holier than thou Tauist.”

  The lieutenant blew out a lungful of air, patted his bald head maybe wishing there was hair up there. “I don’t know what, if anything, all that means. Maybe it’s just what typically goes on in Hollywood with the money and power players. I’m not sure that it has anything to do with our case.”

  “I think the key is Richard Hawkins,” I said. “My guess is that he knows a lot more about what was going on with Scarlett than he let on. I think we need…”

  “Hawkins is a shrink who’s a player,” Christine Belmont interrupted. “So what if he was screwing Scarlett. It doesn’t prove anything.”

  Conrad nodded at her, apparently a signal for her to now give up what they’d found out.

  “Alex and I talked to Pearce Landon’s daughter, Madison, last night,” Belmont said, her voice even deeper than usual, maybe for dramatic emphasis. “She admitted that her father came to her shortly after Scarlett was murdered and said that he had photographs of her and Scarlett having sex with two men. After lots of histrionics, Madison admitted that she and Scarlett had gone to a club about a year ago. They were apparently drugged and raped by the two men in the photographs. She remembers nothing else from that night.”

  “Did the girl say where her father got the photographs?” Ted asked.

  “He wouldn’t say,” Alex Hardy growled, “other than to tell Madison he was and I quote, ‘Looking into Scarlett’s murder.’”

  The room was quiet for a moment. I glanced over at Ted who raised his brows, maybe acknowledging that we’d been scooped again by the two detectives who had gone behind our backs.

  “So here’s what we got,” Conrad said, his dark eyes sweeping over the room like a vulture looking for fresh meat. “We know that Pearce Landon is a Hollywood fixer. He’s got a prior for cleaning the murder scene of Martin Beal for Ernst Koch that he skated on. Scarlett Endicott was murdered at the Montrose Gardens three nights ago and somebody was fixing the scene when our guys arrived. Landon’s car was seen leaving the hotel shortly thereafter. And now, thanks to Detectives Belmont and Hardy, we know that Landon had photos of his daughter and Scarlett being raped by two men. Landon also admitted to Madison that he had been looking into the Endicott murder.”

  “Pearce Landon is guilty,” Hardy said. “It’s just a matter of connecting all the dots.”

  Belmont looked at Ted and me and growled, “And so far, you two haven’t connected anything.”

  I felt heat radiating up my neck, spreading across my cheeks. I brushed back my damp hair and said, “That’s because while we’re trying to work the case you and your partner keep going behind our backs.”

  “We were just following up on leads like anybody else who knew what they were doing would,” Hardy barked.

  “We’re supposed to be a team,” Ted said. “You guys wouldn’t know the concept of teamwork if your lives depended on it.”

  There was lots of yelling after that before the bald vulture in the room swooped down and silenced everyone, taking Belmont and Hardy’s side. “We’re Section One. That means everything and everyone is fair game. We do what it takes to break cases. Period.” The vulture’s eyes then found me. “Anybody who doesn’t like it can get the hell out.”

  THIRTY SEVEN

  Ted and I were spared further misery the rest of the day because Lieutenant Conrad took his favorite detectives with him to brief the brass on our case. We spent the remainder of the day trying to dig up a closer connection between Steinberg and Hawkins.

  With Selfie and Molly’s help we determined that the two men were involved in sexually assaulting an actress in Washington State while on the set of one of the director’s movies in the late 1980’s. The case was hushed up and eventually went away thanks to a financial settlement with the woman, but it further established a link between the two men.

  As we finished up for the day I ran a hypothetical past Ted. “Suppose Hawkins sexually assaulted Scarlett during one of their therapy sessions and told Steinberg about it. Maybe the director didn’t want anything interfering with the making of his movie and tried to keep Scarlett quiet. When she refused, one or both men killed her, and called Landon in to fix the scene.”

  “Why all the blood and gore at the crime scene then?” Ted said. “There would have been easier and far less messy ways to take care of her.”

  “Maybe one of their inner psychos took over. We know Steinberg was making a film about the devil impregnating Scarlett. Maybe he wanted to recreate a fantasy world in real life. It could be that he even thought it would give his movie publicity.”

  I remembered what Natalie and Mo had said about Scarlett possibly being into the dark arts. Nothing we’d found out seemed to fit with that, so I dismissed it, for now.

  Ted shrugged. “I think it’s a stretch.” The big detective stuffed the last of his paperwork into his briefcase. “What you told the others earlier about Hawkins being the key to what happened makes sense. I say we go back to the shrink tomorrow.”

  “If Conrad still lets us work the case.” I put Bernie on his leash. “See you in the morning, partner.

  ***

  I grabbed a bite to eat and then met Natalie and Mo at the Barkley Bungalows in West Hollywood. I’d never heard of the apartment complex but when Bernie and I arrived it felt like we’d stepped across a threshold in time to an era when old Hollywood thrived.

  The owner of the apartment building, Bub Barkley, a former actor who reminded me of one of the little men in a movie about a wizard and a witch, gave us a little history of the place.

  “The Bungalows, as they were once called, were built in the late 1940’s. As you can see, the place is a little rundown. We’ll be filming a TV show here while we renovate the complex, so I’m able to offer you reduced rent.” Bub’s gaze had wandered over to Natalie where it stopped and his saliva glands activated. The little man’s features took on the appearance of a love sick hound dog.

  “This place is the bomb,” Natalie said, tossing off a shoe and dipping a foot into the courtyard swimming pool that had once been the centerpiece of the apartment complex. It was now the color of something you might find in the Everglades.

  “Bomb would seem to be the operative word,” I agreed.

  It looked like the Barkley Bungalows hadn’t been touched since its construction seventy years ago. The paint was peeling, the shrubbery was dead, and I had the impression the building would fall over in a small earthquake.

  Mo shared Natalie’s enthusiasm, or maybe it was just the thought of having to continue to live with Claude and Nana that made the apartment building appealing. “This is what you call quaint, Kate. Ain’t you ever heard of quaint?”

  “And cozy,” Bub the Munchkin chimed in before I could say, quaint it aint. His doggy features seemed frozen now, his eyes still fixed on Natalie. Maybe Bub was in the throes of a stroke, or God forbid, a painful four hour erection.

  I scratched my head, trying to come up with something positive to say. Finally I asked Bub, “My dog—do you allow pets?”

  My big dog whined, maybe out of concern or maybe thinking the Munchkin might make a nice appetizer.

  Bub tore his eyes away from Natalie. “He’s welcome—only because he’s a police dog. It will add to our security.”

  Security didn’t seem to be an issue since the place had one of those rent-a-fences around it.

  “Let me show you one of the units,” Barkley said, pulling out a ring of what looked like skeleton keys. He reached up and took Natalie’s arm. “Right this way. I think you’ll see what I mean by cozy.”

  As we walked I asked Bub about his acting background.

  “I played Billy Bob Wooster on a TV show in the 1970’s.” He looked at Natalie. “Master thief, lady’s man, and all around debonair raconteur.”

  Natalie smiled and, maybe in an effort to get our
rent reduced, said, “I’ll betcha they called you Bub the Stud.”

  “Bub turned redder than a ripe Munchkin. “Well…I guess so.” He patted the five strands of silver hair that were carefully swirled around his bald pate. “I think I’ve held up pretty well, if I do say so myself.”

  Studly Bub opened up one of the apartments and in a moment we were all standing in something that reminded me of a walk-in closet.

  “This is our one bedroom unit,” Bub said, looking at Natalie and Mo, “But we also have a two bedroom that’s available.”

  Mo looked at Natalie. “Maybe we could get Larry and Phyllis to help with the painting and decorating.”

  “Or demolition.” Okay, I didn’t say it. I did say to Bub, “About how long will the renovations take?”

  Bub smiled, his Munchkin-like features twisting up in a way that now reminded me of a small rodent that had just swallowed some cheese. “Just a few weeks. Once the repairs are completed, we’ll rent out the other units.”

  “We get the place all to ourselves, until then,” Natalie beamed. “Can’t wait to take me a swim in the pool.”

  “Yes, there’s nothing like taking a dip in a cesspool.” I was having imaginary conversations again and just shook my head.

  “What do you say, Kate?” Mo asked. “We can move in this weekend if you agree.”

  My mouth came open but nothing came out. I looked around the dingy little apartment, the scuffed walls, the stains in the kitchen sink, the carpeting that was torn. Thoughts of my mother moved through my mind as I surrendered and said, “We’ll take it.”

  While the Munchkin scurried off to find rental paperwork we took seats by the swamp, I mean pool. After Natalie and Mo tried to convince me that living at the Barkley Bungalows would be the equivalent of staying at the Trump Towers, the conversation turned to my case.

  “Mo’s got some more lowdown on the lowlife that whacked Scarlett,” Natalie said. “After we solve the case I figure we’ll be famous, maybe do a couple of interviews right here at the Barkley.”