by M. Z. Kelly
I turned back to him. “I imagine that the Mirasol had its share of celebrities, wealthy people who stayed here in its heyday.”
“I’m told that’s the case.” He smiled. “I pretty much mind my own business, so I don’t remember seeing Jennifer Lopez or anyone like that.”
I decided that I had nothing to lose by telling him about our case. “We’re actually looking into the disappearance of an actor named Russell Van Drake. He stayed here in June of 2009 and was never seen again.”
He scratched his head. “I think I remember reading something about him.” His lips turned up again. “I suppose he could have gone for a midnight swim and was carried out to sea. It’s happened before.”
I nodded. “Maybe.” I tugged on Bernie’s leash and began turning away. “Nice meeting you.”
I was headed for the path when I heard him calling out from behind me. I couldn’t make out his words because of the roaring surf, so I went back over to him. “I’m sorry?”
“You might take a look in the park.”
I glanced up the bluff toward the park bordering the ocean before turning back to him. “Why is that?”
They renamed the place Butterfly Park a few years ago to make it more attractive to the tourists, but the locals all know that the bodies are still buried there.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There are over a hundred graves up there, bodies that were buried there about fifty years ago, that they just left. The real name of the place is Cemetery Park.”
SIXTY SIX
Pearce Landon ordered another beer from Mark, the bartender. It was noon and Landon didn’t usually drink, so he left the bottle where it had been placed, untouched. He kept his voice low. “It’s my understanding that Scarlett stayed here last year over Labor Day.”
“Sounds about right,” Mark said. “I think she stayed in one of the guest villas—a couple grand a night.”
Landon kept his tone conversational, nonthreatening. “The benefits of being a wealthy movie star.” He moved the icy bottle of bottle of beer closer to him and picked at the label, even though he had no intention of drinking it. “So, who was she staying with?”
“Some guy, about her age. Kind of tall and thin. I’m not sure about his name. He was on his laptop most of the time.”
“Donny?”
Dave nodded. “Yeah, I think that was it. When he wasn’t on the computer, he spent a lot of time right here, running a tab under Scarlett’s name.”
“Did the two of them seem to get along okay?”
Another nod. “I think so, at least in public. I never saw them arguing or anything.” Mark’s gaze drifted off. He stepped away and used a rag to wipe down the bar.
Landon sensed there was something he was holding back. “What else? I need everything.”
The bartender came back over. “There was someone who was with them.” He lowered his eyes, titled his head slightly.
Landon got the message. He peeled two more bills out of his stack and handed them over.
Dave took the money and went on, “There was a girl who they came with. I don’t remember her name, but she and Scarlett spent a lot of time by the pool.”
Landon’s eyes held on the young man. “Her description.”
The barkeep scratched his chin. “They were about the same age. She was shorter than Scarlett and attractive, kind of small and thin. Blonde hair, I think.”
“And?” There was no response. Landon fanned the rest of the bills. “You want it all, tell me everything.”
The barkeep nodded to the man bellying up to the bar a few feet away. “Let me take care of this guy first.”
Landon saw the customer at the other end of the bar. Dave walked over to the heavyset man who ordered a couple of exotic drinks with little umbrellas. Landon knew that the break would give the bartender enough time to decide whether or not to tell him the truth.
Dave finally came back over to him. Landon regarded him, deciding it was time to raise the stakes. He locked onto the bartender’s eyes and lowered his voice, making it clear that failure to cooperate wasn’t an option. “I want the truth—all of it, now.”
Dave swallowed and lowered his eyes. “They were together.”
“I’m not sure what you mean?”
“Scarlett’s boyfriend, Donny and the girl. He and Scarlett’s friend were shacking up in one of the cabanas when she wasn’t around.”
SIXTY SEVEN
Could Russell Van Drake have been murdered and buried in the one-time cemetery across from the Marisol Hotel?
The thought consumed me as I came back up the bluff from the beach to the park with Bernie. Ted hadn’t returned with our coffee yet, so I took the time to take a closer look at the area.
I found a small gazebo and a bench at the other end of the park. There was nothing that referenced the history of the area that Jim, the man on the beach, had told me was once called Cemetery Park before the headstones had been removed and the place had been renamed. Jim had also made mention of a memorial plaque with the names of the dead who were interred here, but I found nothing of the kind.
A few minutes later, Ted returned with our coffee. We strolled around the grounds with Bernie firmly attached to his leash as I told him what I’d learned.
“And the bodies are all still right here?” he asked, his gaze moving off.
I nodded as he found my eyes again. “Maybe along with our missing actor.”
Ted motioned to the fenced-off grounds of the Mirasol. “It looks like Ms. Jeffries is still there. Let’s go back over and have another chat with her.
We made our way back onto the grounds of the shuttered hotel. We found the former manager in a back office near what was once the reception area. I took a moment and explained to her what I’d learned.
Jeffries listened and then said, “The history of the park being a cemetery obviously wasn’t something that the hotel wanted the guests to know about. I’d almost forgotten about it myself.” She paused, apparently realizing why we were interested. “Oh, you think your actor might…”
“It’s possible.” I motioned to the boxes she’d been going through. “Any luck finding the registration logs?”
“I’ve found the paperwork for the year that you’re interested in. If you’ll give me a few minutes I’ll see what I can turn up.”
The few minutes turned into a couple of hours but we got lucky. Madeline Jeffries met us on a patio area near what had once been the hotel’s swimming pool but was now muddy stagnant water.
“These are the logs for the dates you’re interested in.” Jeffries handed over the sheath of paperwork. “I wouldn’t know anything about who you’re looking for, so I’ll let you take a look.”
I thanked her, at the same time thinking that we also had no idea who we were looking for. Jeffries went off to tend to something across the way as Ted and I divided up the registration logs and began going over the names.
We started by finding the registration slip for Van Drake himself, and then looked at subsequent entries. We soon realized that each of the days the actor had stayed at the hotel had in excess of fifty new guest registrations, none of whom looked familiar.
It was almost an hour later when Ted looked up from the logs and said, “Jefferson Taft.”
“Who?”
“Jefferson Taft checked into the hotel the same day Shirley Welch left. The records show that he stayed a couple of days before checking out on June 9th, 2009.”
“I’m still not…” A light went on. “Wait. Isn’t he that wealthy guy who raises money for politicians?”
Ted nodded, a smile finding his lips. “Family First.”
I now made the connection. The Family First Foundation was a conservative political action committee that had been prominent in raising funds in recent years for political figures that supported traditional family values. The group had opposed gay marriage, along with a host of other, what they termed, non-traditional principles.
Ted
said, “We know that our missing actor had lots of relationships, maybe some of those went both ways.”
I nodded. “My friends, Natalie and Mo mentioned that was a possibility. You’re thinking that Taft and Van Drake could have been in a secret relationship.” I saw the he was smiling in a way that told me he’d pieced something together. “What is it?”
He showed me Taft’s registration form. “He stayed in one of the beach front cottages, directly across from the one rented by Van Drake.”
“My eyebrows when up as I took a look at the form. “That would make things convenient if they did hook up.”
Ted played out a scenario. “Suppose Van Drake and Taft hook up after Shirley leaves. Something happens during their time together. Maybe Taft becomes jealous of the actor’s relationship with Shirley. They argue and it doesn’t end well for Van Drake.”
“So Taft kills him, drags him across the street, digs a hole, and buries him?” I chuckled. “Somebody would have seen him.”
Ted rubbed his jaw. “Not necessarily. If memory serves me correctly, Jefferson Taft owns a construction company. He’s a wealthy property developer.”
“Which would have given him the equipment and cover to dispose of the body.”
“Maybe he took his time after the killing, arranged for some equipment to be brought up here, and buried the body late at night or early in the morning. Stranger things have happened.”
“A body buried in a cemetery that everyone’s forgotten about—the perfect cover.”
I stood up and pulled out my phone. “Somehow, I doubt that those traditional family values Jefferson Taft supports involve murder.”
SIXTY EIGHT
Ted, Bernie, and I got back to Hollywood Station late in the day. We got lucky and were told that Lieutenant Conrad was out of the office, so we asked Selfie and Molly to meet us in a conference room. I’d called them before leaving the Marisol and asked them to pull together everything they could on Jefferson Taft.
On the way to our meeting I had the unfortunate luck of running into Harvey and Jessica in the hallway. My former partner didn’t look at me, while Jessica shot daggers in my direction.
“We made a formal complaint against you to personnel,” Jessica said.
“So I heard.” I pushed past them.
“I’ll bet you get demoted, or transferred at the least.”
I turned back to her, at the same time noticing that Harvey was still avoiding looking at me. “I think you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Why’s that?”
“I heard they’re giving me a commendation for putting up with the both of you as long as I have.”
I walked away as Jessica went on a rant, asking Harvey how he ever managed to work with me.
After I settled Bernie in the conference room we got down to business. Both Selfie and Molly had stacks of paperwork in front of them.
“Jefferson Taft owns one of the largest construction companies in the nation called Amerazone,” Selfie began. “But he’s not involved in the day to day operations. They mainly do high rise construction and develop resort properties.” She handed over some paperwork with our subject’s personal information.
“Taft lives in Beverly Hills,” I told Ted. I then remembered something Madeline Jeffries had said. “The Marisol was supposed to undergo a renovation before it closed down.” I met Selfie’s eyes again. “Do you have a list of Amerazone’s construction projects?”
“I’ve got the list,” Molly said. She skimmed the paperwork in front of her. “Did you say, Marisol?”
Our secretary hadn’t been involved in our earlier discussions about the property. “Yes,” I said. “It’s in Montecito near Santa Barbara.”
She took another moment, looking over the paperwork. “It’s on the list. Amerazone is set to demolish the existing buildings and break ground on an upscale resort there next year.”
She handed over the paperwork. I skimmed it and then met her eyes. “Do we know who currently owns the Marisol property?”
Molly glanced through some additional paperwork in front of her. “It’s owned by a group of investors. The largest holding is by Robert Wayne in Virginia.”
I asked her for the documents and scanned them for a moment before turning to Ted. I handed him the paperwork. “That would be Senator Robert Wayne and as it turns out Jefferson Taft and his Family First Committee is his biggest political contributor. I wonder what the senator would have to say if he knew his contractor might have murdered his gay lover.”
“This is interesting,” Selfie said looking up from something in one of her files. “Amerazone worked on some projects for ROI Studios, including construction for the set of Demons and Dreams. “Wasn’t that Van Drake’s movie?”
I nodded, my adrenaline surging as I stood up. “His most famous role.” I turned to Ted. “Let’s go have a little chat with Jefferson Taft.”
***
The Beverly Hills home of the wealthy property developer was behind high walls with security cameras. While Bernie panted in the backseat, we stopped at the intercom and announced ourselves to security staff.
“What’s the nature of your visit?” the guard asked Ted.
My partner glanced at me before giving the guard the barest of details. “We’re following up on the disappearance of a subject at one of Mr. Taft’s construction sites. It should only take a few minutes.”
We waited a full minute before the gates swung open and the guard told us we could park in a visiting area where Taft would meet us.
“How do you want to play this?” Ted asked as we drove through the gates and wound our way up the hill to a sprawling home.
“Let’s cast a line in the water and reel it in slowly, see what bites.”
We parked and began moving toward the house when Jefferson Taft came through a gate at the side of the residence and greeted us.
“What can I do for LAPD today?” Taft asked after introductions. He was carrying a tennis racket and beaming a smile at us.
The head of Family First was in his late forties and dressed in white, as in white shorts, a white polo shirt, and white wristbands. His hair was brown with flecks of gray, his teeth as white as snow. I had the impression I was looking at someone from the pages of Men’s Health Magazine.
“Just following up on a cold case,” Ted said with his easy smile. “We’re sorry for the intrusion.”
Taft waved a hand and led us to the residence. “Not a problem. I was just heading out for a little tennis.” He said over his shoulder. “I called my tennis buddy and told him I would be a little late showing up to beat him.”
Taft led us into his expensively furnished home where we took seats in an office. I saw there were several artist renderings of the projects the developer had worked on. One of those referenced was the set of Van Drake’s movie.
“It looks like you’ve had a lot of interesting projects,” I said, glancing at the drawings. Bernie stood at my side panting, so I gave him the hand signal to settle.
Taft flashed a smile. “I’ve had a few memorable ones, but I’m pretty much retired from the business. As you probably know I’ve got a little foundation that keeps me busy.”
“Family First,” Ted said.
A nod. “We’re expanding into all fifty states next year. It should transform the political landscape of the country.” He glanced at his Rolex, back at us. “How can I help you today?”
While I’d come with the intention of dangling a line in the water, I decided to make a wide cast and try and hook our fish right away. “We’re looking into the disappearance of an actor named Russell Van Drake.”
He nodded. The smile was gone but otherwise Taft didn’t react.
I went on, “Van Drake went missing in June of 2009. At the time, he was staying at a property in Montecito called The Marisol. He stayed there part of the time with an actress named Shirley Welch who was recently found murdered and buried on the grounds of his estate here in Hollywood.”
Taft d
rew in some air but didn’t blink. “If I’m correct, my company has a project scheduled at the Marisol next year.” The tone of his voice had changed, maybe a wariness taking over.
I continued, “Shirley Welch left Van Drake on June 9th, but the actor stayed behind and was never seen again.” I glanced at Ted, back at Taft, deciding to put a little more bait on the line. “We have reason to believe he was murdered at the Marisol.”
Taft took another breath and hugged his sides. His eyes shifted, losing focus for a moment. His gaze then found me again. “I’m not sure how I can help with any of this.”
I tugged on the line. “You can begin by telling us about your relationship with Russell Van Drake.”
“What relationship?”
I motioned to the artist rendering on the wall. “You two met on the set of his movie and things took off from there.”
I saw a sheen of perspiration on Taft’s forehead as he swallowed and answered, “We chatted a few times during construction and when the set was finished. I don’t understand what…”
“You did more than chat,” Ted said, lowering his voice. He added more bait, tugged on the line. “We know that the two of you were close, very close.”
The developer’s eyes shifted, bouncing between us. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I leaned forward and began reeling him in. “Then let me spell it out for you. You checked into the Marisol Hotel on June 9th, 2009, the same day that Shirley Welch left.”
“I do remember staying there for a little get away.”
I set the hook firmly in his jaw. “You stayed in the cottage directly across from Mr. Van Drake. It was a convenient arrangement.”
“I won’t listen…”
I cut him off and went on. “Something went wrong during your visit. You became enraged, probably jealous of Van Drake’s relationship with Shirley.” I lowered my voice. “You killed him.”
Taft stood up. “This is absolute nonsense.”
“We know everything,” I said, now trying to reel in our catch. “We even know that Russell Van Drake’s body is buried across the street from the hotel.”