Hollywood Rage

by M. Z. Kelly

  “I got somethin’ even better,” she said, pulling a bell out of her pocket and ringing it. Otto instantly appeared in the doorway. She said to him, “Kate’s ‘bout to have herself a full-blown pity party. We need us a batch of them Red Zones I showed you how to make.”

  “Right away, madam.” Our butler bowed and disappeared.

  “Red Zones?” I said.

  “The drinks are like one of them speed dials on a motorcar. When you get in the Red Zone, you know your engine’s ‘bout to blow.”

  “They sound dangerous.”

  Robin was more interested in our butler than the drinks. “I need to get me one of those,” he said, referencing Otto. “He really came with the house?”

  I sighed. “Yeah, he’s an attic dweller.”

  “I can see if our footman’s got himself some relatives that need a job,” Natalie said to my brother. “I don’t know how we ever managed to get along without him.”

  The evening spiraled downward from that point. Robin cut my hair too short. Otto’s Red Zones were borderline lethal. We all got drunk and my friends again told me that Daniel and Harlee were in league and had it in for me. To make matters worse, my friends forgot to mention something until Otto left to drive Robin home because he was too drunk to drive.

  “GI Joe came by today,” Mo said.

  I plopped down on the sofa. “Are you kidding? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  “It just slipped our minds, what with the nude scenes they were shootin’ on the sofa today and everything,” Natalie said.

  I stood up, realizing I was probably sitting where Emma and Ryan had shot their scene. “What did Joe say?”

  “Just somethin’ ‘bout him bein’ in the neighborhood. He said he’ll call you tomorrow. I think you and Joe are simpatico. I gave him my opinion on the matter, as well.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Not to worry. He thinks you’re the dog’s bollocks, or maybe another part of its anatomy.”

  I groaned. “I’m going to bed.”

  I stumbled upstairs, took a short, cold shower, and collapsed into bed as my depression deepened. I had a brother who was a thief, whom I’d never met, three homicide cases going nowhere, I was living in a house of horrors, and I had no idea how I really felt about Joe Dawson, or Ross for that matter.

  As the Red Zones still worked in my system, I convinced myself that I should be eligible for federal funding—as the world’s biggest disaster zone.

  FIFTY-ONE

  My phone rang at four the next morning. I woke up in the middle of a crazy dream that had something to do with Otto wearing a wig and acting as my friends’ sex avatar.

  I tried to focus as I said to Leo, “This better be a matter of life and death.”

  “’Fraid it’s the latter. We got some movement on the Peters case.”

  I brushed my hair, that I was convinced Robin had ruined, out of my eyes. “What’s up?”

  “Henry Moss, Mel’s ex-boyfriend, is dead.”

  I got a few details and told him I’d meet him at the station in half an hour. I then took my standard short, cold shower, got Bernie on his leash, and headed downstairs.

  Natalie heard me cursing as I looked for my purse. She came out of her bedroom and said, “Otto’s been puttin’ stuff in the closet.” She went over and found my purse.

  I took it from her. “Thanks. I’ve got something happening at work and have to go.”

  “Another killin’?”

  I headed for the door with Bernie. “I can’t say.”

  Before I left she said, “Okay, see you at Nana’s tonight.”

  I turned back to her. “Nana’s? What’s going on?”

  “We’re havin’ our dress fittin’s for the engagement party.”

  I exhaled. “Just shoot me.”

  A half hour later, I met Leo in the station’s parking lot, got Bernie in the back seat of his car, and took something for my raging headache as he pulled onto Wilcox Avenue.

  “Rough night?” he asked, glancing at me.

  “My brother came over and Natalie made something called Red Zones.” I sighed. “I’d feel better if you just decapitated me and got it over with.”

  “You’re not getting off so easy.”

  “So, what’s the story on our victim?”

  “All I know is that Moss’s roommate came home late last night and found him dead.” He looked at me. “It could be that he had some prior issues with Mr. Ellis we don’t know about.”

  I tried to focus, thinking about what he said. “You think Mel might have told him something about Ellis that got him killed?”

  He shrugged. “If that was the case, it might have made him part of the purge.”

  “Are Mel’s parents okay?”

  “Far as I know. We haven’t heard anything about them.”

  Henry Moss lived mid-block in an older Spanish style house, not far from the Melrose shopping district where his art gallery was located. After saying hello to the uniformed officers standing guard on the porch, we met up with Olivia, Darby, and Woody inside the residence.

  “Looks like another whack and dash,” Darby said. “Vic’s in the bedroom. The roommate’s in the office, waiting to give his statement.”

  I had an officer mind Bernie while we gloved up and met with Olivia and Woody, who were still reviewing the crime scene. Henry Moss was in bed, having suffered a single gunshot wound to the head. There was blood on the ceiling and walls.

  “This looks like a repeat of the Marilyn Peters homicide,” I said.

  “Anything in the way of evidence?” Leo asked Olivia.

  “Nothing obvious. It looks like the back door was pried open. Moss was probably in bed asleep when he was shot, just like with Marilyn. Looks like the round perforated the cranium and is probably embedded in the mattress. No casing.”

  Leo and I spent a few minutes examining the scene before meeting up with everyone in the living room. Olivia told us she’d already questioned Moss’s roommate, Gary Johns, and gave us a summary of his statement.

  “He was at the Vanishing Point, a bar on Tenth Street. He left at closing time, then got a bite to eat at Denny’s before coming home. He noticed the rear door was pried open and checked on our victim.”

  “Did he know if Moss had any issues with Ellis?” Woody asked.

  Olivia shook her head. “He said he never heard Moss mention him.” Our boss took a breath and brushed her long hair out of her eyes. “We can’t be sure, but this could be part of the purge Ellis told his followers about.”

  “The question is,” Darby said, “what did Moss know that would cause Ellis to kill him?”

  “Maybe he was extorting money from him, just like with Marilyn and her parents,” Woody suggested.

  Leo agreed that was a possibility. “We’ll need to check his bank accounts.”

  “Speaking of the parents, any word on them?” I asked Olivia.

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll call and make sure they’re okay.”

  While we waited for Olivia to finish her call, Darby and Woody told us that, at the lieutenant’s request, they’d worked the Wonderland case last night and did some checking on Haley Robinson.

  “Turns out Dr. Robinson paid a visit to a hardware store after leaving the hospital,” Woody said. “We checked with the clerk after she left and learned she bought some barbed wire and fishhooks.”

  “What in the world for?” I asked.

  Darby gave us his thoughts. “I doubt that the good doctor does a lot of fishing in her spare time. It could be she’s playing Fifty Shades of Crazy.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Sex games. She’s crossing the line between pain and pleasure.”

  “We’re planning to go by the hospital today and ask her about the purchases,” Woody said.

  I was still trying to make sense of what they’d learned when Olivia ended her phone call and came back over to us. “I just had a black and white with Santa Barbara SO ch
eck the Peters residence. Someone went in through a rear patio door. It sounds similar to what happened here.” She sighed. “There was a knife attack. They’re both dead.”

  ***

  We worked the Henry Moss crime scene until almost noon. The coroner and SID teams arrived, but found nothing in the way of physical evidence. I was walking Bernie down the sidewalk, taking a break, when I got a phone call from Joe Dawson.

  “Came by your place yesterday and your friends told me you had gone camping,” Joe said.

  I wrapped Bernie’s leash around my wrist, reached up and tried to rub my temples. I nearly dropped my phone when he tried pulling away from me to sniff some flowers. I cursed as I juggled, and caught the phone a second before it hit the sidewalk.

  “Everything okay there?” I heard Joe say.

  “Yeah, just dealing with a recalcitrant dog and a raging headache.”

  “Care for a bite to eat? My treat.”

  I hadn’t had anything to eat all day and agreed to meet him at a nearby café. I had Leo drop me off and found Joe at a table on an outdoor patio.

  After exchanging hellos, Joe gave Bernie some attention, then regarded me. “Something’s different.”

  “My brother trimmed my hair, and it’s...” I exhaled. “The truth is he, or I should say we, got drunk, and I think my hair suffered the consequences. It’s a little uneven.”

  “You look great, as always.”

  “Thanks, but I feel like hell.” I took a moment and told him about the Peters case, our suspect who called himself Lazarus, the death of his followers, and his purge. “He’s apparently paying back anyone he thinks ever wronged him.”

  “A crazy with an axe to grind...” He grinned. “Sorry, that was probably a poor choice of words. I hope you catch him soon.”

  After ordering sandwiches, he told me why he was in Los Angeles. “We’re doing more follow-up on the recent bombings. There’s some speculation the Rylands could target this area again.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We think the bombings didn’t go off as they hoped, with fewer casualties than they wanted. They may try to hit the area again, only with something bigger.”

  “Bigger, as in…?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe dirty bombs like they used in New York.”

  I exhaled, taking a moment to process what he’d said. “It seems like a never-ending nightmare. Anything on Pearl?”

  “We think we’re getting closer. Our agents are still working the ground on the coast near Rio.”

  We spent the rest of my lunch hour chatting about Joe’s cases and some mutual acquaintances. I was about to call Leo to pick me up when Joe offered to drop me and Bernie at the station. We were on Hollywood Boulevard, a couple blocks from the stationhouse, when the conversation turned personal.

  “I’m going to be in the area for a couple days. What do you say we go on a real date, maybe have dinner at that place on the ocean in Malibu?”

  “Duke’s?”

  “Yeah, if I remember right, it’s not too far from the beach where you killed me.”

  He was talking about a prior case we’d worked, where his death had been staged to throw off some suspects.

  I laughed. “I’d call you Lazarus, if it didn’t hit so close to home.” I took a moment, thinking about his offer. I was torn, not wanting to encourage him about our relationship, but not wanting to hurt him. I finally said, “Dinner sounds nice, but let me get back to you on the timing. Things are crazy at work right now.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, pulling to the curb in front of Hollywood Station.

  After telling Joe I would be in touch, I met up with Molly on the sidewalk as we walked toward the station.

  “How are things?” I asked.

  “Lunch with a friend?” she said, referencing Joe, who waved to us as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Something like that.” Her smile was still there. “And we are just friends.”

  “If you say so.” She then changed the subject. “I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve done those background checks you asked me about—on your butler and your brother.”

  I chuckled. “Please don’t tell me that Otto is an escaped mental patient.”

  “No, but you’re probably going to want to hear about your brother first. I think he’s living in this area.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  Haley removed her latex gloves as she left the surgical suite. The young man who had been wounded in a gang-related drive-by shooting had died while in surgery. She was angry and frustrated. Despite years of training and dealing with dozens of similar gunshot wounds, she felt like she had failed him.

  After washing up, she told the on-duty staff that she was taking a short break to take a walk. It was mid-morning, the promise of another beautiful day, as she left the hospital and strolled down the street.

  Despite the beautiful day, it did nothing to lighten her spirits. Chad Lindstrom, the man who had raped her sister, had been constantly on her mind. She’d found him on the Internet, at least she thought she’d found him. When she’d gone to the address her record search turned up, she’d learned that he’d moved and left no forwarding address.

  “God damn it!” she screamed.

  A woman who was working in her yard turned in her direction. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  Haley controlled her anger. “Yes, sorry. I work at the hospital and it’s been a long day already.”

  As she continued down the street, Haley reached under her surgical scrubs, tightening the cilice. It cut even deeper into her flesh, the intense pain giving her some temporary relief from her suffering.

  Even as her body relaxed, the pain in her head began to grow. Her mind reeled as she touched the ring on her left hand, her thoughts going back in time to that day she and her mother had visited the church where Lizzy’s body had rested.

  She again heard her mother’s words. “Do you feel the power?”

  The pounding in her head grew intense. She saw herself as the girl she had been, telling her mother, “Yes. Lizzy is with me now. She will be with me forever.”

  Haley stopped walking and slumped down on the sidewalk as the pain in her head grew so intense that she thought she might pass out. Additional fragments of that long-ago conversation with her mother skittered through her mind. Her mother’s words had never made any sense. Until now.

  “Power is an elusive thing,” Mother had said.

  She saw herself as a child, looking up at her. “What do you mean?”

  “You can only hold onto the power you possess if you use it. Otherwise, it will be lost.”

  “But how...how do I use it?”

  “Only you can answer that question.”

  Haley remembered thinking about her response for a long time. Finally, she had said, “I must use it for Lizzy, to set her free.”

  Her mother smiled. “Of course.” Mother’s dark eyes had remained fixed on her. “And how do you set your sister free?”

  “I must find the man, the one who killed her.”

  “NO!”

  Her mother’s sharp words had startled Haley. “But I must...”

  “STOP. We will never speak of this again!” her mother screamed.

  Haley nodded, her head slumping forward. A long time later, after they had left the church, her mother’s voice had softened. “There is something you must begin to understand.” She took a breath. “I want you to see a psychiatrist. Her name is Dr. Tanner. She will help you understand the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  Her mother stopped and met her eyes. “I know this is very difficult, but, despite what we told the police about your sister’s death, the truth is...”

  The pain in Haley’s head mushroomed, and she screamed. The long-ago words spoken by her mother were buried beneath the avalanche of pain. It took her several minutes to recover. When she finally pulled herself together, the rest of her conversation with her mother was lost. It was as though her words had been pushe
d down into a black hole, forever silenced.

  As Haley managed to get on her feet and walk back toward the hospital, she was now certain of one thing: she would confront her mother and demand that she tell her what she had forgotten. She would get to the truth, no matter what it took.

  FIFTY-THREE

  “Your brother is thirty-seven and goes by the name Daniel James Reston,” Molly told me. “He was born in Hollywood Presbyterian Hospital. His birth certificate was changed to reflect his adoptive parents’ last name. Joshua and Ann Reston now live in Washington state. Daniel is apparently homeless.”

  We had taken a seat on a bench outside the stationhouse. I realized that my pulse was racing as she told me about the man I’d known only as Daniel.

  “Homeless,” I said, trying to come to terms with what she said. “What else can you tell me about him?”

  “His last permanent address was in Culver City, but he hasn’t lived there in a couple years. It looks like he spends time at various homeless shelters in and around Los Angeles.”

  “How does someone go from claiming an offshore bank account worth several million dollars to being homeless?”

  Molly brushed her auburn hair back. “To know that, I think we’re going to have to find him.”

  I exhaled, shaking my head. “Anything else?”

  Molly smiled. “Just about your butler.”

  I rolled my eyes. “My day can’t get much worse, so let’s hear it.”

  “Otto James Culpepper was the headmaster of Creston Boys’ School in Massachusetts before he resigned about five years ago. He moved west and worked various odd jobs, before eventually becoming a domestic worker for Halstead Craven.”

  “Who?”

  “He’s the brother of Maurice Craven, the man who was murdered by his son and owned the house you’re living in.”

  I rubbed my forehead. My headache was still there, hiding somewhere behind my eyes and threatening to resurface. “Why is life so complicated?”