by M. Z. Kelly
“I might be able to arrange that,” Jessica said, in that nasal voice of hers that irritates the hell out of me.
Maybe I’m petty, but I always thought of Jessica as one of those women who got a lot of mileage out of limited resources, thanks to designer clothing and a hair style that was an expensive cut with lots of highlights. It looked a little like Jane Fonda’s flippy shag.
Jessica’s beady blue eyes had way too much liner and shadow. She also had a weight problem that she tried to disguise with clothes cut to hide bulges and rolls that were a harbinger of middle age. Her thin lips seemed perpetually twisted into a scowl aimed directly at me.
Everyone knew that Jessica and I were arch enemies. We’d done verbal, and almost physical, battle on a couple of occasions over the years since we’d attended Hollywood High together. I was convinced that Jessica had become a cop just to make my life miserable.
“There must be someone else you can assign,” I said to Edna, refusing to look at the woman who Charlie said was a new species of snake, something he’d termed a White Mamba.
“Jessica’s partner is on leave,” Edna said. “I don’t understand why men get maternity leave, but he’ll be out for six weeks.” My boss held his hands out. “We’ve just gotta make this work for a few fucking weeks and then everybody can go back to hating each another.”
I shook my head, sighed, and happened to look down at my outfit. I looked like a bloated, wrinkled mess. Jessica, on the other hand, looked like she must have spent her entire paycheck on her wardrobe. Her clothes looked like something I’d seen in a recent Burberry catalogue. I had to admit that the expensive silk blazer and matching pants made her the best dressed serpent I knew.
“I’m going to make this work, despite her attitude,” Jessica said to the lieutenant. “But I do have one request. Since I was promoted before Sexton I want to be lead investigator on this case.”
“What?” I fumed. “We were promoted to detective at the same time and, since I was at the murder scene last night, I want the lead.”
“I was promoted twenty-four hours prior to you,” Jessica said. “That gives me seniority.” She turned to Edna. “You can check with human resources, if you’d like.”
I began to lose my temper as I said to the lieutenant, “I will not take orders from a woman who has a forked tongue and wears more makeup than a drag queen at a bingo ball.” Okay, I didn’t say it quite like that. I mustered all my diplomacy and said, “I’m not taking orders from someone who disrespects me.”
“When did I ever disrespect you?” Jessica said.
“Let’s see. I can start by going back to our high school days.”
“Don’t even go there.”
“I’ll go wherever I want and...”
“Okay, let’s stop with the fucking verbal judo,” Edna said, engaging in his profane form of coitus interrupt-us. He stood and held his hands out like a referee. “Here’s how this goes down. Pearl is helping Kennedy finish up the Betina case. He should be able to join you in a couple of days as lead investigator, even though he’s only working part-time. You got a beef, you take it up with him. You need to both find a way to get along. If you don’t, some heads are gonna roll.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jessica and I took separate cars to the coroner’s office that afternoon. As Olive belched and sputtered down the freeway, I spewed about my fate to Bernie who agreed with me that Jessica was a wretched person with no redeeming moral or physical qualities. I made a mental note to pay my canine therapist a fee for professional services, consisting of a bone and some doggy snaps.
I met with Brie Henner in her office while Jessica went to refreshen, which I took to mean that she was going to the lady’s room to apply the day’s third coat of war paint. I explained our history to Brie while we waited.
“She sounds like my sister,” Brie said. “No matter what I do it isn’t the right thing and it’s never good enough.”
“We must have the same sister,” I said, shaking my head. I blew out a breath. “Maybe this has something to do with my personality. Maybe I’m just a bitch magnet.”
“Says a lot for me.”
“No, not you. It’s just that sometimes I feel like I live under this cloud.” I tried to straighten the wrinkles in my blouse as I went on. “Maybe my life just got off track somewhere and I’ll never find my way back.”
“I don’t think that’s true at all. You’ve got a great career and two guys who are interested in you.”
“At least you’re half right. As far back as I can remember being a cop, just like my dad, was all I ever wanted. As for the guys, you know where I stand with Jack.” I brushed a hand through my unruly hair. “And Mack isn’t even in the picture right now...out of the country.”
“Maybe you should call him, see when he’s coming home?”
I considered what she suggested, unsure that my relationship with Jack was going anywhere. Maybe I did need to move things along with Mack, if there was anything there to move along.
I met Brie’s beautiful dark eyes and said, “You want to know the truth?” Her brows lifted. “I’m jealous of you.”
Brie laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I mean it. You have everything going for you—a great career, a wonderful husband, a five-year-old who is to die for.” I shook my head. “All I have is a nutty mother, a dog, and a bunch of roommates that are like something out of a crazy reality TV show.”
Brie leaned forward. “You, my dear, are a beautiful, intelligent woman. You just need to embrace that.”
I saw that Jessica had reapplied the face paint and was slithering back and forth outside the office. Maybe the White Mamba was looking for a rat to swallow.
“Thanks for the kind words, Brie,” I said, looking over again and seeing that my new partner was tapping on her watch. I turned back to Brie and said, “Any chance you could perform a pre-mortem autopsy on my new partner?”
The rest of the afternoon was taken up with the autopsies of Michael Clinton and China Warner. Brie was thorough, explaining each step as she dissected, extracted tissues and organs, and catalogued the paths of the bullets that killed the couple.
There was something sobering about seeing what, in life, had been two beautiful bodies, now sliced and diced under the glare of overhead lights—leaving nothing unexposed. Even Jessica seemed to lose some of her angry edge during the procedures.
When Brie was almost finished, she took a moment to meet with one of her assistants and then returned to the examination tables. “The GSR test on China’s right hand was positive using the electron microscope. There’s no doubt that she fired the murder weapon. We had your SID people run the bullets through the department’s ballistics database, but we didn’t get a match. And there’s no history of the gun ever being registered.”
“So all things considered, this might still be considered a murder-suicide?” Jessica asked, apparently still not up to speed on the crimes.
Brie shook her head. “No. Based upon the angle of entry, it’s extremely unlikely the round that killed China was self-inflicted. As I told the investigators last night, these were two murders set up to look like murder-suicide.”
“All we need now,” I said, “is a motive and a suspect.”
“I don’t know about a motive,” Brie said, “but maybe I can help with a suspect.”
She excused herself for a moment and met up with a young man who I assumed was one of her lab assistants. He looked to be in his late twenties and had a shock of unruly red hair made all the more prominent by his pasty complexion.
We couldn’t hear what was being discussing, but Brie’s associate seemed very animated. After their brief conversation, she excused her assistant and brought over a clipboard for reference as she spoke.
“There was a third party involved in this relationship,” Brie said.
“A third party?” I asked. “I’m not sure I understand?”
She nodded. “It will take a few days,
but we’ll see what the DNA shows.”
I gave her a questioning look before she continued. “It seems that our blushing bride had semen in her vagina, but it wasn’t from the groom.”
“What?” Jessica said. “How can you be sure it wasn’t Michael’s?”
“We just received his medical records. The groom had a vasectomy a little over three years ago.” She motioned to China’s body. “There are swimmers in there, but they didn’t come from Michael. China had sex before her wedding night, and it wasn’t with her fiancé.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Wolf parks his car at the end of Canyon Drive where the pavement ends. The day is cool and overcast—a perfect day for a little run up Brush Canyon Trail.
He sees there’s no one on the trail ahead as it rises from the canyon floor next to a stream that feeds a grove of sage, manzanita, and oak. As the trail widens up ahead, there’s a scattering of hikers and other joggers. It’s still early and the runner craves the solitude that clears his mind.
In a few minutes, the trail twists up a hill that overlooks the city. In the distance, there’s a view of high-rises and the Hollywood Sign.
Stopping and admiring the view for a moment is enough to end his solitude. His thoughts begin to intercede. The Wolf hears the voice of the caller again, the man he talked to after the killings. It’s a down payment. Think of it as just an installment payment on a very big debt.
Despite the quietude and beautiful surroundings, the words play over and over in his mind. This is not finished and the killer now wonders if it will ever be over.
Millions will be made as a result of the murders, but he knows that some debts are never fully repaid, no matter what has been promised. That’s almost a motto for certain organizations.
“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
The voice coming from behind him startles The Wolf.
Turning, he sees the face of the man who called him three nights ago after the murders. He wonders how his adversary has slipped up the trail so quietly. It’s a wake-up call. There will need to be a readjustment, a return to the old days when constant vigilance was the first rule of survival.
“It’s a good day to be running,” The Wolf says, turning away from the man and looking down at the city. “A good day to forget your worries.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.”
The Wolf glances over at the man again. “The debt was paid in full. We had an agreement.”
A breeze ruffles the man’s silver hair. “The killings have officially been ruled homicides.”
Despite his best efforts, anxiety registers in The Wolf’s voice. “What? That’s impossible. I made sure that...”
“You fucked up. It isn’t acceptable.”
The Wolf turns away and sighs. He stands in silence for a moment as the morning breeze lifts the scent of sage and stagnant water from the creek below. Finally, he says, “I don’t understand. Even if they’re calling it a homicide, I left the gun...”
“That’s not doing us any good right now. There are other matters that must be dealt with.”
The realization about what’s required of him settles in. There is no point in resisting the inevitable. “What do you need?”
“I have a message. The seed money has been paid in full. The profits will now begin to flow, but nothing will be allowed to interfere with what’s been set in place.”
Their vision locks together for a moment, before The Wolf’s gaze finally drifts away. There’s a nod of understanding. “Who?”
The photograph is pushed into The Wolf’s hand. “There was a trail—a situation that could lead the investigators in a direction that would be contrary to our interests.”
The killer pushes the photograph and identifying information into a pocket without looking at it. “How long do I have?”
“I would make it a short run and attend to the business at hand forthwith. Delays aren’t acceptable.”
The Wolf nods and the man moves back down the hill.
When The Wolf is back on the trail again, it begins to rise up until there are spectacular views of the valley on one side and the city on the other. Up ahead the Hollywood Sign looms closer.
He remembers hearing somewhere that the most famous sign in the world was built by the publisher of the Los Angeles Times in the 1920s as a billboard for his real estate enterprise. Now, the giant marquee represents glamour, ambition, and dreams.
Dreams, The Wolf thinks, turning and jogging back down the hill. Dreams are visions of something that is not real. They are illusions that can sometimes become nightmares.
And The Wolf knows that nightmares are another matter. They are sometimes very real and deadly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The arrest was bogus,” my mother said as we drove through morning rush hour traffic away from the airport. “The cop who arrested me used excessive force, so I slapped him.”
Wow, like I’d never heard that excuse before. “Unless you can convince a jury of that, you could be looking at jail time. This is serious.”
I was driving my mother, or Miss Daisy as she sometimes calls herself, home from LAX. It had been three days since the wedding murders and we had few leads. I’d finally gotten some sleep last night, thanks to total exhaustion and Natalie and Tex finally giving Mr. Peepers a rest.
“You always think the worst. My attorney says I’ll get a small fine and probation at the worst.” Mom smiled. I noticed that her recent facelift did make her look younger. She was fifty-six, but now didn’t look a day over fifty-five. My mother was tall, like me, with short brown hair and skin that had seen a little too much sun, during an era when sunbathing without protection was in vogue.
“I’m going to be home for a while, working on another demonstration,” Mom said.
“Please tell me you’re not going to be demonstrating in the nude again.”
Bernie was lapping up air from the back passenger window and turned in our direction for a moment, maybe in silent agreement or horror at the thought of Miss. Daisy baring it all.
“We’re organizing something called, Oscars for Peace,” Mom said. “We’re looking for male volunteers to line the Walk of Fame with us on the night of the Academy Awards Ceremony.” She giggled. “The participants are going to be asked to wave their Oscars as a demonstration in support of ending all wars on the planet.”
“Somehow I just don’t get the connection between nudity and world peace.”
“It gets people’s attention.” As we turned onto the street where Mom lives, she added, “Do you think Charlie might be interested?”
“In waving his Oscar?” I chuckled and thought about my partner who was home on bed rest after getting a couple of arterial stints for a partial blockage. “Charlie just got released from UCLA Medical Center after a heart attack. Waving his Oscar just might put him back in the hospital.”
***
After Bernie and I arrived at the station, I settled into my desk across from Jessica who had taken over Charlie’s workspace. I’d been trying my best to be civil to my new partner, but it wasn’t easy.
Jessica had engaged in what I call trivial pursuit, pushing every button she could think of, no matter how petty or insignificant, just so that she could irritate the hell out of me. And it was working.
I spent most of the morning catching up on paperwork. We’d spent the last couple of days interviewing some of the wedding guests that we hadn’t talked to on the night of the murders, without learning anything useful. I’d also gone over Natalie and Mo’s list of what Natalie had referred to as, “Michael’s fuck bunnies.”
There were over a dozen women on the list that Michael supposedly had sex with over the past year. We’d interviewed a couple of the women, but didn’t come up with anything that looked promising. We’d also planned to interview, Holly Sawyer, China’s co-host on Hollywood Daybreak, but were told that Sawyer was in New York for meetings and wouldn’t be back for a couple of days.
At noon, Bernie and I went with Jessica to Linda Warner’s house in Holmby Hills, an affluent neighborhood west of Hollywood.
I’d purposely scheduled our meeting with Warner early in the day, hoping that I’d catch China’s mother sober. I should have made a breakfast appointment. The BM, as Natalie had called her, was already slurring her words as we sat down to talk in her lavish living room.
“I want you to fffiindd the bassssturd who k...killed my daughter or I’ll have your fuccckkking badges,” Warner said before tipping her drink up.
She was wearing a bathrobe that kept coming undone, revealing a pair of oversized silicon breasts that contrasted with her skinny frame. If Natalie were here, she would probably have said, “She looks like Mick Jagger with big, fake milkers.”
“We’re working on it, Ms. Warner,” I said, at the same time wondering what we hoped to accomplish by interviewing her. “Is there anyone you can think of who might have wanted to harm your daughter?”
Tears flooded from her eyes. “No. She was an ann...angel. I can’t...beeeleeeve she’s gone.”
“What about old boyfriends?” Jessica asked. “Was there anyone who might have come back into China’s life in recent weeks who was causing her problems?”
The BM wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe. “Everyone was jealous...my daughter was...beeeautiful.” Warner’s emotions seemed to turn on a dime, and they turned on Jessica. “You’re wassssting my fuuckkking time. Get out and arrest her kkk...killer.”
“There’s no need for anger,” Jessica said. “Let’s try and be civil.”
“I’ll show you...civvill.” The BM stood up, took a step forward, and launched a roundhouse right at my partner, barely missing her chin.
Jessica pulled the BM’s hands behind her back and said, “You’re under arrest for attempted battery on a peace officer.
“Jessica, let it go,” I said, standing and controlling Bernie who was straining on his leash. “She’s just drunk and distraught over losing her daughter.”