by M. Z. Kelly
We heard voices raised in the other room, as Nana and Mo’s uncle were still going at it with Tex and his sex avatar.
“Last I heard he was, but we’ll see,” Mo said. “It might be that you’ll have another homicide on your hands before the performance.”
“Maybe Fred will murder Dr. Doris,” Natalie said. “It could be your first ever robot homicide case.”
“Are Nana and Fred really...doing it?” I asked, doing my best not to show my distaste.
“They’re runnin’ hot ‘n’ cold,” Natalie said. “We think their relationship is all ‘bout the makeup sex.”
Mo made an aargggh sound, like she was gargling poison. “Just the thought of them two together makes me wanna give up sex.”
“You’re beginnin’ to sound like Kate.” Natalie looked at me. “Anything new with you and Joe?”
“I had a talk with the woman he’s seeing. I wished her the best of luck.”
“What ‘bout you seein’ that actor I mentioned?”
The lie I told Joe surfaced. “Freddy?”
“Yeah. I’m tellin’ you, he’s worth takin’ a run at. Mo and me could invite him over for drinks one of these nights so you can scope him out.”
It was against my better judgment, but I decided it might help me deal with some of my guilt about lying. “Okay. What have I got to lose?” I was about to excuse myself and head up to bed, when I thought about my brother. “Have you found out anything more about Daniel?”
Natalie finished her drink. “We went by that homeless shelter again. He hasn’t been back, so Mo and me think he’s movin’ ‘round, hidin’ out from the Rylands.”
I stood. “From what I hear, they’re still in Brazil, so I don’t think he has anything to worry about.”
I told them I would talk to them later, and headed upstairs to bed. Seconds after hitting the pillow, it was lights out. Somewhere in the midst of my blissful sleep, I had a dream. It was something about me dating their actor friend, Freddy, and Joe showing up, demanding to know what his intentions were.
Freddy, who did look suspiciously like Freddy Krueger, told Joe, “I’m here to take Kate away to a better life.” At that point, I stirred from my deep sleep, thinking it was all fitting. I was going to end up dating an actor who was a serial killer.
FIFTY
I woke up just after six that evening and went downstairs to get a bite to eat. Thankfully, Nana and Fred were gone. Natalie and Mo weren’t around either, so I asked Otto about them.
“They said they were heading over to see...” He scratched his bald head. “...I believe it was someone named Scarf.”
“Lucky Scarfo.”
“That’s it. Anyway, they said something about texting you an address and you meeting them.”
I checked my phone and saw that they were waiting for me at the gangster’s condo complex in Bel Air. I said to Otto, “Would you mind watching Bernie for an hour or so while I go out?”
“Of course, Madam.” He looked at my big dog, who was doing a tail wag. “Monsieur Bernie and I have become quite agreeable companions.”
“Thanks.” I started to leave, when my conversation with Molly came to mind. “If you have a moment, I need to talk to you about Clara.”
His shoulders sagged. “Oh, dear. I hope it’s good news.”
We took seats at the kitchen table. “My friend Molly learned that Clara is still living back east in Boston.”
His dark eyes brightened. “Splendid. Maybe I should call her.”
“Before you do, there’s something you need to know.”
“Don’t tell me she’s married.”
I shook my head. “Clara’s still single from what we know, but she’s now Clark.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It looks like she had some gender reassignment surgery and has changed her name from Clara to Clark.”
Otto’s eyes shifted and began to mist over. He took several breaths, apparently trying to come to terms with what I’d said. I reached over and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know this is...”
“Wonderful.”
“What?”
He looked back at me. “Clara and I had several what you might call ‘in-depth conversations’ about her life before I moved away. I knew that she never felt comfortable being a woman. She talked about having the surgery. I’m thrilled that she finally fulfilled her wishes.”
“Oh, well...that’s good.” I studied him as he brushed his tears. “I’m not sure where this leaves your relationship.”
He took a long moment before responding. “May I share something personal with you?”
“Of course.”
“I’m...my....” He took a breath. “I’ve never told anyone except Clara this, but the truth is, I’ve always been more interested in men than women.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you told me.” I tried to choose my words carefully. “Does Clara becoming...now that she’s a...” I took a moment to gather my thoughts. “I’m just wondering what that means in terms of her future.”
Otto smiled. “Gender identification and sexual orientation are two different entities. Clara, or Clark, has always been interested in men. The surgery wouldn’t affect that desire.”
“I see. I guess I have a lot to learn about some things.” I then remembered Molly telling me that she would send me a picture of Clark. I checked my phone, found the text, and showed Otto his photo. “He’s really very handsome.”
“Oh, my.” Otto studied the photo for several seconds, brushing a tear. “Could I, perhaps, obtain a copy of this?”
“I’ll forward it to your phone.”
“I’m afraid I use a landline when the need arises.”
“Oh. I’ll have it printed out for you.”
“That would be wonderful.” He took a breath, his voice firming. “I’m going to call her...or, I should say, him. Maybe there’s some hope for us after all these years.”
I checked my phone as it chimed, seeing that I had another text from Natalie, asking where I was.
I reached over and hugged Otto. “I’ve got to run, but I think it’s a great idea that you and Clark try to reconnect. Let me know how it goes.”
***
I got to Bel Air a little after seven and met my friends on the sidewalk. I explained about being late, telling them about Otto and asking them to be discrete.
“I hope this doesn’t mean we’re gonna lose our butler,” Natalie said.
“Yeah, ‘cause I can’t go back to livin’ like a pauper, doing my own laundry and cookin’,” Mo agreed.
“I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions,” I said, as we walked toward the high rise. “I’m sure Clark has his own life in Boston.”
We stopped in the building’s lobby, and Natalie asked, “I wonder how that works, doing the dirty deed with a guy who used to have a penis flytrap.”
“I’m sure it’s about love, not just the plumbing,” I said.
Mo smiled. “Yeah, I can vouch for that. My guy Cleo has all the right plumbing, and I make sure it’s workin’ just right.”
After checking in with the doorman and showing my credentials, we were allowed access to Lucky Scarfo’s penthouse elevator. On the way up, Natalie told us how the drug dealing mobster got his name.
“According to informed sources, the bloke grew up in Minnesota and got his nuts in a wringer.”
“You mean he got into some trouble?” I asked.
“No. When Lucky was a teenager, I heard he was pleasuring himself on some playground equipment. It was winter, and he got himself stuck and almost got his nuts froze off. It took the cops, some firemen, and lots of hot water to get him out of hot water.”
“Instead of ‘Lucky’, they shoulda named him ‘Nutsicle’,” Mo said, just as the elevator doors opened and we found Lucky Scarfo standing there, glaring at us.
“What’s this all about?” the mobster demanded.
“We’re here ‘bout Jimmy Sweets,” Natalie said. “We know you had a beef wit
h him and we wanna know where his body’s buried.”
What she said caused Scarfo to break into a fit of laughter. The mobster was in his forties and heavy, with curly steel-colored hair combed straight back from his forehead. His dark eyes were intense, but vacant, like he could order someone’s murder and never have a second thought about it.
“Let me handle this,” I whispered to my friends as he continued to belly-laugh.
After Scarfo got himself under control, I told him, “We’re not here to accuse you of anything. We just want some information.”
The mob boss stared at me for a long moment. “Don’t you work out of Hollywood Station?” I nodded. “I’ve seen you on the news. If you’re here to stir up trouble, you can talk to my lawyer.”
“Please. This isn’t an official investigation, for now. I’m just here to find out what you might know.”
Scarfo released a breath. “I was just having a nightcap on the balcony.” He waved a hand as he walked toward the sliding glass doors. “Come.”
As it turned out, the balcony was almost as big as the entire apartment, with a swimming pool and a magnificent view of the city.
“Bet you can see a construction worker’s ass-crack in Santa Monica from here,” Natalie said, going over to the railing. She looked back at Scarfo. “How much does a joint like this cost?”
Scarfo ignored her and looked at me. “Let’s get this over with.”
We all took seats on an outdoor sofa. I said, “As you can probably imagine, Jimmy Sweets’ wife, Myrna, is extremely upset over his disappearance. Can you tell us if you’ve heard anything about where he might have gone?”
“Yeah, like the bottom of the ocean,” Mo said. “We know you two had issues.”
The mobster downed his drink, signaled an attendant for more with two fingers. He glared at Mo. “I have lots of issues with lots of people, but none of them rise to the level of murder.” The mobster cut his eyes back to me. “I don’t think this conversation is worth my time.”
I glanced at Mo, shaking my head for her to remain silent. I looked back at Scarfo. “I suggest you level with us, if you know anything, before the department opens an investigation. It’s my understanding that Jimmy’s been missing a couple weeks. Someone like him doesn’t just decide to disappear.”
Scarfo accepted another drink from his manservant. After downing half of it, he said, “Jimmy made a lot of enemies by poking his nose into things that didn’t concern him. That said, I’ll do you a favor and ask around about him. That’s all I can promise.”
“We heard Jimmy dished the dirt on you that he got from one of his clients,” Natalie said, demonstrating she had no ability to keep her mouth shut.
He chuckled. “There’s a lot of dirt in this world, young lady. I’m not worried about false rumors.”
I went at him a few minutes longer in a more diplomatic way than my friends, not getting anything useful. I decided it was better to have a man like Scarfo on our side, rather than as an enemy.
I stood. “We appreciate you talking to us.” I handed him my card. “If you hear anything, please call me.”
Scarfo took the card, then snapped his fingers at his servant. “See them out, Barry.”
I was following my friends back into the apartment when Scarfo called out to me. “I heard your department is investigating the Novak murder.”
I stopped and walked back over to him. “Yes. What can you tell me about what happened to him?”
“Just so you don’t come knocking on my door about drugs, you need to know that I wasn’t involved.”
“Who was?”
He shrugged. “All I can tell you is to follow the drug trail. It might lead you to unexpected places.”
As we rode the elevator down, my friends were saying something about frozen testicles and mobsters. I tuned out most of what they said because what Lucky Scarfo had said struck a chord with me. Follow the drug trail. When I got to work the next morning, I intended to do just that.
FIFTY-ONE
“The DA’s office is willing to give you some more time to put the case against Judy Welch together. However, if we don’t have more before we go to trial, we may end up dropping all charges.”
We were meeting with Assistant DA Devon Jones in Lieutenant Byrd’s office the next morning. Leo, Olivia, and Richard were present, along with the lieutenant. I’d let one of the officers who was on light duty take Bernie for a stroll during our meeting.
Jones, who was African-American and stocky, went on. “The physical evidence directly tying Welch to the crime is problematic, and the motive is thin, at best.”
Richard, who’d had his brown hair cut shorter and shaved on the sides, spoke up. “Based on our investigation, we know that Welch was still in love with Novak. She was angry over his relationship with Garfield Boyer, not to mention all the others the actor was involved with, and she couldn’t take it anymore.”
Jones smiled. “I have no doubt that she had strong feelings for Novak, but that doesn’t necessarily equal murder. There’s also the issue of a lack of physical evidence at the crime scene.”
“But there was the same mixture of drugs in a trailer a couple of rows over from where Novak’s body was found, along with Welch’s prints.”
“That evidence is damning,” Jones agreed. “But Welch’s lawyer will likely say she was set up, at best, and, at worst, she used drugs that she acquired from the same dealer who supplied Novak. I’ll admit, it’s a thin defense, but it only takes the specter of reasonable doubt to hang a jury.”
“How does the director, Mario Ford, fit into everything?” Lieutenant Byrd asked.
“He and Welch were having an affair. Ford is notorious for both his anger and his sexual appetite. He’ll likely end up cutting a plea for attempted assault, a misdemeanor. End of story.”
“Maybe he and Welch conspired to kill Novak,” Richard said.
I looked at Olivia and smiled, remembering I’d had a similar thought, as Jones answered. “Unless we’ve got some proof of that, it’s pure speculation.”
Jones went on for another twenty minutes, making statements about the DA wanting to prosecute, but emphasizing that our case would likely go away unless he got more. After he was gone, the lieutenant asked for our thoughts.
“We begin at the beginning,” Leo said. “We go back over the evidence, our interviews, and see what’s been missed.”
Olivia agreed. “Kate and I can go back to the studio and poke around. We’ve always had the thought that some of the studio staff have been reluctant to talk.”
“That’s because they’re worried about their jobs,” Richard said. “This is Hollywood. It’s all about who you know, not what you know, or even who committed murder.”
“All the more reason to follow up.”
“I had a conversation last night with Lucky Scarfo that might tie into our case,” I said, as Richard huffed out his frustration.
“Scarfo?” Byrd said. “What’s your relationship with him?”
“I don’t have one. My friends’ boss, Jimmy Sweets, has gone missing. They think one of the clients in his PI business might have dished some dirt on the mobster, so they asked me to tag along when they talked to him.” I looked at Leo. “Has SEU turned up anything on Sweets?”
Leo shook his head. “Nothing.”
I went on. “Scarfo mentioned the Novak case as I was leaving. He knows that we know he’s involved in the drug trade, so he wanted to go on record stating that he had no involvement in supplying any of the drugs that killed the actor. He also made a point of telling me that we should follow the drug trail.”
“Meaning?” Byrd asked.
“I’m not sure, but maybe there’s a dealer or user in the mix that we’ve missed.”
The lieutenant pushed back in his chair and exhaled. “Let’s take another run at everything.” He looked at Olivia. “I agree, it’s worth going back to the studio. See what you can turn up.” He said to Leo, “You and Hurd take another loo
k at all our evidence. It might pay off to go back to the director, as well.”
“Ford’s not going to cooperate,” Richard said. “Especially since he’s facing assault charges.”
Byrd’s blue eyes fixed on his detective. “That might be the case, but I’m telling you to take another shot at him. We’ve got nothing to lose.” His gaze didn’t falter. “It can be part of the speech you make to your uncle when you tell him we’re covering all the bases.”
“I’ve told you before, we’re not that close.”
Byrd kept his eyes fixed on him and nodded slowly, but otherwise didn’t respond. He then looked at Olivia and me. “I know you’ve probably had it up to your eyeballs with your federal case, so I won’t ask you about it. I did get word from on high that you’re subject to callback at a moment’s notice. In the meantime, it’s business as usual, unless you hear otherwise.”
Before Olivia and I headed to Lohman Studios, I rounded up Bernie from the officer who had walked him. I was on my way back to my desk when Jessica Barlow called me over to her desk. I took a seat, asking how things were going.
She rolled her blue eyes that sported a ton of eyeliner and shadow. “Tell me something, do you think I’m a bad person?”
I’d had my issues with Jessica in the past, but hoped we’d gotten past the drama. “Of course not. What’s going on?”
She cut her eyes to Hank Bower, her partner, who was chatting it up with another detective at his desk. Bower was laughing and shooting furtive glances around the stationhouse, making me think he might be telling an off-color joke.
“I know I’ve had my issues with co-workers in the past,” Jessica said, “but I’m not sure how much more of the Tank I can take.”
“It’s understandable. I hear he’s gone through a half-dozen partners.”
She lowered her voice. “He’s a big blowhard who hates women. I’m afraid we’re going to come to blows before too long.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe it’s time for you to think about a transfer.”
She agreed with me, then changed the subject. “The real reason I wanted to talk to you is because Richard Hurd asked me out.”