Hollywood Enemy: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  The victims’ shoes told another story. They were expensive Andre Magradi designer pumps, only sold at upscale stores and online. That fact told me that our killer had the means to purchase expensive shoes. It also told me that he knew enough about fashion to know about the designer footwear. I realized that The Artist had been consistent, meticulous, and caring in his own sick way, making sure that the girls all had the same gowns and expensive shoes. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something to keep in mind.

  I drove to a residential area off Franklin Avenue that afternoon to meet with Joanne Vreeland’s mother. Sally Vreeland had agreed to talk to me when I’d called, but there was also dread in her voice when I told her that I wanted to come by because her daughter’s killer was still active in other cities.

  Natalie’s statement about what Dudley Wainwright, their class profiler, had said about cops often missing simple things that can break a case came to mind as I knocked on Vreeland’s door. I knew that if I could somehow link The Artist to the purchase of the designer shoes we would have a solid lead, maybe even a link to his identity. As I waited at the door, Joe Dawson also came to mind. I hadn’t heard from him since leaving Tulsa and wondered if there was anything new on the case.

  After Sally Vreeland came to the door I introduced myself and Bernie. She then led us into the living room where I took a seat on the sofa and Bernie settled at my feet. The home was modest but clean. The furnishings probably hadn’t changed much since Joanne’s death. The sofa and chair had a flower-print pattern, suggesting a feminine bias in the home’s décor.

  Vreeland was heavyset, wore a lot of makeup, and spoke in a high-pitched girly voice that some women cultivate. As we chatted, I learned that she and her husband had divorced about five years earlier. After some more chit-chat she asked me about the man who had murdered her daughter.

  “I’m afraid there are other victims in different cities,” I said. “The latest was in Tulsa, Oklahoma a little over a week ago.”

  A heavy breath escaped her lungs. Her gaze fell to her hands in her lap. “I’ve tried to put it out of my mind over the years.” Her eyes slowly came up to me. “It’s not possible. It’s something I live with every day.”

  I told her how sorry I was. After I gave her a moment I asked her to tell me about her daughter.

  “Joanne was such a special girl. She was bright, funny…” Her eyes misted over. “She thought she might want to become a dancer someday.”

  I gave her another moment, then said, “What about her friends, boyfriends?”

  Her lilting voice hardened. “The investigators asked me the same questions years ago. I guess they didn’t do a very good job…”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that something was missed. I’m just trying to get a feeling for Joanne, the life she led.”

  “Why? It’s been over a decade. What’s happened to the other girls is horrible but I don’t see what difference it makes to talk about Joanne.”

  I held her gaze, nodded in understanding. “I’m just looking at things she might have had…” I lowered my voice, hoping she would see that I did genuinely care about what had happened to her daughter. “I would be grateful for anything you can tell me that might somehow help me with the other girls. I’m sorry. I know this is difficult.”

  She took a moment to fill her lungs and brush her tears away. “I don’t know what I can say that would help. Joanne had a lot of friends but didn’t really date. There were a couple of boys she liked in her church youth group but she was shy. She also wasn’t…” She drew another heavy breath. “She was still a little girl in many ways.”

  She excused herself, went into a bedroom, and a few moments later returned with a photograph. “This was the last…” There were more tears, another sigh. “It was taken in the eleventh grade.”

  “Thank-you,” I said, taking the photograph from her.

  Joanne Vreeland looked nothing like the young woman I’d seen in the crime scene photographs. Her hair was parted down the middle and her teeth were crooked. She had the shy smile of a girl who didn’t like posing for pictures. She looked more like she was in middle school than a girl who in another year would have graduated from high school. The one thing she did share with the other victims was her innocence.

  I gave the photograph back to her. “You said that she loved to dance. Did Joanne have any other hobbies or interests?”

  She thought for a moment. “Joanne loved music. She played in the school band, the French horn.” She smiled for the first time since I’d met her. “She loved the instrument and was remarkably good. She had a natural talent when it came to both music and dance.”

  “That’s amazing.” I smiled. “I also played in the band in junior high school but I certainly had my shortcomings.”

  She returned the smile. “I don’t know where she got her ability. Neither my husband nor I have any musical ability.” She sighed and her voice became wistful. “She was such a special girl.”

  “How did other kids react to her talents?”

  Her eyes glossed over for a moment. “Joanne told me some of them weren’t very kind. I think there was probably some jealousy. A few of them made some mean comments. I know it hurt her because one night when she told me about it, she started crying.”

  “Did she mention anyone in particular who was making the comments?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I remember. I think it was just a couple of kids who were in the band with her.”

  As she talked I remembered that she’d mentioned Joanne having been in a youth group. “The church Joanne attended. It is nearby?”

  She nodded. “You probably passed it driving over here. It’s just up the block and around the corner.”

  “Do you attend the church?”

  She shook her head, exhaling. “Not any more. What happened to Joanne…” Her gaze drifted off and she took a moment before looking back at me. “I lost whatever faith I once had.”

  I spent another forty-five minutes with Joanne Vreeland, not learning anything that seemed useful, before deciding on a whim to stop at the Universal Light Church. It was a Wednesday and the parking lot only had a couple of cars. I knocked on a door to an office with Bernie at my side without getting a response. I turned away, feeling the strain from last night’s exercise class.

  “Owww,” I moaned, at the same time looking up and seeing a man coming up the walkway. He was probably around thirty and wore a minister’s collar. As he got closer I saw that he had warm dark eyes that exuded compassion.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Just a little twinge.” In my vagina.

  “I’m Ian Hurst, the minister here.” He offered a hand. “May I help you with something?” His gaze fell to Bernie who let out a soft whine.

  I showed him my badge and introduced myself and Bernie, at the same time realizing that he’d already seen the badge on my dog’s collar. When his gaze came back to me I said, “Would you have a moment to talk?”

  “Of course. Let me unlock my office.” He brushed his hands against his apron as he moved toward the door. “Sorry. I’ve been working on a little project for a Sunday program.”

  I took a seat across from him in the small office as Bernie settled in. I took a moment and gave him a couple of details on our case, leaving out most of the information, but telling him about Joanne Vreeland. “According to her mother she was a part of a youth group here in 2004. She went on a school trip to Europe that summer. The day after Joanne returned from the trip she was abducted from her home about a block from here and murdered.”

  “Oh goodness.” He shook his head slowly. His fleshy face sagged and his eyes misted over as he released a breath. “Her poor mother. I had no idea. Maybe I should stop by and talk to her.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think…” I shifted in my chair. “I think she’d rather be left alone at this point.” He nodded, brushing a hand across his cheek. I went on, “I’m wondering if there might
be anyone here who would remember Joanne. Maybe even someone from her youth group who still attends the church.”

  He rubbed his jaw, nodded thoughtfully. “I can certainly check around. I became the minister here in 2009 so it was before my time.”

  “Do you still have a youth group?”

  “Oh yes. It’s very active. The kids do a lot of charitable work.”

  As he spoke I noticed there were several pictures on the wall taken of parishioners and staff over the years. “What about staff? Anyone still here who might remember Joanne?”

  “It’s certainly possible. We have an organist who’s been with the church for a couple of decades. If you leave me your card, I’ll talk to her and give you a call if I learn anything.”

  After leaving my card, I headed back to the station where I spent the rest of the day going over the murder file again. What Jeannie Vreeland had told me about her daughter being in the high school band piqued my interest. It jogged something that I’d read in the other cases.

  I confirmed that all the victims had an interest in art, music, or dance. It was something the profilers had mentioned, but there hadn’t been much follow-up with the teachers that the girls had studied under. I was looking through the murder file, trying to determine where Joanne had gone to high school, when I heard Charlie Winker’s voice in the hallway.

  “I know one thing for sure,” Charlie said, after coming over and taking a seat at his desk across from me. He opened a bag of Fritos. “I’m not retiring to Seattle. I don’t know if I’ll ever dry out. It never stopped raining the whole time we were up there.” He looked more flushed than usual. It also looked like he might have gained a couple of pounds while he’d been away. Then I noticed he was staring at my hair.

  Before he could ask, I gave him the abridged version of my encounter with Tex’s security system. I then changed the subject. “Where’s Jack?”

  “He went home. Said he’d call you later, something about the two of you having dinner tonight.”

  My last conversation with Jack, how he’d said he wanted to ask me something, flashed through my mind. I was worrying about that as Bernie came over to Charlie and was rewarded with a Frito. I told him Bernie was on a health food diet, then asked, “Anything new on Cooper’s whereabouts?”

  “Nothing.” He swallowed, chugged some water from a bottle. “Cooper was going by the name Mark Robinson in Seattle. He was working as a makeup artist for the soap opera, Intrigue. He used the opportunity to get involved with the actress.”

  “Olivia Halstead.”

  “Yeah. I guess they were pretty hot and heavy until Olivia told her friends he was too controlling. One of the actors on the soap said she tried to break it off with him. A week later, Olivia ends up road kill.”

  “What about prints, his social, driver’s license?”

  “The documents were all forgeries—pretty good ones, too. No hit on the prints anywhere in the system.”

  “Cooper seems to materialize and disappear at will,” I said. “He’s probably coming back to Hollywood, if he’s not already here.”

  Charlie leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Maybe I should stay with you for a while, Kate. I could…”

  “Not going to happen,” I said, shaking my head. Having Daddy Charlie underfoot was the last thing I needed. “I’m still working with the feds, anyway. I’ll probably be leaving again before long.”

  We chatted about my case for a minute before I remembered something. “I ran into Wilma Bibby at R&I yesterday.”

  Charlie’s face twisted up like a boy who saw someone coming at him with a bad dose of medicine. “Hope she’s happy with her old boyfriend.”

  “I have a feeling they’re not together anymore. She asked me about you.”

  “Really?” His fleshy face became more animated. “What’d she say?”

  I smiled, again visualizing him in a bondage outfit with Wilma. “She said, and I quote, ‘Tell Charlie I miss the games.’”

  His lips quivered and came as close to a smile as Charlie usually gets. “She said that?”

  I nodded. “And I don’t think she was talking about Scrabble.”

  I saw his wheels turning. “Maybe I should call her. I could use some companionship.”

  I knew that companionship was Charlie’s code word for sex. It was my cue to leave. I gathered up my purse, Bernie’s leash, and felt my muscles aching again. “If you get together with Wilma again, just be sure you don’t pull anything.”

  On my way home, Jack called. He said he was tired and had picked up some takeout. He wanted to know if I could meet him at his apartment. I agreed to stop by but after ending the call I thought about something.

  Sex.

  I winced at the very thought of it. How was I going to tell Jack that I was too…incapacitated to give him a homecoming present? I looked in the rearview mirror at Bernie who was sitting up, panting. “Any ideas, buddy?” He whined. “Yeah, I’ve got a feeling I’m going to be doing a lot of that before the night’s over.”

  ***

  We had dinner on Jack’s patio. The evening was cool but clear, the spring daylight growing longer with each passing day. Jack looked divine in his black turtleneck. As always, there was something I couldn’t resist in his dark eyes that for some reason always made me think about him as a mischievous boy.

  “I’ve seen enough rain to last me a lifetime,” Jack said after we came inside and the local news came on. He brought over a couple of glasses of pinot from the kitchen. “I feel like I’ve been water boarded.”

  “Charlie mentioned that it never let up,” I said as I finished my almond chicken. “He also said nothing’s happening on the case.”

  “Cooper’s good at not leaving a trail behind.”

  “I wonder what went on with him and my birthmother during all those years they were together?” Ryan Cooper and my mother had been together for nearly thirty years before she ended up in a convalescent hospital.

  “We both know Cooper surfaced out of the blue five years ago. He got a driver’s license under his real name, but that seems to be the last anyone heard from him until...”

  “Until he tried to murder my mother.” I took a sip of wine, set the glass down. “Maybe he and my birth mom lived in another country. It might explain the lack of a paper trail.”

  He shook his head. “We checked with immigration. There’s no record of either of them ever getting a passport.”

  “Maybe they were living under assumed names. We know that Cooper’s a master of deception. It could be they got into some kind of trouble somewhere and then took off for another country and hid out.”

  “I supposed it’s possible but...”

  I saw that something on the news had caught his eye. It was a segment about an intern for the television station raising money for the family of a girl who had leukemia. I also watched for a minute, finding the story heart-wrenching. The youthful reporter ended the segment by making a passionate plea for viewers to help the girl.

  “So tell me about this guy they call The Artist,” Jack said, turning down the volume after the station went to a commercial break.

  I took a few minutes, filling him in on the case. “The victims are all between the ages of sixteen and twenty-two. They’re generally very innocent but aren’t sexually assaulted…” I sipped the rest of my wine, deciding I didn’t want to go into the details. My gaze drifted off. I finally went on, “To tell you the truth, I’m having a little trouble dealing with everything between the loss of my birthmother, Ryan Cooper, and the FBI’s case.” I looked back at him and saw that he was writing something. “What’s that?”

  He held up his checkbook. “Just sending a few dollars to the kid on TV.”

  I felt my emotions surfacing, my eyes misting over. Maybe it was everything I was dealing with or the fact that I had a soft spot for compassionate men, but what he did touched me.

  Jack put the checkbook down, apparently seeing my emotional state. He came closer, taking my h
and. “Don’t worry. I think we’ll catch a break on both cases before too long.” He took a sip of wine, set the glass down. “I’ve been thinking about us a lot, Kate. There’s something I want to ask you.”

  I braced myself, still unsure about how I felt about our relationship, the pace of everything. I brushed a tear. “I’m listening.”

  “I want you to move in with me.”

  I decided maybe this was about my protection. “If you’re worried about Ryan Cooper, I can take care of myself.”

  “It’s not only that.” He came closer and kissed me, then moved back, looking into my eyes. “I want us to be together. With our jobs, lately it seems like sometimes we’re just passing one another, not really connecting.”

  I met his eyes, then looked away, taking a breath. I wasn’t sure how I felt about living with him. Even though my roommates had their issues I’d also made a commitment to them.

  Finally, I said, “Let me think about it. I promised Natalie and Mo that I’d share expenses for a year.”

  “Really?” He laughed. “You’re choosing them over me.”

  “I’m not choosing anyone or anything. I just need to give it some thought. Living together is a big step, for both of us.”

  He came closer again and we kissed. This time it was passionate and I felt a familiar tingling sensation where I’d felt nothing but pain all day.

  “Maybe if you lie down it will help you think,” Jack said, standing and pulling me toward the bedroom. “I read a study that said if you assume a prone position it helps clear the mind.”

  “Owww…” I said, pulling away from him after I came up off the sofa.

  “What’s the matter? Did you pull a muscle?”

  “More like a clam.” I laughed and saw his confusion. “I’m just warning you. This could either be a suicide mission for me or the happiest night of your life, Bautista.”