Hollywood Enemy: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  I had just over a week before Joe Dawson and the rest of the taskforce were scheduled to meet in Los Angeles. I’d wrestled with the idea of telling Lieutenant Edna what was happening, thinking maybe the chief would let me work the case with Lacy offering protection. But the more I thought about it, the more I decided to keep my mouth shut.

  I was still struggling with how to handle things as Lacy went on, “This son of a bitch needs to be put in the ground.” I saw her shocked expression when she looked up from the file. “Let me know anything I can do to help.”

  By late afternoon we’d burned out on reading the files. I suggested that we take a break. Over coffee in the break room, while Bernie worked on the rawhide chew he’d been given at the coffee shop, Lacy summarized what she’d learned about the case.

  “So the school’s band teacher, Ellian Lofton, takes some kids on a trip to Europe in 2004. The first victim, Joanne Vreeland, along with Jason McCray and Albert Martin go on the trip. According to Martin, Lofton’s a pedophile who hits on Jason during the trip. Right after they get back, somebody whacks Joanne, cuts out her eyes, and dresses her up. Jason McCray gets in touch with Albert Martin when they get home, and Jason eventually hooks up with Martin’s cross-dressing brother, James, who likes to call himself Loretta. And together the psycho whackoffs begin a killing spree with Loretta using the pseudonym, The Artist.”

  “That’s pretty much how we think it happened.”

  “Since Joanne Vreeland was killed the day after she came back from the trip, maybe McCray was already involved with James Martin or Loretta who assisted in the killing.”

  “Or it could be a matter of Martin acting on his own in killing Joanne and later got Jason involved in the other killings.”

  Lacy scratched her head. “Maybe.” Her gaze drifted off, came back. “Does the FBI have any theories about why McCray was killed?”

  “All we can do is speculate that he and Loretta had some kind of falling out and it didn’t end well for him.”

  Lacy was quiet for a moment. She had her fingers on her lips. I could see that she was turning everything over in her mind. “What about the teacher—Lofton?” she finally said.

  “He shot himself in the fall of 2004.”

  “Was he married?”

  “Never married, lived alone. Probably spent his time preying on young boys.”

  “Maybe…” Lacy paused, her mind still working on something. “Hey, what if McCray and Loretta did get together before the trip. We know that Lofton hit on Jason during the trip. Maybe that made Loretta angry and together they paid Lofton back for what he did.”

  “But Lofton committed suicide.”

  Lacy nodded, breathed. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “It also doesn’t explain why they targeted Joanne if, in fact, they were already working together.”

  Lacy took another moment, swirling the coffee in her Styrofoam cup. “I think we should see if Lofton has any relatives still living in this area.”

  “I don’t know, Lacy. He’s been dead for almost a decade. I don’t see…”

  “What do you have to lose?” Lacy motioned to the door. “Unless you’d rather go back to Mount Papyrus.”

  I smiled, tossed my cup. “Let’s run a few checks, see what we come up with.”

  By late afternoon we’d learned that Ellian Lofton had a brother a couple of years younger than him named Damien who lived in Seal Beach, less than an hour south of Hollywood on the coast. We’d learned that Damien Lofton was a surgeon with an office near a hospital in the area. After getting in touch with him and explaining that we were looking into the death of one of his brother’s former students he was surprisingly agreeable to meeting with us after he finished his hospital rounds for the day.

  “Damien, huh,” Lacy said as Olive did stops and starts down the clogged 605 Freeway toward the ocean and Bernie lapped up air from the back seat. “Sounds like the devil’s child.”

  “Let’s hope not. We’ve got enough problems.”

  It was after six by the time we settled into a small office a block from Seal Beach Memorial Hospital where Damien Lofton told us he was a trauma surgeon. I knew from the record checks we’d done that the doctor was forty-nine, unmarried, and lived in an upscale neighborhood that overlooked the ocean. Lofton was tall and broad shouldered. He had brown hair that was thinning. His eyes were intense, maybe even a little wary, but that was something I was used to in my line of work.

  I took a moment and filled him in on some details of our case in the broadest terms possible, explaining only that we were working Joanne Vreeland’s cold case and knew that she had been in the high school band. I then began to focus in on specifics.

  “It’s our understanding that your brother took his students on an annual trip to Europe to study art. In 2004, Joanne Vreeland went on the trip with about thirty other kids. Did your brother ever mention anything about the field trips or his work with the students?”

  Damien Lofton studied me for a moment. His eyes then shifted, his gaze bouncing between me, Lacy, and Bernie, before coming back to me. “No. I knew he was a teacher but we weren’t very close.” His voice was softer than when we’d made introductions. There was maybe even a hint of sadness in his tone that surprised me. “I guess I should begin by explaining a few things about my family, Detective.”

  There was something bitter about the way he’d said the word family. “I’m listening.”

  He took a moment before speaking again, not looking at us, but breathing deeply. His eyes seemed to turn inward, as though he was remembering something.

  “Ellian and I had a very dysfunctional childhood. Our mother passed away when we were both in elementary school. As for our father he was…he…” His gaze drifted off for a moment. “Have you ever heard the acronym, MDSO?”

  I shook my head, brushing a hand over my knit skirt. I glanced over at Lacy who also had a blank expression, then back at Lofton. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.”

  “MDSO was a legal designation used by the courts over thirty years ago. After my father was convicted of several crimes, the court made a finding that he fell under that statute. It stands for Mentally Disordered Sex Offender.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, the fine hairs on my arms lifting. “Can you tell us about your father, his crimes?”

  Lofton drew in another heavy breath. “My father—his name was Robert Lofton—was a pedophile, a monster that preyed on children…including…” Another breath came, this time as a spasm of emotion. “…including his own sons.” He took a moment, shifting in his chair. “In addition to molesting me and Ellian for years, in 1980, my father violently sexually assaulted one of my brother’s friends. He was convicted of multiple felony counts and was determined by the courts to be a Mentally Disordered Sex Offender.”

  “Was he sentenced to prison?”

  Lofton shook his head. “The MDSO designation allowed for the civil commitment of violent sexual predators to a state mental hospital. Once they were hospitalized, the offenders remained under the care of a psychiatrist until they were determined to no longer be a danger to society. When the commitment ended the predators were released on probation, in many cases only to continue their crimes. My father spent three years in Bratton State Hospital until he was released. When that happened, he continued victimizing children until he died in a car accident in 1992.”

  There was an extreme sadness, bordering on despondency, radiating from Damien Lofton. I asked a question that I knew would only push him deeper into that abyss but under the circumstance had no choice. “Can you tell me how what happened affected you and your brother?”

  He nodded, taking a moment to control his emotions before continuing. “It took me years of therapy to recover. I spent a lot of that time working with advocacy groups to change the laws and help end the MDSO program. That eventually happened, but I’m afraid it was too late for many victims of predators like my father—they never
recovered.” Lofton’s gaze lowered. He pushed a pen around his desk. “My brother, Ellian, was one of those individuals.”

  I glanced at Lacy, seeing the sadness in her eyes at hearing his story. I turned back to him and said what I’d already pieced together. “Your brother also became a pedophile, victimizing his students, didn’t he?”

  Lofton nodded. “Yes. After my father’s arrest we were eventually placed in different foster homes but we stayed in touch for a few years. Despite years of therapy, I believe that Ellian became a sexual predator just like our father. We eventually drifted apart. I know that he committed suicide about a decade ago, probably because of guilt over what he’d done to other children.” His eyes were heavy. “It was a sad ending to a very sad life.”

  I gave him a moment to compose himself and then went on. “Dr. Lofton, it’s our belief that your brother may have molested at least one of the boys on the school trip to Europe in 2004, maybe others. That student may have been involved in the murder of Joanne Vreeland.”

  Lofton brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose, brushing away his tears. “If that’s the case, then it’s a woeful circumstance.” His eyes misted over again. “All I know for sure is that the horrors inflicted by predators like my father have consequences that are far greater than what’s done to one victim. The damage they cause is often carried over from one generation to the next.”

  ***

  After Lacy and I left Lofton and got to the car, we took a minute and let Bernie sniff along a flower bed. The onshore breeze had picked up, turning the evening cool and foggy, and making me regret the skirt and thin blouse I’d chosen that morning. I wrapped my arms around my sides, thinking maybe the chill was from both the weather and what we’d learned.

  Lacy had walked away, probably processing what Damien Lofton had told us, before she came back over to me. “It seems like the only good thing to come out of what happened was that Lofton helped get the laws changed. Of course, by then it was too late for so many victims.”

  I met her eyes. “We now know that Ellian Lofton was deeply disturbed, just like his father, but I don’t know how that brings us any closer to stopping Loretta Martin.”

  Lacy regarded me for a long moment. “Sometimes, I think you’ve got to find out where all the bodies are buried before you can move on and bring justice to the victims.”

  I tugged on Bernie’s leash. “Maybe you’re right.” I walked with her to Olive. “Let’s figure out where we go with this in the morning.”

  My lack of sleep and the fatigue of the day finally caught up with me on the drive back from Seal Beach. When we got to Hollywood, I yawned and told Lacy, “I’m going to stop and get a cup of coffee. My best friend’s getting married and I’m supposed to help plan her bachelorette party tonight.” I pulled into the parking lot at Joe Schmoes and asked her if she would like anything.”

  “I’m good,” Lacy said. “But if you’re planning a bachelorette party you might need something stronger than coffee.”

  I turned back to her as I parked. “You have no idea. I’ll make good on that promise about you meeting my friends one of these days, then you’ll understand.” Bernie was standing up in the backseat, wagging his tail. I thought about taking him with me but then changed my mind. “I’ll just be a couple of minutes, if you’ll mind my dog.”

  The coffee shop was nearly deserted but I saw that Tony was working the counter. After greeting me, I said, “You must live here.”

  He smiled in that kind way he had. “Gotta pay the bills. My daughter’s in college.”

  “I understand.” I glanced at the menu. “I think I’ll have the Rocket Roast again but hold the extra shot.”

  While he prepared the latte, he said, “My daughter’s majoring in criminal justice. Any chance that you could talk to her about the profession one of these days.” He let out a breath. “Tell you the truth, I’m not sure I want her to be a cop.”

  “I’d be happy to talk to her.” I smiled. “I’ll be sure to hold nothing back.” I paid for the coffee. “Have a good evening,” I said, sipping the drinking and turning away.

  “No dog tonight?” he asked from behind me.

  I turned back and saw that he had a chew for Bernie. “In the car.” I accepted the treat. “You’re too good to us. Goodnight.”

  I was in the parking lot, just a few feet from Olive, when I had to stop and try to steady myself. I felt the world spinning, the lights around me blurring. My legs wobbled and went out from under me. I went down, my eyes going in and out of focus. Seconds later I saw that Lacy was at my side, bending down to me.

  “Kate, what’s the…”

  There was a loud explosion. Images flickered in front of me like the end of an old time movie reel that was fading to black. I saw an image of Lacy going down, her mouth open and her features frozen in disbelief. I tried to reach out to her, but the blackness deepened until it smothered me.

  The last thing I heard was a deep roar. It was distant and fleeting, but familiar. I opened my mouth, and with my last bit of strength called out, “Bernie.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The empty vessel of darkness that carried me held on. I had fleeting moments of awareness that surfaced in the storm-tossed sea that had been my consciousness. Time dissolved, along with the memories that had been my life. An image formed, maybe on the crest of the sea that carried me. I saw myself dying and desperately fought against it, clawing my way slowly back to the surface.

  And then there was light.

  I turned my head, coughed, and tried to sit up. The heaviness in my limbs and body made it impossible. From where I lay, I saw a soft glow from somewhere beyond the curtains. Curtains? Where…then it all began tumbling back to me, the images cascading. I was now trapped beneath the waterfall of memories that had been my life.

  The coffee shop…Lacy and Bernie in the car…Tony…the coffee…Lacy going down… Bernie…my dog, where was he?

  I sucked in a ragged breath, not wanting to believe what was happening, but at the same time, somewhere at the edge of my consciousness, knowing it was real. I realized that my hands were tied in front of me and I was lying on a bed, probably in a motel room.

  There was a voice, muffled and distant. I didn’t understand what was being said but tried to respond. My tongue wouldn’t work. It felt like the time I’d had my wisdom teeth removed. I was stuck, held in a place where nothing worked properly. The minutes continued to tick by. The voice returned, clearer this time. It was the voice of a man.

  After what seemed like an eternity, I moaned and was able to say, “Where…wh…mahh d…dog…”

  A face appeared, hovering over me, the ceiling of the room in the background. It was Tony from the coffee shop, but not Tony. Maybe I was hallucinating. The features were changed, angry.

  The voice came again. This time it finally registered. “I wasn’t sure you would make it.”

  It was the barista’s voice but somehow different than before. Then I was sure. The dread of that understanding was like a tidal wave of despair that threatened to pull me into the black ocean again until I drowned.

  “Wh…why?” I managed to say, now knowing that I was looking into the face of the man who killed my father.

  He laughed. It was controlled, mirthless. “Do we have to go over that again?”

  I took a moment, his features coming in and out of focus like a camera lens. After several tries my eyes finally held on his face. I had no idea if this was the real face of Ryan Cooper, but I wanted to look…no…I had to look into the eyes of the man who was going to kill me.

  I found my voice again. “I mean…why…why…did you bring me back?”

  His hand came down, roughly grabbing my face, pinching it until my eyes felt like they were going to pop out of my head. “The same reason that I didn’t kill you in the elevator a few weeks ago. I wanted you to see my face when you die…the real face of the man who killed that bastard you called a father.”

  I turned my head
. His grip loosened and I spat at him. The hand came down again, this time slapping me. It came at least a half-dozen more times before finally stopping.

  I shifted my body, turning away from him. I sensed that he’d moved away for a moment and I took the time to take in my surroundings. The room was small with only the bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. In the distance I saw there was a bathroom, the stark light of a single bulb shining from the open door. My hands were tied but not my feet. My form-fitting skirt was in place and I realized I might have a chance if…

  “Any last words?” Cooper was at my side again. He had a syringe that he was holding up in front of me.

  A weariness came over me or maybe it was surrender. Instead of fear, I felt nothing but disgust for the man who was determined to kill me. “All these years…what…what does it matter…now?”

  His breath became heavy, his words full of contempt. “You are a stain, Detective. Something expelled, left behind by that whore you call a mother.” He laughed and then continued, this time in what I thought might be the real voice of Ryan Cooper. The tone was brittle, empty of all emotion. “The thing about stains is they’re sometimes difficult to remove, but eventually they do come out. All it takes is a little persistence and the right kind of stain remover.”

  He showed me the syringe again, hitting the plunger until some of the liquid spurted out.

  “You’ve had just a taste of what’s to come. I’m afraid what’s to follow will be slow and extremely painful. You will suffer for several hours until sometime tomorrow the motel maid will find your body. The stain of your existence will be gone.”

  My eyes shifted, not looking at him. My mind reeled, maybe out of desperation and the need to put the image of the monster in front of me out of my mind. An image of Jack flickered through my consciousness. I again heard his words from a few weeks earlier.

  I want you to know, what’s happening between us…I think it’s very special.

  Despite what he’d said, I’d turned away from him, avoided telling him how I felt. Now, I realized it had been a mistake. I’d spent a lifetime denying my feelings, afraid that whoever I loved would go away—all because of the mad man staring down at me.