Hollywood Lust

by M. Z. Kelly

  “A few weeks later Reeder ends up dead in his condo with no suspects,” Molly said. “We now know that the weapon used in his murder was taken from our R&I Division, probably by Galen Marshall. Approximately, one week ago that same weapon was used to murder Carla Hodge.”

  I saw that Selfie had a mug shot of our dead suspect on her desk and I held it up. “Enter Galen Marshall.”

  Selfie took a moment, going over Marshall’s work at Bernstein Studios as a contract photographer and then his involvement with the Galvan Funeral Home. She mentioned the extra-curricular activities with his subjects before he ended up dead in the establishment’s basement.

  “So all roads appear to now lead to Galen’s brother, Elton. It could be that Galen took Elton along on his photoshoots at the time Elton was studying mortuary science.”

  “It might even be that Elton did some work at the Galvan Funeral Home and Galen took advantage of that, manipulating the elderly owners into letting him live and work there.”

  Leo finished the coffee he’d carried to our meeting. “So, the question is, where does Dr. Conrad Yates live and work?”

  “That’s what Molly and I intend to find out before the day’s over,” Selfie said.

  FORTY-FOUR

  “We’re going to be sure the department names you both employees of the month,” I said to Selfie and Molly in Lieutenant Oz’s office a couple of hours later. I turned to Oz. “They found Elton Marshall, or I should say, Conrad Elton Yates.”

  “He’s been hiding in plain sight,” Selfie said. “Our doctor of mortuary science works in the coroner’s office.”

  Oz’s white brows lifted. “No kidding?”

  “He’s a lab assistant, helping out with autopsies, lab tests, and general duties,” Molly said. She looked at me. “We confirmed his employment with Brie Henner. She checked and said he’s on duty this afternoon.”

  Leo said, “I guess we know where we’ll be spending the rest of our day.”

  I stood up at the same time Bernie came up off the floor. “Let’s go have a chat with Dr. Death.”

  ***

  I knew from having read one of their pamphlets that the Los Angeles County Coroner’s Department was the largest such office in the world, with over nine thousand bodies coming under their authority every year. The office housed a gift shop with novelty items emblazoned with the department’s logo, including golf balls and T-shirts. I stopped by there once and saw they even had simulated body bags and doormats with the chalk outline of a corpse. There was also a notice on their wall, announcing to shoplifters that the next of kin would be notified of their crimes. For all its attempt at levity, I’d never found anything amusing about the work that went on there.

  Leo and I stopped by Brie Henner’s office for background on our suspect before trying to locate him. I introduced my temporary partner and we made small talk for a couple of minutes. Brie, who was sitting at her desk with her reading glasses propped on top of her bald head, then told us what she knew about Conrad Elton Yates.

  “He’s been working here for about three years. His specialty is basement cases.”

  Leo’s dark brows went up as he glanced over at me. “Both brothers seem to have an affinity for basements.”

  Brie went on, “It’s where our unidentified bodies are sent. The work involves drowning victims, char cases, mutilations, and partial body parts. From what I’ve heard, Yates assisted in developing a technique where ethanol is injected as a means to obtain fingerprints from severed fingers. It was pretty cutting edge stuff.”

  “Cutting might be the operative word,” I said, before taking a moment to fill her in on the latest with our case.

  Brie took a breath and exhaled slowly. “We have all kinds working here, so, I guess, nothing really surprises me.”

  Ten minutes later we’d taken an elevator to the basement of the morgue. One of the assistants working there pointed out Yates. From a distance, Galen Marshall’s brother looked thin and much younger than his chronological age. He glanced up as we approached, then turned away, and took off running.

  “He’s heading for the stairs,” I said as we ran after him with Bernie straining on his leash. I thought about releasing my dog, but our suspect had disappeared up the stairway by the time we got there.

  As we scrambled up the stairs behind him, I heard doors closing from somewhere above us. When Leo and I pushed through a final doorway, we realized we were on the roof of the building. Yates was a few yards away, teetering on the edge of the structure.

  “Stay away or I’ll jump,” he yelled as we came over. “I’m not kidding.”

  Bernie was barking, maybe thinking about an assisted suicide, as I reined in his leash. “We only want to talk. Please, don’t do this.”

  “It wasn’t me…except…” Yates broke down, crying. His mental state was such that I thought he might jump at any moment, given the slightest provocation.

  “Tell us about it, son,” Leo said, softening his deep voice. At the same time I tried to quiet Bernie down. “We’re here to help.”

  “Carla was…she was my friend. I wanted to help her.”

  “Tell us what happened,” I said. I finally got Bernie to settle down, even though he was on all fours, with the fur on his back lifting.

  Yates started to talk, broke down again, and then said, “She was at a funeral for one of our victims that I helped identify. I knew about her illness, but…”

  “Galen didn’t approve,” I said.

  He shook his head, tears running down his face. “It was…my mother. She said Carla didn’t deserve my help…” A cry that reminded me of a wounded animal escaped from his throat. “She killed her.”

  I glanced at Leo, thinking we’d gotten everything wrong.

  “Did she use Galen’s knife? Is that how she killed her?”

  A nod. “Galen…” Bitter laughter followed. “He told her Carla was a bitch and deserved to die. He gave her the knife.”

  “What about Bruce Reeder?” Leo asked. “Did you kill him, son?”

  There was another guttural cry. After more tears, his watery voice cleared enough to say, “He was the first…my mother didn’t…approve of my lifestyle. She slaughtered him.”

  What he’d said about Reeder being the first made me think there were other victims. “How many others were there, Elton? How many others were killed?”

  He slumped down on the edge of the building and looked over the edge. His voice was barely audible. “Five. She killed them all.”

  He’d turned away from us and Leo seized the opening. My partner was surprisingly agile for his age. He covered the distance in seconds, grabbed our suspect around his waist, and pulled him back from the ledge.

  When he had him in cuffs and Bernie had settled down, I came over to them. My eyes fixed on Yates. He looked like a lost child. I still didn’t know if I was looking into the face of a killer. “What about your brother, Elton. Who killed him?”

  For the first time, our suspect was able to throttle back his emotions. He brushed his cheek against his shoulder, wiping his tears, and said, “I did it. Galen was a bully who told my mother to kill anyone I ever cared about. I hope he rots in hell.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  Leo and I arrested Wanda Marshall on several counts of murder later that day. Marshall had lawyered up, refusing to talk to us. Elton, on the other hand, gave us a wealth of information about her five victims.

  Between the murders of Bruce Reeder and Carla Hodge, his mother had also slaughtered two women and a man, all of whom Elton had either been in a relationship with, or had befriended. Her son had made an attempt to go straight after Reeder’s murder, but mama crazy had disapproved of the women he’d been involved with and had bludgeoned them to death. The other murder involved a man with a disability who Elton had assisted.

  Elton had told us that his mother had disguised herself, dressing as a man when she did the killings. He also said it wasn’t uncommon for his mother to dress like a man. Leo had spec
ulated that Wanda Marshall had some sexual identification issues that may have played a part in the killings.

  As the day ended, we met with Oz, Selfie and Molly in the lieutenant’s office.

  “All things considered, it was a good day for both the cold case unit and Section One,” Leo said. “Five unsolved homicides have been taken off the books.”

  “What about the murder weapons?” Selfie asked. “Was the same knife that was used on Reeder and Hodge also used on the other victims?”

  “Elton wasn’t sure, although the other killings were also done with knives,” I said. “Part of the dynamic of these killings involved Galen encouraging his mother to act on her impulses regarding Elton’s relationships. We’re not sure when he got the knife out of storage that was originally used on Reeder, so it’s hard to say whether or not it was used in the other three killings. SID should be able to eventually tell us.”

  “And Elton,” Molly said. “Was he…” She brushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Some of these victims don’t appear to be subjects he was involved with, in a romantic sense.”

  Leo answered. “I think my paraphilia theory was only partially accurate. Elton had a compassionate side to him and wanted to help those who had illnesses or disabilities, just like Carla. That same sense of caring was probably why he went to work for the coroner’s office. He wanted to help identify homicide victims, maybe as a way to try and make up for what his mother had done.”

  “On the other hand,” I said, “some of the victims, like Reeder, were individuals Elton was attracted to that Galen and mama didn’t approve of.”

  Selfie broke off a piece of the muffin she was working on and gave it to Bernie. “So what happens to Elton?”

  “He told us he killed his brother because he was the one who had encouraged their mother to commit the homicides. Elton had done some work at the Galvan Funeral Home at one time. That’s where Galen met the Galvans and eventually began terrorizing them. Elton said he’d finally reached a breaking point after Carla Hodge’s murder and couldn’t take any of it anymore.”

  “He’ll likely go down for second degree murder with the possibility of parole,” Oz told us. “He’ll probably get out of prison when he’s my age.” He smiled. “He’ll still have some living to do.”

  After our meeting ended Leo and I pushed paperwork around on our case until it was quitting time. I was packing up to leave for the day when he said, “I talked to Oz. Since it’s after hours he gave us the okay to go by and try to talk to Donald Regis if you’ve got the time.”

  I snapped Bernie’s leash in place. “As long as we’re finished by nine. I’ve got an appointment to see the Hollywood Sign disappear.”

  Leo smiled and pick up the car keys on his desk. “I’m not even going to ask.”

  As we took the ten minute drive from the station to Regis’s estate in Beverly Hills, Leo asked me if I’d read my mother’s final letter.

  “With everything that’s happened…no, I haven’t.” My gaze drifted off. “And I’m not sure why. Her letter might even answer some more of my questions. Maybe I’m just dreading the finality of it.” I found his compassionate eyes. “Her letter represents the last communication I’ll ever have with my mom.”

  “No need to explain. I lost my mother a couple of years ago. Every now and then I still think I need to pick up the phone and call her.” He regarded me. It was one of the few times he wasn’t smiling. “I’m not sure anyone ever gets over losing their mother.”

  I tugged at a strand of my messy hair, my lips turning up. “I’m sure there’s a lengthy explanation for it in one of your psychology books, doc.”

  He nodded and his own smile came back. “It’s actually a pretty brief explanation. There’s an extremely technical one word term for it. It’s called love.”

  I let what he’d said settle between us for a moment. “Tell me something. Why did you decide to get your doctorate in psychology?”

  “The truth?”

  “Of course.”

  “A girl.” His smile widened. “She was also studying psychology at the time, and was the same girl I danced with in that chorus line I mentioned. I later married her.”

  My brows went up. “That’s a pretty good reason.”

  Our conversation made me think about Noah. We’d had a couple of brief conversations about going away again. As always, I found what he’d had to say both uplifting and exciting. It was the one positive thing that had kept my depression over Lindsay from spiraling out of control. I just prayed that we’d catch some kind of break and get to her before… I pushed the thought away, deciding to concentrate on our meeting with Donald Regis.

  As many times as I’d made the drive, the transition from the city of Hollywood to Beverly Hills never ceased to impact on me. Hollywood had your typical two lane highways, potholes, and traffic congestion. While the streets of Beverly Hills were busy, the city roads were wider here, with flowers in the medians and fancy street signs. There was even a change in the make of the cars in the 90210 zip code, with Mercedes prevailing, along with an occasional Maserati and Rolls.

  As we headed into the residential area I realized that Natalie had been right about Donald Regis’s estate being in the same area as Dr. Phil’s house. I’d seen the TV shrink’s opulent residence on one of those celebrity home TV shows and, as it turned out, Regis’s mansion was right up the street. It was one of those Spanish style estates with privacy hedges that took up most of the block. Tall iron gates marked the entrance to the property.

  “I guess this is how the other half lives,” I said to Leo as we pulled up to the gates.

  “Nice little place,” he agreed. He punched the intercom button and we waited. It took a couple of tries before a man’s voice came over the speaker. “How may I help you?”

  Leo glanced at me, raised his brows, and then said into the speaker. “We’re with LAPD. We’d like to speak with Mr. Regis.”

  “Regarding?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say. Please let him know we’re here regarding a matter that’s extremely important.”

  There was no response. Leo turned to me and shrugged. “We’re probably not on the approved guest list.”

  We waited another five minutes, without anyone responding. Leo tried again, “Excuse me. This is Detective Kingsley. I need…”

  The same man’s voice crackled over the intercom again. This time it was frantic. “We’ve had an emergency. The ambulances are on the way. Please leave the area and make room for them.”

  “What kind of emergency?”

  The voice hesitated before saying, “It’s Mr. R…Regis. He’s in some kind of medical distress.”

  “Open the gates,” Leo demanded. There was no response. “Open the god-damned gates or I’m going to ram into them. NOW!”

  The gates finally swung open and we saw that the sprawling residence was a good hundred yards up a winding drive. Leo covered the distance in seconds. We came out of the car as the front door to the home opened. A maid was standing there, looking like she might faint. She pointed inside. “He’s…he…Mr. Regis is down the hall with Charles.”

  We ran inside, where we eventually found Donald Regis with his servant in a bedroom. The heavyset former Hollywood movie mogul was lying nude on his bed. His face was an all-too-familiar blueish color and his skin was blotchy.

  “You’ve got to do something,” the servant, who I assumed was Charles, said. “I don’t think he’s breathing.”

  I went over and checked for a pulse, even though I knew there wouldn’t be one. When I finished, I said to Leo, “He probably hasn’t been dead long.”

  Leo had also checked the body. “Agreed. There’s minimal rigor.”

  While Charles went into meltdown mode, demanding that we do something—maybe resurrect his boss—I went over and checked the prescription bottle on the nightstand.

  “Darvon,” I said to Leo.

  He held up a bottle. “And vodka. Looks like Mr. Regis exited the
stage of life in a similar manner as you know who.”

  I met his eyes. “Unless…”

  He nodded and we shared an unspoken message that Regis might have had help leaving the stage.

  Regis’s servant left the room, telling us he needed some air. Because the cause of death was undetermined, I made calls to both the coroner’s office and SID. I also called Lieutenant Oz and filled him in. He said that he had no choice but to report the death up the chain and explain our involvement.

  When I finished the calls, I told Leo what he’d said, adding, “If the media finds out the death is suspicious, it could set off a chain reaction leading all the way back to Jean Winslow.”

  “And land at our feet.”

  We checked the bedroom while waiting for our colleagues. There was nothing in the way of a suicide note and nothing out of the ordinary to raise any suspicions that this was anything other than an overdose or possible suicide.

  I left Leo, telling him I was going to talk to the servant. I found Charles, last name Drake, collapsed into a chair in the kitchen. He was visibly shaken. I took a moment and expressed my condolences over the loss of his boss.

  Regis’s employee, who was probably in his sixties, with wispy gray hair, finally looked at me. “I’ve been with him for over thirty years. I can’t believe what happened.”

  What he’d said made my pulse quicken. He’d been working for the movie producer during the time when both Jean Winslow and my love-dad had been murdered. I treaded lightly, knowing that thirty years of employment would have bought a lot of loyalty to his boss. “Can you tell me what Mr. Regis’s activities were earlier in the day?”

  Charles looked at me. The lines below his widow’s peak deepened. “I’m not sure…” He blinked. “I don’t understand why you’re asking.”

  “It’s just routine.” I gave him my best sympathy smile. “I’m sure you understand.”