Body on the Backlot

by Eva Monteleagre

  “Gus, he said in your case about this woman.”

  “Huh?”

  “He said ‘like in your case about this woman,’ remember? I never mentioned it was a woman.”

  “Oh, yeah, he did say woman. But women are always the victims of the date rape drug and situations like that. He probably just assumed.”

  “Maybe he’s our Dr. Frankenstein.”

  “What, you think that old guy is hanging out in Hollywood, enticing girls to his car then drugging them so he can do zombie experiments on them?”

  “No. Well, not exactly.”

  “The guy’s busy looking for the cure for AIDS, he’s making money, why would he do anything like that?”

  “Dr. Blanchard did experiments on humans.”

  “The guy in Haiti? And now you think he’s the one Dewey worked for?”

  “Exactly. You must be psychic.”

  “It goes to follow. Now Dani’s dead?”

  “Yeah, strange, huh? One minute we’re interviewing her, the next, she’s a sex crime victim.”

  “She kept saying she had an appointment.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Too bad we didn’t arrest her for the pot.”

  •••

  WE HEADED OUT THE 405 freeway. The traffic was long lines of cars, smog, heat, and brake lights—someone’s fine idea of hell.

  After forty-five teeth-gnashing minutes, we pulled up in front of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. Several police cars were parked on the street and the officers were putting up the all too familiar crime tape. A small crowd of looky-loos stood around waiting for whatever it is they wait for.

  Inside, the place was lit up like a B-movie set, the stage design culminating into low-budget dungeon. Medieval, maybe. A renter’s agreement had been located and was laid out on a table. It indicated that Dani had been renting there for two months.

  Monica Sutton, from the coroner’s office, was finishing up. Monica was tall, thin, and reminiscent of some Egyptian goddess. She could have been a supermodel but instead chose to be one of LA’s top coroners. Her black skin had a velveteen aspect to it and though she was an incredible beauty, no one bothered her much because she was a lesbian. Her eyes were ablaze with fury at the scene as opposed to her ordinarily detached manner. Satch had probably requested her because of Dani’s association with Autumn Riley and the media attention the case was sure to attract. Monica shook her head like a disappointed queen while she waited for the photographer to do his thing.

  Dani was strapped in a chair with silver duct tape. Her head slumped to one side. Dried blood trailed from her mouth, down her neck, to her breasts. Her blond hair was matted with sweat, as if she had been held captive in the chair. She wore a pair of leather chaps and nothing else. There were cigarette burns on her thin white arms and a deep gash on her left cheekbone. It appeared that someone had swung a blunt object at her—what they call blunt force trauma. I imagined that Dani had dodged it and she got clipped on the cheekbone. It was probably not the death blow.

  “At first look, I’d say the extensive bruises on her neck indicate she’s been strangled to death,” said Monica.

  I checked the wire trash can in the corner and found several half-used rolls of the duct tape.

  Monica opened Dani’s mouth which was filled with coagulated blood. “She’s got a tooth missing.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “This victim is recently missing a wisdom tooth,” Monica repeated with discernible anger.

  “Must be a souvenir,” said Gus.

  “People who take souvenirs are often repeat offenders. Means there’s more victims to come, or there have been already,” I said.

  Monica indicated that the photographer should take more photos while she held open Dani’s jaw. Sadly, these pictures were not as pretty as last time and our beauty was not going to get up and walk away. Monica carefully removed the tape from Dani’s arms and we bagged it as evidence. Most coroners require a little assistance with the body. Without a grunt, or any other indication of effort, Monica lifted Dani from the chair and placed her on a gurney.

  I couldn’t quite believe she was dead. Dani, the sick colt I couldn’t save. You know it’s not your fault, but you can’t help but think there was something you should have done. We didn’t have a clue as to who was responsible.

  The person who called it in was a blind woman who heard two unfamiliar pairs of footsteps and voices she couldn’t recognize coming from the warehouse apartment. She said Dani had always been kind to her and she was concerned about the girl. After the strange voices had left, the blind woman cried out for Dani. There was no answer so she called the cops.

  Somewhere in Sydney, Australia, a family was going to get the bad news. Brutal murders cause the most torment. Loved one’s anguish over how the victim died and their last thoughts. Or maybe they wouldn’t give a damn. Maybe there was no one to give a damn. Maybe we were the only ones who ever would: me, Gus, and Monica, the coroner. I took a photo with my new cell phone of the tortured Dani and slipped the phone in my pocket and prayed for trace evidence.

  The crime lab was already well into the investigation. They were swarming over and searching the place like scout ants. I walked away from the scene and down a long dark hallway where I discovered a locked door.

  “I’m gonna need the bull!” I called out.

  We got a battering ram and busted in. Inside the room was a stained mattress on a grimy floor. Every kind of sex contraption known to man was piled in the corner. On one wall there were shelves, a small library of porno films. Several of the DVDs indicated, in black marker, that Dani was featured as lead. She had positioned herself as a producer/star in the S&M niche of the porno industry—much to her demise. Monica came into the dreary room looking for more bodies.

  “Looks like there’s only one victim,” she said. “I’m clearing out unless there’s anything else you need.”

  “No. Thanks a lot, Monica.”

  She shook my hand and gave me a meaningful look. “Good luck on this one,” she said.

  She shook with Gus as well and left, deftly pulling the gurney with Dani’s body out the front door.

  Next to the filthy mattress, I found a piece of paper with a telephone number on it. I dialed the phone number and a weak, mealy-mouthed voice answered, “Cocks and clits.” I grimaced.

  It was a not-so-elite porno distributor by the name of Mikey. Gus logged the number in on his cell.

  After several hours of combing through every item in Dani’s warehouse, a repulsive list of sexual depravity, we noticed that one important item was missing. The camera. We headed out the door to go question the distributor.

  The address indicated the company was operating out of a motel room in Van Nuys. This particular motel was known in the law enforcement community for trafficking drugs: mostly crack, cocaine, and amphetamines. Downtrodden hookers worked the rooms offering both sex and drugs.

  We arrived at the motel and knocked on the motel room door. The neon sign blinking NO VACANCY also indicated porno films as one of its attractions. A short man answered the door and let us into the dingy room. Mikey. If he had been any smaller, he’d have to be a dwarf. Mikey was a frightened man with a pink pockmarked face. Gus requested more light and Mikey obliged, getting a light bulb and screwing it into a lamp with no lampshade. The effect was to wash the room with a bright glare. Someone once said the only difference between erotic film and porno was the lighting. Now that the room was well lit, I could see rows and rows of wall-to-wall DVDs advertising what was apparently Mikey’s inventory—a spectrum of porno available in his small motel room.

  Men with gigantic cocks and women with huge tits each had their own section. As did the oral sex films, the vibrator films, and other contraption films. I noticed an anal sex film entitled, The Butt Detective.

  You didn’t really have to rent these DVDs to know the storylines because you could get the gist from the promo boxes. Women willingly offered their vaginas and ass
holes. Some of the women were not so attractive while others were gorgeous. Same with the men. I noticed there was a blond girl, who looked about fifteen, by the name of Meridian who starred in several of her own series of porno tapes. I wondered where her porno tapes would take her.

  In one corner, magic marker designated B&D—bondage-dominance—and S&M—what I believe is referred to as sadomasochistic films. There was a bumper sticker above this section that read, “MIKEY LIKES IT.” Finally, I located Dani’s videos in the S&M section. She had on a full leather head-mask. She used her own name, Dani, on the promo, which helped, plus I recognized her small naked breasts and pale white skin. She was wearing the same pair of black leather chaps that she died in. I brought the box up to the desk where Mikey was sitting. He blinked several times at me. I must have worn an expression of distaste.

  “Don’t judge me,” he said. “Some people need these films. They find them, uh, liberating.”

  “I don’t judge you, Mikey. That’s not really my job. Mostly, I’m an understanding person. If anything, I’m empathetic. I know what it’s like to see the moon turn red.” I pointed at the picture of Dani in the leather head-mask and chaps. “She’s been murdered,” I said.

  “That’s highly unusual. Nobody is supposed to die. I certainly didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But she’s definitely dead and we’re investigating her homicide and you need to answer some questions.”

  “Fine, what do you want to know?”

  Mikey’s pink face flinched when Gus asked him questions as if he were afraid someone might hit him. How could anyone hit a little guy like Mikey and live with himself? Then again maybe he was into that, maybe he even paid someone to hit him.

  “How did you get the tapes?” asked Gus.

  “She delivered them to me herself, I’d pay her and then I’d mail them to the customers.”

  “How ‘bout a copy of that list?”

  “No problem, I got it right here.”

  Mikey continued to flinch, but he was cooperative. He was a little pimple, the nervous ringmaster, the center of elephantine sex parts and exaggerated sex acts. It surrounded him, the human circus freak show. He handed over a hand-typed list with about two hundred names and addresses on it.

  “Other than that, I knew nothing about her. Don’t know where she lived or nothing. I made good money off her DVDs, always paid her in cash. I’m sorry to hear that she’s dead.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was sorry on a personal level or regretted that his income would suffer.

  Most of the addresses on Mikey’s list were out of state. Time would not be on our side. I gave Mikey my cell number and made him promise to call me immediately if he had anything, anything at all.

  •••

  GUS AND I WERE back at Parker Center. We had to view all the DVDs, fifteen in all, to see exactly what happened in each one. We fast-forwarded, cutting down the viewing time to four hours. Porno films are much shorter than regular movies. None of the DVDs recorded Dani in the kind of acts that included strangulation or cigarette burning, nor getting hit in the face with a hammer, but she had participated in a plethora of S&M.

  I took a moment to digest the aberration of the fifteen films. I came to the conclusion that the need to watch such disgraceful acts was a misfortunate ailment. Nobody was going to ever convince me that what I saw was “liberating.” And now, amongst her other problems, Autumn Riley’s best friend was dead.

  “Autumn is hanging with a bad crowd,” I said. “Maybe they’re trafficking humans, making snuff films, who knows. It could be anything.”

  It was 10:00 p.m. and Gus was looking tired. We ordered another computer search and then a summary of each person on Mikey’s S&M mailing list. One was a prisoner in an Illinois penitentiary. None of the others had previous sexual or violent records.

  “Okay, you’re probably right,” Gus said. “Figure it’s somebody dealing with the peddling of human flesh. Go home and get some rest and we’ll get back on it tomorrow.”

  I picked up the stack of porn promo photos collected from the Dani crime scene.

  “I’ll look these over tonight,” I said.

  On the drive home, I remembered a piece of paper I had slipped into my wallet. It needed to be put into the murder book. I decided to call a young woman who was just a receptionist, nobody really—Connie, from Glenn Addams’s office.

  The new iPhone Gus had given me was getting to be real handy. I punched in the number.

  “Connie, this is Detective Lambert,” I said.

  “Yes?”

  My mind raced. “I’m interested in anything you’ve got to say to me at this point.”

  Her voice quavered with nervousness. “I’m a… I just need to keep my job. You know?”

  “Sure, I understand. Nobody needs to know you said anything.”

  “I’m not sure really what it means.”

  “What what means? Spit it out, will ya?”

  “Before Autumn died?”

  “Yes?”

  “She planned this huge elaborate party and there was a big deal about the invitations. I have the database and all that and I had to help Autumn with it because she doesn’t know anything about computers. I had an argument with Mr. Addams because I didn’t feel it was part of my job description to help Autumn plan her ego parties.”

  “Okay.”

  “And well, tonight is the party and people have been calling all day, saying they’ll be at the party and so on and that’s sort of weird, right? I mean, Autumn planned this party and now Mr. Addams is having the party and I don’t know.”

  “What time is this ego party?”

  “Oh, it started an hour ago.”

  “How come you’re not there?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t invited. Not that I would go.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, some of those people are wacked. Out there, strange, you know?”

  “I’m beginning to. Where is this party, anyway?”

  “At Glenn’s house in Bel Air.”

  I called Gus and asked him to pick me up. We were going to crash a party. He agreed with a modicum of reluctance.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE SKY WAS CLEAR, one of those nights when LA sparkles like a diamond. Glenn Addams’s estate was near UCLA, up in the hills. There had to be at least twenty cars, mostly European sports sedans and 4x4s, lined up in front of the palatial Mediterranean-styled sprawling estate. Gus and I parked next to a Rolls Royce. My eyes took in the posies, tulips, and gardenias in full bloom. I looked down on the city and marveled at its seeming beauty.

  “Addams has some view. Not a bad spot to throw an ego party.”

  Gus took a moment to stand at my side. “If your view captures even a segment of what they call the diamond necklace, it ups your property value by a million dollars.”

  I studied my partner’s face. “How come you know all the inside details of big money deals?”

  “I’m a little older than you, been around a few more places.”

  African drums and cries of celebration punctuated the night air. We were far away from corpses stored in a cold room. The grass was perfectly manicured and large graceful willow trees lined the walkway as Gus and I approached the imposing entrance.

  A butler answered the door and showed us in. We passed through the foyer decorated with a large and eclectic collection of erotic art. The party sounds were coming from somewhere within. A flourish of drumming ended. There was applause, and the hum of the crowd became more animated.

  We didn’t have a warrant. I reminded myself of this fact as we entered the high-ceilinged room of the party. The dress code of the evening was casual elegance. There was a noteworthy amount of cleavage and perfect faces; thighs were elegantly prominent. Gus and I were dark, muted, appearing staid in comparison to the bright colors, jewels, and skin.

  Addams stood in the center of the room surrounded by his entourage. They were listening intently to Addams. I fe
igned a smile and stood aloof, my famous eavesdropping disguise. Addams caught sight of us and stopped midsentence to walk over and address us. He didn’t look too friendly. Myself, I wasn’t really in a party mood.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “You must be having problems with the case, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Not without a warrant.”

  He sure hit that one on the head. I didn’t really expect to get anything on him. I only wanted to check it out, see what there was to see. Make him nervous.

  An effeminate elderly man nearly tittered, “Oh, LAPD party crashers. Do you think I could get her to arrest me?”

  “That can be arranged,” I said. “What would you like to be arrested for?”

  “Lewd behavior.” Crazy old coot.

  “Have a few more drinks,” I said. “We’ll see how the party progresses.”

  “Just shoot him,” said a woman. “Do us all a favor.”

  It was crucial that Gus and I handle this situation correctly. We could easily compromise the investigation. No doubt any number of people in this crowd had their finger on the speed dial to the press, publicity people, and tabloid papers. It’s no accident that the paparazzi types are informed of what the celebrities do. We were walking a thin line. Then again, Addams had told the Rileys that he would help the investigation in every way imaginable, or something to that effect.

  I widened my Mona Lisa smile and whispered in Addams’s ear, “What can you tell me about The Barb?”

  He drew back from me as if I had a disease. “Who?”

  “One of your pals from De Sade’s Cage. The Barb. C’mon, you know who I’m talking about.”

  “He’s a creep, a hanger-on. There’s lots of those parasites around and they’re hard to shake.”

  “Did you ever buy drugs from him or his friend, Dewey?”

  “You think you learned a lot from your visit at De Sade’s Cage, don’t you? Let me be first to tell you that you don’t know shit.”

  “Answer the question. Please. I thirst for enlightenment,” I said as I flushed with a red anger.

  “You’ll notice that there are no drugs at this party. No, I didn’t buy any drugs from The Barb or Dewey. And I certainly hope you don’t have some theory that Autumn took a walk on the beach with The Barb. You don’t, do you?” His expression was incredulous.