Body on the Backlot

by Eva Monteleagre

“Did Johnny know the guy who delivered them? Was the guy who brought the girl with the pink hair your supplier?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t even see the guy, never did. I don’t answer the door and I don’t like to go out much.”

  “Why don’t you like to go out?”

  “I’m agoraphobic. Sure as hell, I leave the house and end up in this place.”

  “Well, now you don’t have to worry about going out ever again.”

  “If I do get out of here, you’re the first person I’m going to visit.”

  “That’s a pretty feeble threat, Mary. Anything else you can tell me?”

  “That’s all for you today. Have to save something for the movie.”

  “Okay then. That’s all you got for me? I guess I better go ask Johnny.”

  “It’s too late.” Her smile was a leer.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Johnny’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “He killed himself.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah, he’s probably dead already by now.”

  I found myself fighting off an overwhelming feeling of gloom. We finally catch the person who can be held responsible and actually answer some of the questions we have and then he has to go and kill himself. It’s so much better to be pissed off than depressed. “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “He can’t handle jail. Not suited to it. He’s too sensitive. Fragile. He’s dead now. I know it. I can feel it. I had to talk him out of suicide all the time, practically every day. He was sick with liver disease and bad diabetes. He won’t make it in jail. I won’t be there to tell him not to do it. He was my twin, you know.”

  “What about you? You going to commit suicide?”

  She shrugged. “I have to think about that.”

  The two of them could’ve offed themselves a long time ago and saved a lot of nice people unnecessary misery.

  “Do people get high off that needle before they go?”

  “I don’t think so. I think it’s merely relaxing.”

  “You could come back and interview me some more, you know,” she said, “I could tell you details.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on that. Right now, I need to know who your supplier was. It seems you can’t help me with that. Thank you anyway, Mary. Goodbye.”

  “Yeah,” she grunted. “Fuck you.”

  I reached for the cigarettes and lighter and felt the solid force of her body as she leapt at me. She caught a handful of my hair and pulled me straight down onto my back. I was flat on the table with the wind knocked out of me. I looked up at her enraged swollen face. She pulled me across the table and down at an angle; I was stunned, slow to react. I smelled hair burning. She’d lit my hair with the cigarette lighter! I felt my body going headfirst toward the floor. All I could think was: No way am I going to let my head hit that floor. Using all the momentum she had created plus my stomach muscles, I pulled my legs up and over, then kicked her hard with both of my feet in her face. The softness of her jowls felt strange under my shoes. She fell back against the wall. I put my hands down to stop my fall and did a backward walk over, back-kicking her on the way down, this time in the breast and then again, in the groin. The fact that her feet were shackled to the ground meant she couldn’t hold her balance and she went down on her ass. I was on my feet and she was coming up fast.

  The guards rushed in and beat Mary with their batons while I slapped my hands against the small fire in my hair. One of the guards zapped Mary with a stun gun. I was still patting my head and trying to pull myself together as they did everything they could to subdue her. I’m telling you, crazy people are unnaturally strong. I think it must have something to do with their adrenal glands. I snatched up my cigarettes and lighter from the floor and made my exit, leaving the sounds of Mary struggling with the guards behind me.

  I called over to see how Johnny was doing in the men’s facility. Mary was right. He’d hanged himself.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  TWO HOURS LATER, GUS and I stood on a forlorn road in Lancaster, two hours northeast of Los Angeles. Lots of transplants from Oklahoma, Arkansas, and various parts of the Midwest, descendants of the dustbowl in the thirties. People like the Joads family in John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. There were no jackrabbits anywhere near Jackrabbit Hill and not much grass to speak of. Ominous dark clouds formed and moved across the gray sky and the smell of ozone in the air threatened rain. Jackrabbit Hill must have been man-made as it was the only hill for miles.

  Dusk was about to fall and a heavy weariness overtook me.

  A determined forensics group, men and women in blue plastic work-suits, was hard at work searching for eighteen graves. A photographer took photos of tire tracks and any other detail that looked promising. Two people dressed in the blue plastic were going over the area with metal detectors. A helicopter flew by overhead and I knew they were using thermal infrared photography to detect the heat of decomposing bodies. On the ground, a forensic archeologist probed the ground with a “tee” stick, a steel rod four to five feet long with a tee handle on one end and a sharp point on the other. Whenever she hit a soft spot, another forensic scientist would bring over a vapor detector to recognize body gases as a result of decomposition. So far they had located six graves.

  “Only twelve more to go,” I said. Gus merely shook his head.

  A lizard appeared at my feet, looked up at me, obviously unused to humans. I stared back at it and the lizard scurried away. Probably got a bad vibe off me. I looked out at the expanding horizon. Desert flatlands spread out as far as I could see. Where could a lizard hide in country like this?

  He’d have to just dig a hole and hide, I guessed.

  Mounds of dirt grew around us. Every four to six inches of dirt had to be sifted through screens in case there was any evidence. The botanist on the scene gave information on the vegetation, how long ago it had been damaged, what season of the year the ground had been disturbed. Each grave had a different history. I saw a rusty lunch box with Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm depicted on the front. In the hidden treasure of another was a pink three-ring binder. The child’s name, Donna Jennings, was written in her own handwriting on the inside of the pink binder with blue magic marker. At another grave, laminated student identification showed a smiling young girl. It was too much to bear and it was easy to understand why people don’t like to think about missing children. The detailed reality of their brutal deaths is horrific, the only blessing being that we’d be able to identify each victim. Despite what they say, ignorance is not bliss. Not for the victims nor their families and not for the future victims. Piles of bones began to appear next to the mounds of dirt. The dull white contrasted against the freshly dug earth. The small bones sang out a wail of accusation that pierced the shared consciousness of every detective and forensic worker there.

  Eventually, all eighteen graves were located.

  A crime scene artist sketched the story in detail with both plan and elevation views. Each was in a different stage of excavation. Though it was cool, he was sweating and his fingers were white with tension. I watched over his shoulder for a moment and when he looked up at me there was intensity in his eyes.

  “Never did a gravesite quite like this,” he said.

  “Me either,” I said.

  My stomach twisted into a knot and I patted the guy on the back then walked over to where Gus was having a smoke outside the perimeter of the crime scene.

  “Excellent work, Joan,” said Gus.

  “What would have been excellent? To save them. I find digging up the graves low on my list of accomplishments. They had a supplier, Gus.”

  “What?”

  “The Tylers didn’t drive around and abscond with kids. I mean, who would get into a car with them? They had them delivered. Hector dropped off that one so maybe it was him. Either that or he’s just a deliveryman. Mary said the supplier quit on them and that was why they went for Dani. It was a definite break in
the pattern.”

  “A supplier. A pimp, right?”

  “I guess. Remember Gilda? With the long dress and long gloves like Rita Hayworth? She said something to me about the young ones getting killed. She meant the runaways working the streets. She even mentioned a mysterious graveyard and she said something about them getting set on fire. Apparently, it’s like a legend, a spooky story they whisper to each other. People know about it.”

  “A subculture knows about it. Folks whose everyday life is a horror story. Bring her in, ask her if she recognizes any of the kids after forensics matches them to their missing files and verifies each with the odontologist. We’ll see if we can find a pimp or something that connects them.”

  “Will do. Hector is definitely one connection. When we get back, let’s go over the Tyler phone list again, huh? Mary said Johnny never called the supplier, but maybe she’s wrong.”

  “How else would they communicate?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the one who is up on those new tech things.”

  “They’re already checking out the computer,” said Gus. “Nothing so far. Maybe they just delivered the kids every once in a while, no schedule, and had a pick up for the cash. They could have had a meeting place.”

  “Could be. Maybe De Sade’s Cage. The Barb took money from the Tylers that night I was there.”

  We were silent for a moment. Gus peered at the hole in my already short hair where Mary had set me on fire.

  “So, what are you going to do about that hair?”

  “I guess I’m gonna have to get a crew cut.”

  “People will think you’re a butch.”

  “I don’t care what people think.”

  “I had the impression it was terribly important to you.”

  “I’m over it.”

  Janice Worth, a forensic archeologist in her late forties, came over to us just then.

  “I’m already recognizing a pattern of blunt force to the head and the femur bone in several of the bodies, probably with a hammer.” She put her hand to her own head of short blond curls. I nodded and Gus looked at me. “Some bones display evidence of having been burned. Can’t say yet if it was post mortem,” she said. “The boys.” She stood there looking at us after she said it.

  “Thanks, Janice,” I said.

  “Oh, you’re welcome.” She was struggling to contain her emotions.

  Gus put an arm around her shoulders and Janice sighed heavily.

  I merely stood silently beside them, looking toward the rest of the toiling forensic team as they continued with their horrific task. A soft mist fell and became rain in a manner of seconds. We all leapt into urgent action to raise several tents in order to protect the graveyard and the precious bones of the unknown children we had unearthed. I was stung by the fact that our urgency and protection came too late. I let tears fall because in the rain they weren’t so recognizable and I couldn’t stop them if I had tried.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  GET OUT OF MY office with this shit,” said Satch.

  “No, sir. I really think we should get a search warrant on Autumn Riley’s credit card.”

  “And do something about that hair, will ya? You look like a maniac.”

  “If you prefer, I could pull this Barb guy in.”

  Gus stood silently in the doorway. He looked down at the floor and did not argue on my behalf.

  “You, of all people, should know better,” said Satch. “After all that crap with you and Carl? Your first case back on the job and you want to play chicken. This is tough times for the police department, Joan. Goddammit. We’re under a magnifying glass. Every single investigation is being watched. I can’t okay this, and I won’t. Just forget it.”

  “But Satch, she’s not the same girl, I’m telling you. I know he’s got her on drugs. She really looks like a zombie in this picture, like she’s dead or something.”

  “That’s not evidence of anything, it’s a fashion statement.”

  “But what about their past history? The S&M music videos?”

  “Put it together for me.”

  “Okay. Dani and Autumn both have a connection with The Barb, he got them the raspberry photo gig.” Satch frowned. “It was a modeling gig. Red fibers from The Barb’s motel room were found at the Autumn Riley crime scene and The Barb’s hair matched the short blond hair from that same crime scene. Black hairs from a dog that went missing with a ten-year-old boy were also found there.”

  “It’s not a crime scene anymore, Joan. Autumn Riley is alive and The Barb is her manager so his hair in her bungalow doesn’t mean a damn thing. Your strongest case is the dog hairs, but how do they connect The Barb? They don’t, do they? Everybody in the neighborhood said that dog was a stray. Autumn may have let the dog in her house when The Barb wasn’t even there. You have no other evidence. The Barb being a slime ball is not enough, Joan. His influence over Autumn is not enough. Walk into MCA or Rhino Records, any of them! You’ll see fifty success stories and the kids are all on drugs and look like they’re dead. It’s called Gothic or some shit, I don’t know. So, she knew Dani, did a photo shoot with her. The Tylers went to De Sade’s Cage same as The Barb. We can’t go to the DA with that. You got no crime there. Give it up. You go near Autumn Riley or her manager and it will be a public relations fiasco. You might as well turn in your badge now.”

  “Satch, please. I’m telling you, I saw Hector bring that girl to the Tylers. Hector who hangs out at Hollywood parties, who stole the dog from my home, you don’t see the connection to Tommy and all the missing girls?”

  “I do, sort of. But where is the girl with the pink hair to corroborate? If we didn’t have her on the Tyler video, you’d be in big trouble right now. You can’t prove that Hector stole the dog, can you? Can you?”

  I shook my head no.

  “So, consider it an order, Joan. Forget The Barb and Autumn Riley for now. If you like, you can meet with the investigators on the case of the missing boy and get up to speed. Continue your work with Mark O’Malley on the missing girls. You did a good job with Mary Tyler. A fine day’s work, but first go get some rest, you look like hell. Do something about that hair. You can’t represent Special Section like that. People’ll think you just escaped the asylum or something. Settle down, here.”

  “Just tell him,” said Gus.

  “Tell me what?” asked Satch.

  “I talked with Mrs. Riley,” I said.

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “She said she was in contact with Autumn but wouldn’t tell me anything about Autumn’s location, whether or not she thought Autumn was acting of her own accord, nothing.”

  “So what does that prove?”

  “I got a hunch, you know, by the tone of her voice, and I asked her if there had ever been a significant event that caused them to seek counseling for Autumn Riley and she hung up on me.”

  “Are you crazy, Joan? Look, if you called my house and asked the same question about my son, I’d hang up on you, too.”

  “But, sir. There was also an incident with Autumn Riley in an acting class with three of the missing girls…”

  “What?”

  “Autumn knew three of the missing girls. They were all in an acting class.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “They got into a fight over some petty, egotistical thing.”

  “And that means what to you?”

  “I suspect that Autumn may have had a hand in their disappearance.”

  “And you get that idea from what?”

  I was tired and incoherent, not making a good case.

  “Joan. Listen to me, you’re losing your grip. Do what I say or you’ll regret it. Your career is in danger and you can’t see it. It’s a goddam shame. Hell, I’m going to refer you for mandatory therapy if you don’t shape up right now. A significant event. That’s clever. Can’t wait for the phone call I’m gonna get from the chief on that one. Gus, how can you let her go off like that? You’re her senior. It’s on you as her supe
rvisor.”

  Gus raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue.

  I stood up to make one last point when Satch went gray, all white spots and static. My gray hands reached out towards Satch, then everything went black. When I came to, there was a circle of faces above me. I recognized Satch, Gus, and a couple guys from Robbery and more from Autos. They all had worried looks on their faces and I realized I was on the floor. The back of my head didn’t feel so great.

  “Get the paramedic,” I heard Satch say. “She needs to go on medical leave, she has no business being here.” Gus and the other guys agreed with Satch.

  “Okay,” I heard myself say, “you’re right, I’ll go home. Sorry, guys.”

  “You stay right there, don’t even try to stand, just lie there,” said Satch. “The paramedic will take you to the hospital and the doctor will tell you when you can go home. And listen to me carefully, Joan. Forget any case for now. Take care of yourself. You’re no good to us on the floor.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “Whatever you say.”

  After a gurney ride through the halls of Parker, during which I waved and cracked jokes, I got to go on an ambulance ride to USC. In a special area reserved for cops, I was given particular attention, and a dainty woman doctor ordered a CAT scan.

  Finally, I found myself sitting in the doctor’s office in a chair beside her desk. I looked at her certificate. Her name was Djiersinsky. She had an unhurried and warm disposition. She wore her hair in a feathery hip style that framed her face, which was remarkably youthful. I wondered what it was like to be her, so pretty and petite, living in her ordered world.

  “The thing we are concerned about is a subdural hematoma,” she said sweetly. “That doesn’t seem likely after all this time, but we had to make sure. Your CAT scan looks good.”

  “Does that mean I’m okay?”

  “You seem to be. Did you eat today?” Her voice had just the right combination of concern and disapproval. “I can get you some food from the kitchen, right now. What would you like?”

  “No offense, Doc, but I prefer something other than hospital food. I’ll get something to eat right away. Girl Scout’s honor.” I held up three fingers like a girl scout, hoping to win her over.