Body on the Backlot

by Eva Monteleagre

  “Don’t worry, Eduardo. I’ll eat my Wheaties, try to take care of my health, and if nobody kills me, I’ll be around.”

  We laughed.

  “Okay?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “I have to make a phone call.”

  He nodded again.

  I picked up the phone receiver on the table by my couch and dialed Kunda.

  “Oh, Joan. I’m glad you phoned,” she said. “I feel the truth is near.”

  “Is that intuition?” I asked with deep sarcasm. “Or firsthand knowledge?”

  “The feeling is strong tonight. And it’s up to you, all up to you. You are the center.”

  The woman was exasperating. Talking to her was like using a balloon for a punching bag. “Thanks, Kunda, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “My energy is with you, Joan.”

  “Well, let’s hope your energy can get behind a few questions I have for you.”

  “I want to be of service.”

  “Can you tell me where I can find a guy named Hector? Hector Cardona. He’s a big guy hooked on steroids, long black hair, ninja turtle tattoo on his forearm.”

  “No, I never met him.”

  “Do you know the whereabouts of The Barb or Dewey?”

  “De Sade’s Cage is all I can tell you. I have a feeling they may even be there this evening.” She had a feeling.

  “Tonight?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Kunda, has Autumn been in touch with you lately, maybe for some psychic advice?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Just a feeling.” Hell, I could have them, too.

  •••

  I REACHED FOR THE stack of files piled on my coffee table that Mark O’Malley had provided me on the ten missing girls. Mark had been on the case for eight months with no results. It must have been eating him up inside. His work had been thorough and I put on my memory cap and went through it.

  The first one, Paige, was a tall brunette with coal-black eyes, winsome and charming, only eighteen. She was a folk and pop singer and had much recognition for her talents. Not only that, but she had exceptional athletic ability. She was a pole vaulter. When I was a kid, girls didn’t pole vault. I had to admit I was impressed. I memorized every detail of her description. She reminded me of pictures I had seen of my mother at that age. Each file was a story with descriptions and personal notes, certain things to look for in order to ascertain identity. My focus and concentration were in an effort to emblazon each detail on my brain.

  Several were cheerleaders and more than one was in the drama club, and three of them were singers. None of them were introverts. There was a mole here, a scar there, a tattoo, a birth defect, and a slight limp. It was imperative to discipline my brain in order to call up these details at will. I went over them several times, matching the first name with certain defining details. Suzy had the mole, Jeanette had the scar, Marissa had the tattoo, Judy had the birthmark, Brenda had the slight limp, Jennifer was tall, five foot nine. I repeated their names and their identifying traits over and over again. It’s times like these that my memory serves me well. It’s much better to have the information stored in your head than in a file. I imagined each girl standing in line with Autumn, waiting for their turn to try out at the pop star audition.

  Then I went over the files that did not have any particular physical defining traits. I focused in on each photo, trying to find some aspect of their face that I could imprint on my mind so that I would recognize them if, or hopefully when, I saw them.

  Vernice, the actress, she was the one Mason Jones had done the reversal Othello scene with. She had also been in that scene from the play, Dusa, Fish, Stas & Vi, with Autumn Riley and a couple of the other missing girls. Vernice was a young, petite, dark-skinned beauty who would be easy to recognize, and her eyes held a deep fire, though sometimes things like that changed once a person was abducted or abused for a length of time. But the heart shape of her face and her regal nose I committed to memory.

  Anne, one of the other actresses, had also been involved in that altercation with Autumn in acting class. She had an olive complexion. I was struck by the way her small ears contrasted to her round moon face. Then again, the fullness of a face can change if a person isn’t being fed properly or not eating because of anxiety. I focused in on her chin and the length of her neck.

  Katrice, the other girl in the altercation, was the most nondescript of all the girls. She had an average all-American look with sandy-colored hair. A thousand teenagers at a thousand high schools looked just like her. Her parents had shared their daughter’s diary and Mark O’Malley had copied it. I read the passage that Mark had mentioned but could see no real connection or clue in that. She had lyrics from songs throughout the diary and if any of them had any true significance, there would be no way to tell. Poor Mark was grasping at straws. ‘Course, it wouldn’t be the first time a determined detective had done that and more than once such long shots were exactly what put together a case. In fact, that was what I was counting on.

  Though I was becoming increasingly convinced that this was no long shot.

  I studied a photo of Katrice laughing with her friends. It looked like it had been taken at a birthday party. She had just blown out her candles. She had a dimple in only one of her cheeks. Her bright eyes haunted me. There were some handwritten notes that indicated that Katrice had gone missing with a friend and that the friend had resurfaced. I called Mark O’Malley to ask him about that important detail because the notes looked like his handwriting. He wasn’t in and I left a message.

  I looked through the other details of each missing report. Clothing worn, personal habits, school, etc. There was nothing there that immediately jumped out at me. The jewelry indicated that Katrice, the girl with the laughing dimple, wore a pendant that her parents said she would never part with. It was made of pewter and dangled on a black string. The pewter had a simple symbol crudely carved into it. Sharp lines that meant nothing to me.

  Vernice, the beautiful, spirited black girl, had an elephant hair bracelet from Africa. Anne, the one with the tiny ears and a moon face, wore a ring that her father had given her for her fifteenth birthday, a square gem, garnet, her birthstone. In the picture, it was elegant on her long, slender finger against her olive skin.

  I recalled the ruby ring in Autumn’s jewelry box. Maybe I was wrong and it wasn’t a ruby. Maybe it was a garnet. The necklaces, bracelets, and rings in Autumn’s jewelry box flashed before my eyes, including an elephant hair bracelet. I called Rose Torres.

  “Rose, this is Joan.”

  “Are you okay? I heard you were out.”

  “I’m out but I’m in.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Never mind. Do you have the jewelry from the Autumn Riley bungalow?”

  “It’s in evidence.”

  “And the photo of the jewelry?”

  “Filed.”

  “Can you email me a copy of the jewelry photo? You know, scan it or something.”

  “What do you think this is, Kinko’s?”

  “Rose, just email it to me, will ya?”

  “Okay, but don’t I have to find a special printer?”

  “No, you don’t. But you do need a scanner. Media Relations has one.”

  “Right. I think they do.”

  “Good. Do it now, okay?”

  “Can’t someone in your office do this?”

  “Sure, if I asked them.”

  “I see. Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

  “I can’t rest.”

  “You got a complex, you know that?’

  “Send me the email, Rose.”

  “You know I will.”

  I hung up with Rose, and Mark called. I asked him about the friend of Katrice and he hedged a little.

  “Yeah, her name is Bujette, she’s under psychiatric care and hasn’t been able to give us anything.” “I want to talk to her,” I said.

  “Her
parents won’t let you near her,” he said.

  “She’s eighteen, I can talk to her without her parents.”

  “I’ll give you the number to her doctor,” said Mark. “I’ve already tried this and I did it all wrong, nearly got the department sued. But maybe you can get some action, being a woman and all.”

  He gave me the number and address of a chic private hospital in Marina Del Rey. A number of famous personalities were known to have fought addictions and dementia with some measure of success at this institution. “Do you want to come with?” I asked.

  “No, I’d be a hindrance. They didn’t respond to me and you might be able to slip in where I wasn’t allowed.”

  He made a good point. I have a quality; people like to talk to me. Even before I was a cop I could sit down at a bar and by the end of the night three different people would have told me their darkest, most shameful secrets. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of my own shadowed past. It’s like they choose me to share their demons with. Also, I’ve noticed that criminals tend to prefer to confess to a female cop over a male one. Probably has something to do with their mothers or something. ‘Course, there’s plenty who won’t confess to anyone.

  I said a prayer that Bujette would feel safe with me. I asked God to give her strength and me wisdom and gentleness. I hoped that if she could find her way to uncover one detail from her nightmare that she’d offer it to me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I APPROACHED A MODERN building of blue metal and glass, which vaguely reminded me of a huge whale, but maybe I just had whales on my mind. Coastal Eddy, savior to the whales. What could possibly be wrong with that? I entered the mouth of the whale, the famous clinic where the chic doctors took care of famous patients. Bujette’s doctor, Dr. Filbert, a dweeby guy in his early thirties, was reluctant, to say the least. Since Bujette had turned eighteen, it was legal for me to question her without parental permission, but the doc didn’t think it was such a good idea. He met me at the door of his pale green office and we talked there in the doorway. He didn’t invite me in.

  I thought that was incredibly rude and I wasn’t feeling so diplomatic myself.

  “I have to talk to her, Doc, that’s all there is to it.”

  “You must understand, even under hypnosis, Bujette has not been able to remember anything.” He spoke to me as if to a child.

  “I do understand but I have to try, I have an obligation.”

  “I wish you could comprehend the depth of the trauma to Bujette.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “It’s complicated, but her complete inability to provide any information that could help her friend has endangered her already precarious mental state. A clinical depression ensued that led to suicide attempts on several occasions.”

  “I think I know how she feels,” I said.

  The doc looked confused. He blustered and finally indicated that I should enter his office and have a seat. He took a chair and crossed his legs.

  “For example,” he continued, “Bujette came in with a gorgeous head of curly blond hair, but because she felt that it had attracted their attackers, she insists on having her head shaved every day.”

  “Let me have a go at it. I promise to be gentle. We have some leads that may help us find Katrice.”

  “So pursue your leads.”

  “I need to speak with Bujette in order to do so properly.”

  “You can’t guarantee that you’ll catch these, these…”

  “No, I can’t but with a little more information I have a chance. Besides, Doc, there may be as many as nine other girls being held captive.” That grabbed his attention. “We don’t even know if they’re dead or alive,” I added.

  “See? See there? That’s exactly the kind of pressure I don’t want her exposed to. I can barely stand the responsibility myself. I can’t let you do this. You’ll kill her.”

  “I don’t have to tell her about the other girls to get the information I need, Doc. I get it, okay? I understand, she’s fragile. Believe me, there’s nothing in this world I want more than for Bujette to be a strong, happy person again. Trust me.”

  The doc didn’t want to trust me, I could tell. I stared him down, holding him responsible with my eyes.

  “I’ll grant you one interview, but you must stop questioning her immediately if she has any negative reactions.”

  “What’s a negative reaction mean, exactly?”

  “If I see the signals, I’ll let you know and you will stop.”

  “Okay.”

  “She’s been doing well lately,” he said. “We could jeopardize that.”

  “I understand, Doc. I don’t want to harm her in any way.”

  •••

  BUJETTE SAT UP IN her bed with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth. Though her hair was completely buzzed off, she was a beauty, as were all the girls who were missing. Bujette’s perfect complexion was marred by a bright red scar near her ear and several puncture wounds on her neck. Her blue eyes took me in warily. I must have looked like a soul sister with my own hair much gone and the bruising still present around my eye and neck from my encounter with the Tylers. I stood at the end of her bed while the doctor introduced us.

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “Two people kidnapped me, knocked me unconscious with a hammer, and pulled out my wisdom tooth while I was conked out.” Her eyes widened. “When I woke up,” I continued, “they slapped me around for a while. Later, one of them tried to strangle me to death and set my hair on fire. It’s been some week.”

  “They took out your wisdom tooth?”

  I opened my mouth and showed her the wound. She peered in and made a face.

  “Gross. You should get that sewn up or something.”

  “And how was your weekend?” I asked. She smiled.

  “It’s boring around here.”

  “Hey, sometimes boring is good, let me tell ya.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I smiled at her concern for me. “I’m okay.”

  “What do you want?” she asked me.

  “I want to find Katrice,” I said.

  “Katrice… She fought them, that’s why I was able to get away. She fought and I ran. I should have helped her.”

  Dr. Filbert looked dismayed; apparently Bujette had never volunteered this information before. I was afraid he might stop me, but he gave me the slightest wave of the hand, urging me to continue.

  “Maybe you can help her now. Who did she fight?” I asked.

  “There were two of them. One was white and the other was black with snakes.”

  “Snakes?”

  “He had these long snakes coming out of his head.”

  The doc put a hand to his mouth.

  She meant dreadlocks, I guessed. That could have been Dewey or about a hundred thousand other men in Los Angeles.

  “Did the man with snakes have a knot, a big bump, in his forehead?”

  She nodded eagerly and looked over at the doc.

  “Where exactly?”

  She touched the center of her own forehead.

  “Did either of them say anything that you can remember?”

  “The one with snakes…”

  “Yes?”

  “He made strange moaning sounds. It was like he was putting a curse on us. It scared me so bad.”

  A chill went over my scalp and down my arms.

  “If you saw these men again, could you identify them?”

  She was still. Her eyes went up as if to plead to God and then the slightest nod of her head told me yes.

  “Good. That would be real good. If we catch these men, we may be able to save Katrice. You’d like for us to do that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes. Please do that. Please catch them.”

  “What else did the men do?” I asked.

  Her hand went to her throat and pain shot through her eyes.

  “I’m sorry to remind you of those things, but it wi
ll help us if we know. Did one of them choke you?” A slight nod.

  “Which one?”

  “The white one.”

  “What did he choke you with, Bujette?”

  She whispered something but I couldn’t hear.

  I moved around to the side of the bed to get closer to her. Dr. Filbert moved back from us and sat on a chair in the corner with a distressed look on his face. I didn’t know if it was because of what she was saying or if it was because she was saying it to me and not him, but I didn’t care. I had to reach inside this girl, to her pain, and get her to share it with me.

  “I didn’t hear you Bujette, what did he choke you with?”

  “Barbed wire,” she whispered, and a loud gulping sound burst from her throat. Tears streamed down her face and she sobbed in angry despair. I put my arms around her and we stayed like that, her crying and me holding her for half an hour.

  •••

  ON THE DRIVE BACK, I put the case together in my mind. When I got home, Eddy was there, but I hardly said hello before I dialed Gus, explained to him what I thought was a strong connection between Autumn Riley, the missing boy, and the missing girls. With the dog hair and the missing girls’ jewelry, not to mention the barbed wire, I thought we had something.

  “You’ve been working this case without me, Joan.”

  “I’m reporting in. You’re the one who told me to interview Gilda.”

  “You’re on medical leave, you’re supposed to be resting.”

  “Gus, I can’t rest, okay?”

  “So give me something good,” said Gus.

  “Mark’s got the missing files and Rose has the photo of the jewelry. Compare them and you’ll see a striking resemblance. And I’d bet my life that if the crime lab runs a DNA comparison between the nine strips of menstrual blood of the voodoo doll from the Autumn Riley crime scene, you’ll find a match to the nine recently missing girls.”

  “I’ll request the DNA test. You want to arrest The Barb and Dewey?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “The goal is the girls.”

  “Right. I think they may still be alive. If we arrest those two bastards, it could put the girls in danger. And there’s a strong possibility that the missing boy is with them.”