Hollywood Notorious: A Hollywood Alphabet Thriller Series (A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller Book 14) (4 page)

I rounded up my friends and said to them, “Let’s get out of here before we get drawn and quartered.”

We were in my front yard, a small patch of grass with three faded pink flamingos, when Harv stopped by. “Just so you know, Maude means business. Her nephew is Mean Gene.”

“Who?” I said.

“Mean Gene the suing machine. He has those ads on TV.”

Natalie’s voice pitched higher as the realization struck her. “You mean the ones where Gene and his attack trained Chiweenie growl at the camera and tell the viewers they’re gonna get rich by suing their neighbors?”

“That’s him,” Harv confirmed.

I looked at Natalie. “A Chiweenie?”

“It’s a cross between a Chihuahua and one of them wiener dogs,” Mo explained before Natalie could answer.

“We’re all gonna be livin’ on the street with dog bites on our rear ends,” Natalie whined.

Mo regarded me. “You gotta find us a lawyer, Kate. One of them guys that’s meaner than a junk yard Chihuahua.”

I sighed. “I hate lawyers, but I’ll see what I can do.” After telling Harv that we’d see him later, I told my friends, “I’ve got to catch a couple hours sleep. I was up all night.”

“You musta been working that boneyard case,” Mo said. “I heard it was some bad shit that went down there.”

Mo had been a pimp in her former life and had lots of street contacts. She and Natalie always seemed to know about my cases almost before I did.

“I heard her face was painted,” Natalie added, her hazel eyes growing wider. “Maybe the killer went Norman Bates, wanted her to look like his dead mother.”

I didn’t want to discuss the details and said, “I can’t really talk about it. It’s still early in the investigation.”

Natalie wasn’t deterred. “What about that Godfather bloke? Maybe he whacked the girl after cappin’ them drug dealers.”

“I don’t think it fits with what we know about him.” I yawned. “See you both later.”

“Wait up, there,” Mo said. “What ‘bout gettin’ us a mouthpiece before Mean Gene kicks our sorry asses to the curb?”

I sighed. “I don’t know how we’re going to afford a lawyer, but, like I said, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Wait a minute,” Natalie said as I started to leave again. “I just had me a bloody brilliant idea.” She looked at Mo. “Jimmy’s got a cousin, Hermes Krump, who was hanging ‘round his office last week. He passed the bar exam a few weeks back.”

Jimmy Sweets was their boss in the PI business my friends worked part-time when they weren’t pursuing an acting gig on a sit-com called
Hollywood Girlz
. He had a reputation for swimming at the bottom of the sleaze pool. It occurred to me that his cousin was probably doing the backstroke in the same pool.

“You’re not thinking of hiring one of Jimmy’s relatives,” I said.

“You got a better idea?” Mo said, putting her hands on her wide hips.

I was exhausted and tired of arguing. “Not really. I guess you can go ahead and give him a call.”

I sauntered off to bed, pulled the covers up to my neck, and thought about my life. I was living in a mobile home park with an angry horde of eighty-year-olds. If Mean Gene had his way, I would soon be living on the streets, and my fate might end up in the hands of a guy named Hermes Krump.

I closed my eyes, feeling like I was drowning in the world’s biggest sleaze pool.

Bernie and I got back to the station a little after one. The morning’s battle with Maude and her hanging jury had left me on edge, and I’d only gotten a couple hours of restless sleep. I decided to put it all out of my mind as I settled into Lieutenant Oz’s office, next to Leo. Darby and Buck were also there, along with our crime analysts, Selfie Rogers and Molly Wingate. Bernie took the opportunity to continue to catch up on his sleep in a corner of the room.

The lieutenant’s office, which we referred to as the bat cave, was loaded with modern crime-fighting equipment, including TV monitors and computers tied to all the national crime databases. Selfie began the summary, using Section One’s monitors to show images of last night’s events. Our crime analyst was in her twenties, and lately had a fondness for gargoyle piercings and either pink or yellow hair, depending on the day of the week.

“As we all know, our victim was found at the Park Hills Cemetery overlooking Hollywood last night. She was posed and painted in what the detectives believe is a re-creation of a Day of the Dead display. Preliminary analysis revealed all of the skin on her body had been removed, except for her upper torso, arms, and face.”

“Do we have a COD?” Oz asked. Our lieutenant looked tired from being up half the night.

“Nothing official. As you know, the coroner determined that her heart was removed. We’re waiting on the autopsy. Brie’s hoping to get to it this afternoon.”

She took a moment, moving through images of the crime scene. The room was silent, maybe because of the impact of seeing the terrible images again.

Molly Wingate then took over. Thanks to some excellent work on prior cases, our former secretary had recently been promoted to a crime analyst, like her counterpart. Molly was in her thirties, with dark red hair and green eyes. She was a compassionate, hard-working employee who was trying to raise two young children on her own after her cheating husband had left her.

“The paints used on the victim were oil based, typically found in art supply stores,” Molly said. “The depiction of a skeleton and the way the victim was dressed is common to Day of the Dead displays. The female figure in these ceremonies is often referred to as Catrina.”

“Where does the name come from?” Darby asked.

“It’s taken from an etching done by a Mexican printmaker in the early 1900s. Over the years, that image has become the physical re-creation of the figure used in these festivals.”

Darby scoffed. “That’s all a crock of shit, if you ask me. Some asshole whacked the girl, wanted some press, so he played dress-up, and got out his paints.”

“Speaking of press,” Selfie said, before I could tell Darby what he had simmering in his own crockpot, “I suppose by now everyone’s seen the video?”

“What are you talking about?” Leo said. “I spent the morning trying to catch up on my sleep.”

“I’ll play it for you. From what the press is saying, the clip was downloaded to the Internet late last night. No one is claiming credit, so far.”

We all watched as a shaky image of our victim and the makeshift altar was displayed on an overhead monitor. The video was about fifteen seconds long, showing an unseen subject moving in and taking a close-up of our victim’s face.

“God damn it,” I said to Leo as the video ended. “It must have been shot by that SID asshole we sent packing.”

“But you took his phone,” Oz said.

“Then maybe it was one of his buddies.” I looked at Selfie. “Any idea where this came from?”

She shook her pink head. “It was put up by one of the paparazzi websites and distributed to the media outlets. By the way, they’re calling our suspect ‘the Reaper’.”

“As in the grim reaper?” Leo asked.

Molly nodded. “We can try to track the source of the video, but…”

“You might as well look for Martians while you’re at it,” Darby said. He looked at Buck. “Or maybe cowboys in Hollywood.”

“I’m not gonna tell you again to knock it off,” Buck said, his handsome features hardening as he regarded his partner.

Oz saw the storm brewing and cut it off. “Enough.” He turned to our crime analysts. “What else?”

“As you know, the photograph of the victim was found at the crime scene,” Molly said. “A decision needs to be made about whether or not to release it to the press.”

“What’s the hold up?” Darby asked. “We’ve got no prints, no other identifiers. If we wait on DNA, we’re going to be playing catch-up.”

As much as I hated to admit it, he was probably right. DNA analysis could take days, and time was of the essence in homicide cases.

“Let’s take a look at the missing person cases first,” Oz said. “I’d like to spare the family from seeing the girl’s photograph on TV if we can avoid it. In the meantime, I’ll talk to Captain Dembowski and see how he wants to proceed.” He looked at Selfie and Molly. “Anything similar to our crime in VICAP?”

The FBI managed a computer database called the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. It was a repository of thousands of criminal records, including homicide and sexual assault cases.

Selfie answered. “There’s lots of cases nationwide where victims have been dressed and posed.” She glanced up at the still shot of our victim on the overhead monitor. “But nothing comes close to this.”

“We’re trying to find an expert on the Day of the Dead celebrations,” Molly added. “They might be able to offer some insight into our suspect’s motivation.”

“Why don’t you just go out and find an expert on crazy,” Darby said.

Selfie ignored him, telling us, “I just got a text from Brie. The autopsy is scheduled for four this afternoon. She’s expecting that you all will be there.”

“What about…” Oz checked the reports in front of him, “…this Gooseberry guy? Did anyone talk to him about the shootout and ask him what he knows about the girl’s murder? We’ve also got the issue of him being a suspect in his manager’s death.”

Darby shook his head. “Harry Gooseberry was getting the lead out—as in cut out of his hairy fat ass—he should be in recovery today.”

“Then let’s get with him before he’s booked, see what we can get out of him.”

“There’s a problem with that,” Leo said. “I talked to SID a little while ago. Gooseberry’s gun was found on the ground near his car. It had been discharged, but it was a thirty-eight. Brie dug a couple of rounds out of our dead rappers during her preliminary assessment. They were nine-millimeter.”

“That means there was somebody else at the scene who did the shootings and got away,” Buck said.

Darby looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “We’re supposed to believe somebody snuck up on the two victims, shot them, and then scurried off into the darkness like a rat before we got there. Maybe it was the bogie man and he then went over and whacked the dead girl and painted her face while nobody was looking.”

I was exhausted and had enough of his nonsense. “Do you practice being an asshole, or does it just come naturally?”

Darby’s perpetual smirk remained on his pudgy face. “Do you practice sticking up for your boyfriend, or does it just come naturally?”

Bernie came up to his feet as I raised my voice. “You watch your big mouth…”

“Stop.” Oz said, raising his own voice and his hand. “This bickering stops now. We leave anything personal out of these discussions and work this case.” His gaze moved around the room as we all fell silent.

After a moment, Leo broke the silence. “We can ask Brie about…” he checked his notes, “…the two rappers that were killed—Jerry Duncan and Marvin Hanks—maybe she’ll give us something more to go on.”

“What do we know about their background?” I asked Selfie and Molly.

“They were both just wannabe rappers, working a few clubs here and there,” Selfie said. “Hanks did some joint time for robbery, out just over two years now. Duncan’s got priors for assault and some drug beefs. They both had reputations as small time dealers. That’s about it.”

“Let’s follow up with their family and friends,” Oz said. He looked at Leo and me. “Let’s also see if we can nail down the source of the video on our victim. If SID was involved in sending it to the paparazzi website, I want whoever did it fired and prosecuted.”

Leo stayed behind to chat with Oz for a couple of minutes after our meeting ended. I was back at my desk, pushing paperwork around, when I looked up and saw Buck was standing there. I regarded him for a moment, wondering how it was possible to look that good with almost no sleep.

“Sorry about what my partner said,” Buck said. “I intend to get the point across to him that any discussion about the two of us is off limits.”

I brushed a hand through my hair, thinking I probably looked as bad as I felt. “How are you going to do that, stick a bar of soap in his big mouth?”

He smiled. “Or maybe somewhere just as ugly.”

I laughed, thinking about how Buck and Hollywood were about as far apart as you can get.

His smile grew wider. “How ‘bout a drink after work tomorrow? I’ll make things up to you.”

His offer didn’t surprise me. Despite our differences, I knew that he was still attracted to me. “I’m sure that will help with the rumors Darby’s probably already circulated about us.”

“There’s a deck up on the roof of my apartment building. Nobody ever goes there. One drink is all I’m asking, just for old times.”

My relationship with Noah flashed through my mind. We were in love and had made a commitment to one another. Despite that, Buck and I did have some history, and I decided getting together might help us move past that. “One drink, that’s all.”

“See you then, if not before.”

A half hour later, Leo and I were in the car headed for UCLA Medical Center to talk to Harold Gooseberry, when he mentioned his chat with the lieutenant. “Ozzie’s a little concerned about you. He’s a pretty good judge of character and thinks something’s on your mind.”

I glanced over at my partner. While we’d only been working together for a few weeks, I knew I could trust Leo with my life. Whether I could trust him to keep quiet about the photograph I’d found of Oz with my love-dad was another matter. My dad had been a cop before he was murdered in a local park. Leo and Ozzie Powell knew him back when they’d began their careers with the department. I knew their loyalty to one another ran deep and I didn’t think I was ready to test that allegiance.

“I’m dealing with a lot of things in my personal life that Oz probably picked up on,” I said. “My friends and I just moved and we’re already having problems with our neighbors.” I took a couple of minutes and filled him in on our possible eviction from the Starlight and our legal troubles. “To make matters worse, Natalie and Mo’s boss, Jimmy Sweets, has a cousin who passed the bar not too long ago. They want him to represent us against the mobile home park’s attorney, Mean Gene, the suing machine.”

Leo laughed. “That guy who’s on TV with the little dog?”

“It’s called a Chiweenie.” Bernie took the opportunity to poke his big head up from the back seat. Maybe he was worried about being replaced by a designer dog. I nuzzled him and went on. “Mo once told me that my life is one big shit magnet. I’m beginning to think she’s right.”

He chuckled. “We all end up knee deep in it a time or two. Lil and I lived in a trailer when we were first married, just to save a few bucks.”

I stared at him. “Really?” I said, playing dumb. “I wonder what it would be like to live in a trailer.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, I forgot about your living quarters for a minute.”

I shook my head in disgust and mumbled, “Hermes Krump.”

“What?”

“He’s the guy who could be our lawyer. Hermes Krump. Can you believe that?”

“Maybe Mr. Krump’s a bulldog in disguise.”

“With my luck, he’s probably more like a designer dog.” Inspiration struck. “Maybe he’s a cross between a Shih Tzu and a Husky breed.”

Leo did his best to suppress his laughter but failed. “I’m almost afraid to ask what you call that.”

I looked at him. “A Shitski.”

***

Leo and I met up with Buck and his partner in the parking lot of the hospital. Darby’s usually pasty face was flushed, and I wondered if they’d had some kind of dust-up. Buck agreed to wait downstairs with Bernie, while the rest of us took an elevator to the tenth floor. We met with a nurse there who led us to our interview subject. Harold Gooseberry, aka the Godfather, was hooked up to several machines and had tubes running to the lower part of his anatomy.

When he saw us, Gooseberry rolled his eyes and said, “I got nothing to say to you.”

As we’d discussed earlier, Leo took the lead. “All we want to do is ask you a few questions. So far, you’re not under arrest.”

“‘So far’. What the fuck does
that
mean?”

“It means,” Darby said, “that you cooperate, or we’re dragging that biggest loser ass of yours to jail.”

Gooseberry cocked his head at Darby and smirked. “Long as
he’s
here, I ain’t talking.”

“Fine,” Darby said. “Keep your fat pie hole shut, and we’ll just book you for murder.”

I glared at Darby, realizing whatever had transpired between him and Buck was affecting his attitude. “This isn’t helping.”