Hollywood Outlaw: A Hollywood Alphabet SeriesThriller (A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller Book 15) Page 2

  “They’re shootin’ a segment of the TV show as we speak,” Natalie explained. “The murder is gonna be part of the show.” She lowered her voice. “And, just so you know, some of these people oughta be cleanin’ bird shit out of cuckoo clocks.”

  I saw that several cameras were pointed in our direction as Mo put her hands on her wide hips and regarded Leo and me. “We’ll show you where the body’s located. This place is like a circus on steroids, so watch yourselves.”

  I didn’t know exactly what she meant by needing to watch ourselves, until a man came up to us and introduced himself as Sly Sylvester, the director of the TV show. “I’d like to get some shots of you moving through the house, your reactions when you find Bert’s body. I promise to get some close-ups and that you’ll get union wages for your work.”

  “The vic is belly up in the den,” Mo explained.

  I looked back at Sylvester, who had his camera crew marshalled behind him. He was a wiry man in his sixties, with jet black hair. I noticed that he’d had some work done, not all of it successful. His face looked like a rubber mask, with painted brows, and unblinking brown eyes.

  “No pictures,” I said to Sylvester. “And your people need to clear the area.”

  “We have a contractual right to film everything that happens in and around the grounds of Nirvana. You have no right…”

  I took a step closer to him. “STOP.” I then lowered my voice a notch. “This is now a police investigation, a crime scene. So pack up your equipment and your employees. You can wait outside until we clear the scene.” He started to protest, and I held up a finger. “If you argue, I will have you escorted off the premises.”

  After another brief protest, Leo reaffirmed what I’d said, telling the director he needed to cooperate. He then got some uniformed officers to begin ushering the camera crew and assorted groupies out of the house. While Sylvester made a reluctant retreat, he continued to argue, making statements about lodging a complaint with our superiors and filing a lawsuit.

  “Just another day in paradise,” Leo said, lowering his voice as we followed Natalie and Mo down a hallway to the den where the body was located.

  We stopped outside the den. While Leo and I gloved up, I asked my friends, “Do either of you know where the maid is who found the body?”

  “Last I heard, she fell over backward and cracked her noggin when she saw Bert,” Natalie said.

  “They got her in one of the bedrooms, with ice on her head,” Mo confirmed. “I think she’s got a concussion.”

  I told them we would need to talk to her later, then added, “You’ll both need to stay back at the door while Leo and I take a look.”

  Mo looked at Natalie and shook her big head, which tonight was adorned with a long golden wig, like you might see a Disney princess wear. “After all these years workin’ cases, she still treats us like a couple of rank amateurs.”

  “We get no respect,” Natalie confirmed. She looked at me. “Mo and me should be gettin’ junior detective pay for helpin’ you out.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, “but don’t take this personally. I’m just following the department’s protocol. I’ll check back with you in a couple of minutes.”

  Leo and I found the victim face down on the polished hardwood floors of the den. Even though it was late afternoon, the patriarch of the clan was wearing pajamas. We turned the body over and saw there was a gunshot wound to his chest. There were no other obvious signs of trauma.

  After a preliminary examination, Leo said, “No rigor. Probably only dead a couple of hours.” He looked at me. “Looks like a single shot, small caliber.”

  We heard someone screaming and turned in time to see a woman coming into the room, followed by a small cadre of cameramen and Sly Sylvester. She had a gun in her hand that she raised to her temple and said, “I can’t go on like this.”

  Then she pulled the trigger.

  THREE

  “Gun!” I screamed, scrambling over to the woman and pulling her arm down. Luckily, the weapon didn’t discharge. It tumbled out of her hand and skidded across the floor. Natalie and Mo rushed into the room as Leo picked up the gun, telling us that the woman was Lady Prince, the matriarch of the clan. The grieving widow was now on the floor, clutching her dead husband’s body and sobbing.

  “Tell us what you’re feeling,” Sylvester said, bending down to her as the cameras continued to roll. “Don’t hold anything back. Just let your emotions take over.”

  “He was my life, my…my everything,” Lady cried. Her sobs turned into a mournful wail. I wasn’t sure if it was real or an over-the-top acting job.

  I glanced at Leo, who was trying to usher Sylvester and the camera crew out of the room, with the uniformed cop they’d somehow managed to get past. I then pulled the weeping woman off her dead husband’s body and took her down the hallway to a bedroom.

  Natalie and Mo had followed us into the bedroom. I turned to them and said, “See to it that she stays here until I can come back and question her.”

  Mo shook her blonde head and said to Natalie, “Guess we’re now the official babysitters.”

  “We’re better at investigatin’ than babysittin’,” Natalie said to me. “You wanna solve this case, just let us know.”

  I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a few.”

  I was heading back down the hallway when I saw the other pair of Section One detectives Edna had assigned to the case coming through the front door. I stopped and summarized what I knew for Darby Hall and Buck McCade.

  Darby was about forty, heavyset, with a temperament that was grating, at best, and abusive, at worst. He made a habit of irritating me, something that I was convinced was his greatest joy in life.

  Buck was his opposite, tall and well-built, with a southern drawl, reminiscent of his roots in Texas. We’d been in a relationship several months earlier when he’d worked for the sheriff’s department, until his mentally ill ex-wife began stalking me. I’d made it clear to him that our relationship was now strictly business.

  “Looks like there’s enough nuts living here to open up a mental ward,” Darby said, after surveying the crowd. “What is it with this reality TV stuff?”

  “People love drama,” Buck said. “I read somewhere the Princes are considered America’s version of England’s royal family. They’re also worth a small fortune.”

  “Yeah, well, somebody just offed the king.” Darby looked at me. “Any suspects?”

  I shook my head. “Too soon to say. Lady, she’s the vic’s wife, tried to shoot herself a few minutes ago when she saw the body. We still need to question her.”

  Darby summed up his thoughts. “A dead king, a suicidal queen, and a camera crew here to cover it all. I got a feeling the ratings for their TV show just went to the moon.”

  We spent the next hour, making sure the crime scene was secured and that Sylvester, his crew, the rest of the family members, and the groupies were all kept out of the house. Leo went off with the other detectives to search the residence for a murder weapon.

  When Brie Henner, the deputy coroner assigned to Section One, arrived, I told her what little we knew about the homicide. Brie was a tall African-American physician, who was my friend. She was battling Stage Four metastatic breast cancer, and it was taking its toll on her body and stamina.

  Brie looked thin and pale as she gloved up and asked, “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

  “Okay,” I lied. “I’ve been spending a few days in Malibu with Natalie and Mo. By the way, they’ve been working security here and are with Lady Prince. She’s the victim’s wife and the star of their reality TV series.”

  She smiled. “I’ve seen the show. It’s a little strange.”

  I motioned to the body. “I’ll give you some time to take a look while I go ask a few questions.”

  I left Brie and walked back down the hallway to the bedroom where I’d left my friends with the victim’s wife. Lady was si
tting on the bed with an elderly woman who was tending to her. The woman glanced in my direction and I instinctively took a step back. Her eyes were coal black, as though they took in all the light around her and extinguished it. There was something both powerful and terrifying in the way she looked at me. Oh, and there was one other thing that made a lasting impression—she had a moustache.

  “You must drink slow,” the woman said, turning back to Lady. Her voice was gravelly, with an accent that reminded me of someone from eastern Europe. “It vill begin to even out your feel-inks, allow you to deal with vhat has happened.”

  “This here’s Griselda Lugosi,” Natalie said, introducing the woman to me.

  Lady’s elderly attendant ignored me as I asked her, “What did you give her?”

  She finally looked at me. I had the same uneasy feeling as before, and not just because she was a woman with a moustache. “It is some-think from the old country. No-think you vould understand.” The lines on her forehead deepened, making her look like she was a couple quarts low on Botox. “Do not vorry. It is no-think illegal.”

  “Maybe you could give me and baby sis some of that stuff,” Mo said to her. “My nerves have been a little on edge lately.”

  “I could use me a tonic,” Natalie agreed. “What do you got for a pregnant lady?”

  “What?” I said to her.

  She slugged my shoulder. “I’m just takin’ the mickey with ya.” She glanced at Griselda. “This one’s as gullible as a gazelle, despite her job.”

  I did my best to ignore her, focusing my attention on Lady. “Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions?”

  She moaned and swept blonde hair that looked like summer wheat out of her eyes. Our victim’s wife was pretty, with a well-toned body, probably the result of lots of work with a personal trainer. “I can’t believe what’s happened. Bert…” Her face turned ashen and she looked at her attendant. “Is he really gone?”

  Griselda nodded. “Take ee-noth-er sip. You start feel-ink better soon.”

  I pressed on, asking Lady, “Can you tell me when you last saw your husband?”

  She chugged some of her medicinal tea, then set the cup down on the nightstand and heaved out a breath. “I guess it was a little after two. He was working with Sly on one of the scripts for the show.”

  “Scripts? I thought everything that happened on the show was spontaneous.”

  She chuckled and used a knuckle to blot a tear without smearing her makeup. “Maybe you think pigs can fly, too.”

  Mo rolled her dark eyes. “Kate, I mean Detective Sexton, ain’t exactly up on show biz stuff.”

  “She’s like a virgin on a casting couch,” Natalie added.

  I tried to ignore their comments as Lady said, “Sly worked with Bert to give each show a theme and general direction. The family then took things from there. We’ve been shooting nonstop for the past week, trying to get the new episodes wrapped.” She rubbed her temples. “Oh, God. What are we going to do? Bert ran everything.”

  She seemed more concerned about the effect her husband’s death would have on the TV show than anything else. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm your husband?”

  “No.” Her chest heaved. “What happened…it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Was he having any problems with anyone, maybe a friend or a co-worker, possibly someone connected to the TV show?”

  “Just Marisha, but it was all part of the show.”

  “Marisha?”

  Mo looked at me and shook her big head. “You really are clueless.”

  Natalie explained, “Marisha is the agent for Lady and her daughters. She and Bert are like tea and pee.”

  I gave her a blank look.

  “They don’t mix,” Mo explained.

  “It’s all an act, just part of the show,” Lady said. She rubbed her temples and moaned. “Oh, God. Somebody just shoot me.”

  “Have ee-no-ther sip of your tea,” Griselda encouraged. “It should be sett-link your stomach soon.”

  Her patient did as she suggested. In a moment, Lady’s eyes rolled back in her head and she fell back against the pillows on the bed.

  “What’d you do, give her a knock-out drug?” Mo asked the elderly attendant.

  “My tea is have-ink sedative pro-per-tees.” Griselda looked at me. “You will probably be need-ink to talk to her later. She could be in-dee-sposed for some time.”

  “Indisposed…you mean drugged?”

  She shrugged. “Call it vhat you be lik-ink. Lady’s health is my only concern.”

  Leo waved to me from the door. I went over and saw that he was with Darby and Buck. “We took a look in the other bedrooms and upstairs,” Leo said. “Didn’t find anything, but this place is huge.”

  “You ask me,” Darby said, “whoever whacked the Princely nutcase is still here, hiding in plain sight. He could even be part of the TV crew.”

  “I think we need to do GSR tests on everyone,” Buck said.

  What he’d suggested made sense. Whoever had fired the gun would likely have gunshot residue on their hands, unless the shooter had the sense to wash and possibly change clothing after firing the weapon.

  I looked at the TV crew and assorted friends and groupies in the back yard by the pool. The testing would be a lengthy process because of the number of subjects, but we had no other option. “Okay, let’s have a quick chat with Brie before we begin the testing and interviews.”

  We found my friend in the living room. She told us she’d completed her preliminary examination of the body and gave us her findings. “I’d estimate he’s been dead less than three hours, but can probably pin it down further when I get him to the shop. The COD was a single gunshot to the heart at close range.” She went on for a moment, talking about gunshot residue and stippling, before saying, “There’s only one other finding that’s probably significant.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Darby said, apparently deciding to make light of the situation. “When he died, Bert fell down and broke his crown.”

  “I’m afraid Bert had other things on his mind before he died,” Brie said.

  My brows inched together. “What do you mean?”

  “Your victim had a stain on his pajamas. He’d recently ejaculated.”

  FOUR

  “The vic had fucking what on his PJ’s?” Lieutenant Edna said after arriving at Nirvana a few minutes later.

  “Semen,” I said. “Brie thinks he may have received oral sex shortly before he was shot.”

  “You mean our suspect fucking blew him, then blew him away?”

  Darby had his trademark smirk on his face. “She must have lacked certain skills.”

  “Can it,” Edna said, obviously irritated by the little smart-ass. He turned back to me. “Any suspects?”

  “We still need to do GSR testing and interviews. I started to interview the wife of our vic, but her attendant, Griselda Lugosi, gave her something and she fell asleep.” I lowered my voice. “I think she could be some kind of gypsy doctor.”

  “A gypsy. Is everyone fucking nuts around here?”

  “This is Hollywood,” I said, noticing that Natalie and Mo had left Lady and were heading for us. “You never know what’s coming your way.”

  “Hey, Sherlock, how’s it hangin?’” Natalie said, greeting Edna.

  The lieutenant looked at me. “You need to control these people.”

  “These people just might be able to help you figure out what happened here today,” Mo said, with her hands on her hips, apparently still angry that they’d been asked to babysit our victim’s wife. She looked at me and deadpanned, “I’d use a four letter word to describe what I’m feeling right ‘bout now, but what the fuck.”

  “Enough!” Edna bellowed. He said to me, “You need to get your friends out of here.”

  I took a moment and walked Natalie and Mo into the back yard, where the TV crew, family members, and groupies were milling around. We stopped on the patio and I said to them, “Let
me try to soothe some ruffled feathers, then we’ll need to take your official statements.” I saw some angry looks were directed my way from the crowd, including some death stares from Sly Sylvester. I looked back at my friends. “In the meantime, can you assist the officers with trying to keep things under control?”

  Mo’s big shoulders went up and down, with a heavy breath. “We’ll see what we can do, but baby sis and me ain’t no miracle workers.”

  I left them and was heading back inside when a woman intercepted me. “I’m Danika Kirkland, Mr. Prince’s personal assistant,” she said. “I don’t suppose there’s anything you can tell me about…” She took a moment to compose herself. “…about Bert’s death.”

  Kirkland was probably in her mid-fifties, with short gray hair swept back from a prominent brow. The only thing remarkable about her appearance was that her eyes were purple. Contacts? I wasn’t sure.

  “All I can tell you is that your boss suffered a fatal gunshot wound while in his study this afternoon. Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm him?”

  She sniffed a couple of times, folded her arms, and shook her head. “You probably already know that Bert had his share of enemies, but murder…” She took a breath. “…it’s just unbelievable.”

  “Where were you this afternoon?”

  “I was in one of the production offices with the staff for the show.” Her brows inched together like there was a magnetic attraction. “Several people can vouch for me, if that’s a concern.”

  “We have to account for everyone’s whereabouts.” I studied her for a moment. As Prince’s assistant, she would have insight into his friends and acquaintances. “What exactly were your duties for Mr. Prince?”

  “I guess you could call me a glorified gofer. If there was something Bert needed, or he needed to arrange a meeting with someone, I was his go-to person.”

  “Then surely you have some thoughts on who might want him dead.”