Hollywood Outlaw: A Hollywood Alphabet SeriesThriller (A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller Book 15) (4 page)

I got up early the next morning and drove to Hart Veterinary Hospital to check on Bernie. I found him with his physical therapist, Marlo Stratton. After my furry partner nearly tackled me and gave me lots of big wet kisses, I got an update from Marlo.

“Bernie’s made great progress. He should be good enough to go home in the next few days. After that, he just needs to continue the physical therapy three times a week.”

I held my breath, asking the question that would determine Bernie’s future. “What are your thoughts about him returning to duty?”

Her gaze moved down to my big dog. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like Bernie sensed the importance of the moment. “It’s up to your department, of course, but, providing he’s on light duty for a few weeks, I think he’ll be physically up to the challenges.”

She didn’t go on, and I could tell there was something she wasn’t saying. “What else?”

She regarded me. “I’ve known other police canines that were forced into retirement. These animals are trained for service, Kate. It’s sometimes a difficult adjustment if they aren’t allowed to return to active duty.”

I told her I appreciated her comments. I’d seen the same issues with other service dogs that had retired. In some cases, there was almost a failure to thrive syndrome, a depressive state that left the animal lonely and confused. It was something I brought up to Noah a few minutes later when we met in his office.

He agreed with my concerns and said, “Bernie’s whole purpose is to perform the service he’s been trained for since he was a puppy. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll make sure that goes into my report when he’s released.”

“I appreciate that.” I ran a hand through my dog’s brown and black fur. “I’m not sure how he would even begin to manage staying at home while I went off to work every day.”

Noah’s handsome features became pinched with concern. “Let’s cross that bridge if and when we come to it.” He took a moment then asked me about my meeting with Pearl. “Was he able to clarify what Oz said?”

I shook my head. “We got called to the Prince murder in Beverly Hills and I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. You’ve probably seen the coverage of the case on TV.”

He brushed a hand through his short, blonde hair and nodded. “I heard an officer was shot in the melee that followed.”

“He’s going to be okay, but the pressure is on us to solve the case, so I’m not sure when I’ll get to talk to Pearl.”

His blue eyes held on me. “I’d like…” He took a breath. “Can we get together for dinner one of these nights? I’m feeling like we’ve drifted apart after I made a mess of everything.”

I reached across the table and touched his hand. “You didn’t mess up anything. You just…you said what you were feeling, and I appreciate that.”

“Maybe we could go to Moonshadows, since you’re staying at the Mission Bell. It’s just down the road. The place has great food and a view to die for.”

The oceanfront restaurant was a Malibu landmark. I stood up, and Bernie came up to my side. “My schedule’s a little crazy, but I’ll give you a call and work something out.”

He came around his desk and hugged me. As we parted, I realized it felt a little awkward. We’d been involved in a close relationship until a couple of weeks ago, and I now wondered what it would take to ever get us back to that same place. It left me feeling depressed and unsure about our future together.

After getting Bernie settled with Marlo Stratton again, I left the hospital and made the short drive to Hollywood Station. The police station was a no-frills one-story brick affair with an adjacent parking lot. It was only a couple blocks from Hollywood Boulevard, where much of the action in one of the most iconic cities in the world went down.

I’d just arrived at work and was coming down the hallway when Leo intercepted me. “Henrietta’s on the warpath. He wants to meet in his office.”

A few minutes later, we settled into the lieutenant’s office, where he made it clear he was under a lot of pressure. “I wanna know where we stand on everything,” Edna barked. Leo and I were at the conference table in his office, along with Darby, Buck, Brie, and our two civilian crime analysts, Selfie Rogers and Molly Wingate. “I don’t have to tell you all that Captain Dumbo and the others are breathing down my fucking neck.”

Since the lieutenant had his own nickname, he’d recently decided to also christen Captain Dembowski with one. It made me wonder if Edna would ever fit in with the high-profile job he’d inherited or the demands that came with the position.

Section One was a specialized unit that was the brainchild of LAPD’s chief of police, Bradley East. It was authorized to handle high-profile crimes, including kidnappings, robberies, and homicides that occurred anywhere in the department’s jurisdiction. The unit was a prototype, and we were told that if it was successful, similar small, specialized taskforces would be developed in other divisions.

The bat cave was the name we’d given to the large office assigned to the lieutenant. It was fitted with the latest in high tech crime fighting equipment: everything from monitors, some with closed circuit connections directly to the Police Administration Building, to computers that were linked to all the state and national criminal databases, and even had direct access to judicial services to bypass any delays in obtaining search warrants. The gadgets and resources were sometimes helpful, but we all knew the real work that went into breaking a case was the heavy lifting that went with actively working leads.

Selfie Rogers, our twenty-something crime analyst, who lately had a fondness for pink, blue, or yellow hair and lots of metallic piercings, began the overview of our case. “As we all know, Bert Alexander Prince, age forty-seven, the matriarch of the TV clan known as ‘The Princes of Beverly Hills’, was found yesterday at approximately five fifteen by a housekeeper. The cause of death was a single twenty-two caliber round to his chest.” She looked at Brie. “I understand the autopsy has already been completed.”

Brie looked exhausted. Even though she was working light duty, with Section One cases being her priority, I could tell the job was taking its toll. “I burned the midnight oil. The fatal round was fired at close range, piercing the victim’s aorta and causing him to bleed out and die immediately. The round was recovered, but not the weapon.”

“When you say close range, are we talking a matter of feet or inches?” Edna asked.

“Probably a foot or two. There was GSR on the victim’s clothing and arms.”

Edna looked at us. “But all the tests on everyone at the house were negative?” After we confirmed what he’d said, he told Brie to continue.

“The autopsy didn’t reveal anything else that was noteworthy. It’s my understanding SID found nothing in the way of prints or other evidence at the scene, either.”

SID was the department’s Scientific Investigation Division, LAPD’s version of a crime scene unit.

“But what about the semen found on the vic’s PJ’s?” Edna said. “Somebody musta been servicing him, which means there would be DNA left behind.”

“We took swabs, and I’ve put a rush on the testing, but it will likely take two or three days before we know if there’s a database match.” Brie lifted up her reading glasses, placing them on top of her head, which was bald from chemotherapy. “There’s also the possibility that whoever was engaged in oral sex with him wasn’t the shooter. It might be that our suspect arrived sometime later and shot Prince.”

“It could also be that he didn’t have a partner,” Darby suggested.

Edna looked at him like he’d just landed on earth from an alien planet. “What are you saying? You think he jerked off?”

Darby shrugged. “Maybe he was on a porn site.” He looked at Brie. “Did SID check his computer?”

“You mean for semen?” Brie asked.

The creases in Darby’s fleshy face deepened and he spat, “No. I’m talking about porn sites. These days you don’t need a partner.”

Buck smiled and seized the opening. “Maybe my partner’s talking from experience.”

“I’m just stating facts,” Darby grumbled, over the laughter. He looked at his partner. “Something they probably don’t teach in Waco or wherever the hell it is you’re from.”

Buck smiled. “You’re right. As far as I know, they don’t offer a class in masturbation. Maybe things are different ‘round here.”

“Let’s keep it fucking civil,” Edna growled before Darby could go off on him.

“I talked to Kathy Maitland with SID just before they finished up at the scene last night,” I said. “There was nothing that appeared significant in the recent browsing history on the computer. She did say there were some financial spreadsheets related to the TV show.”

“Maybe there’s a financial angle to what happened,” Leo suggested.

I agreed that was a possibility. “According to what my friends told me, the Princes are all worth a fortune. We’re going to need someone from Financial Crimes to take a closer look at their business relationships and try to figure out what the spreadsheets show.”

“Your friends,” Darby scoffed. “Anything those two are involved in spells nothing but trouble.” He looked at Edna. “Why is she allowed to work this case when she has a personal relationship with the family?”

“I don’t have a personal relationship with them,” I said.

“Your friends do, and you practically live together.” His murky eyes darted back to Edna and he raised his thin brows.

“Kate can’t help the fact that someone she knows works for the family.” Edna looked at me. “That aside, make sure those two snoops keep their noses out of things.”

I didn’t respond. Despite the fact that I despised Darby, I had to admit there was some truth to his concerns. Natalie and Mo did make a habit of making other people’s business their own. Even so, they sometimes uncovered leads on cases that were otherwise missed. It was something I intended to keep in mind, despite what Edna said.

Molly then took over, handing out reports. Our other crime analyst was in her thirties, with auburn hair and green eyes, about the same color as mine. “These are the summaries of the interviews that were conducted yesterday, but, as you know, there didn’t appear to be anything significant that was developed.”

“What about criminal records?” Edna asked. “Anyone have a history of violence or assault?”

“Several people at the house have misdemeanor drug convictions. The victim’s stepdaughter, Paris, had an 11550 conviction. Her past drug problems have been part of the show’s drama. She went into rehab a couple of years ago and is supposedly clean.”

Section 11550 was a Healthy and Safety Code section that made it a crime to be under the influence of a controlled substance. It was a common violation, and, in recent years, due to jail overcrowding, subjects convicted of the crime served little or no time in custody.

“What else?” Edna said. “Anybody have a beef with our vic?”

“We interviewed Prince’s assistant, Danika Kirkland,” I said. “She seemed stunned by what happened and, other than Prince’s ex, she didn’t know who might want to harm him. We also talked to the three sisters and Prince’s son, but didn’t get a whole lot that was useful. We need to go back to Lady Prince today and re-interview her. There’s also the ex-wife, Bailey Nolan, who both Kirkland and the sisters described as a gold digger, jealous of the family’s success. Prince’s son, Bruce, also said that his mother and father had issues, but he didn’t think she was capable of violence.”

“Was Nolan at the house when our vic ate it?”

I shook my head. “No, but as Brie said, it’s possible the shooter left the house right after the crime.”

“Let’s track Nolan down and talk to her today, along with…what the fuck’s her name…” Edna looked at me. “Lady?” I nodded. “Who the hell has a name like that, unless you’re fucking royalty?”

“The Princes of Beverly Hills consider themselves royalty,” Leo said.

“Royal assholes.”

After the lieutenant went on a short rant about celebrities and Hollywood lifestyles, I said, “I almost forgot. There’s also the show’s producer, a man named Carlyle Waggoner. He’s supposedly a big shot with the studios, so we probably need to talk to him.”

“He produces over a dozen shows,” Selfie said. “I saw him on a talk show a couple of months ago. He said
The Princes of Beverly Hills
was making a fortune.”

“Here’s the plan,” Edna said. “Divide up duties and interview anyone we didn’t take a run at yesterday, including this Waggoner guy. Let’s also look at business relationships, anybody Prince was screwing, financially or otherwise, who might have had it in for him. I want something solid by the end of the day.”

We were about to leave the office when Edna said, “By the way, the brass wants us to do CTA. That means, Sexton, you’re working with Hall on this. Kingsley’s with McCade.”

My eyes narrowed on him. “What’s CTA?”

“Cross Training Analytics. It’s some bullshit theory somebody came up with about cross training employees and measuring the results. The department hired some idiot who’s an expert on it. He says having the same partner every day results in complacency and key issues sometimes being missed.”

I started to argue with him, but knew it was useless. I also knew it would mean that Darby and I would be constantly butting heads during the investigation, something that he demonstrated a few minutes later when we met with Leo and Buck to divide up duties.