Friday, noon
“We’re getting out of here. For now, at least,” Bruce told Sophie.
She shook her head, looking up at him. “There’s something here, Bruce. I know it.”
He hesitated. “Sophie, someone took a shot at you. You and Vining. They got Vining—they missed you. But they will surely try again.”
“What do you suggest I do? Retire?” she asked drily.
“Okay, so only you and I know that we were in this graveyard last night. Most of your colleagues don’t know that shot was aimed at you. I do know that.”
“Well, my colleague Lee, at least, figured out that you and I would have scoped it all out—and that possibly one of us was being shot at. Maybe it was aimed at you,” she said.
He decided not to argue that. “Maybe. But I’m not a cop. They’re after you and Vining—when Vining isn’t in the field, you’re the lead detective, even if the entire force is involved.”
“But that’s the point. I don’t think the killer will keep trying—that would be stupid.”
“Unless someone on the force is involved.”
She shrugged.
“Well, if it is a cop—that person does know where you were.”
“We don’t really know. If Lee thought that we would have scoped it all out, others might, too. I just don’t think it will do any good to say anything. Bruce, really—”
“Oh, hell, I’m not going to say anything. This is your call, all the way.”
He took a seat next to her on the steplike tombs where she was perched. “Sophie, the thing is—you may be in danger. Serious danger.”
“I’m a cop,” she said. “By the very nature of my job, I’m in danger.”
“I know. But—”
“Bruce, I can be careful. I know how to watch out.”
“The thing is, when you go back to see people who were already interviewed, you seem to have a knack for asking the right questions—and getting leads from them that we didn’t have before. Seems like somehow the killer knows this.”
She hesitated. “Bruce, I was just talking to Henry Atkins. He’s...too excited about the cemetery. We’ve both seen what he’s done with the pictures from the past—and the present. There are no new clues—as if someone knows the old case and police procedure too well. Do you think...?”
“I wouldn’t discount anything right now,” Bruce told her. “I don’t feel we’re getting anywhere here.”
“But we need to find Ann Marie. Bruce, she was murdered, too. She was an actress. She’s apparently been hanging around a very long time seeking justice. She may have seen something. She was worried about us last night, so she does know something. Damn it! I can’t believe we’re getting nothing!”
“We need to come back. Alone,” he said.
“And how do we manage that?”
He laughed. “Hey, you were the one ready to jump over the fence. And break into the church.”
She flushed slightly and looked away.
“We’ll find whatever’s here. But not now,” he told her.
“And what is your suggestion for the present?”
“The hospital. I know that you want to see Grant—whether you admit it or not. And I want to see my brother.”
“Brodie is here?”
“Of course. I told you that he’d be here. He spelled Jackson last night, and they’ll spell each other, on and off, until Grant is out of the hospital. After the hospital, we’ll head to your house.”
“I can’t hide in my house.”
“No. But we can get the lock fixed and install cameras. And then, we can set up a command center there. Jace Brown will have sent you his pictures—maybe we can find something in them. You have a large screen at the house?”
“I do.”
“Okay.”
He watched as Sophie went and spoke with Captain Lorne Chagall. Chagall nodded gravely as he listened to her.
And as Sophie walked back over to Bruce, Chagall nodded to him, as well. He smiled. He wouldn’t dare tell Sophie—she might just be too touchy on the subject—but with Vining in the hospital, he didn’t want her to be on her own.
And for some reason—most probably his association with Jackson Crow and the FBI—Chagall seemed to trust him.
As he drove to the hospital, Sophie was busy with her phone. “I can’t see much of anything on the phone...too small,” she murmured.
“You’re looking at the pictures that Jace Brown sent you?”
“Yes.”
She fell silent and studied her phone until they reached the hospital.
Brodie was there when they entered Grant Vining’s hospital room. He rose, smiling to greet them.
“Hey, there, Bruce. Your brother is a hell of a guy. Nice of you to drag him all way out here,” Vining said. “But you know, we do have a ton of cops.”
“Someone shot you, Grant,” Sophie reminded him.
Funny how she didn’t tell him that someone had also tried to shoot her. But of course, she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to be taken off the case.
And she didn’t want to admit she’d been crawling around the cemetery after-hours.
“How are you?” Sophie asked anxiously.
“They say I’ll be out in a day or two.”
“Don’t rush it,” Sophie said.
“I hear you’re making headway.”
“I don’t know if we’ve made any headway or not. But I do believe that our killer scoped out his victims through the Hollywood Hooligans.”
“Quite possible. But as to that church...they’re still there searching, right? Have they found anything?”
“Nothing as yet, sir,” Bruce said, piping in.
“We’re going to head to my house and get the locks fixed,” Sophie said. She was quiet a minute. “And set up for work there.”
“Because you think that someone LAPD is involved?” Vining asked.
“Yes,” Sophie said flatly.
“You have anyone in mind?”
“Vaguely.”
“You’re my partner, Sophie. Share.”
“Henry Atkins.”
Vining was silent. “Because he’s being...ghoulish?”
“Because of what he’s been doing with the old photographs and new photographs. His crime scene pictures are nearly identical to the originals.”
Vining was again quiet and thoughtful.
“Henry has been with us a very long time. He’s an excellent photographer. It may just be an obsession with using his work as his art, in a way.”
“Maybe.”
Vining shrugged. “Talk to him. As a friend. See if you can find out where he was when the murders were committed. If he doesn’t have alibis, take a closer look.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t believe it, you know.”
“I don’t want to believe it.” Sophie hesitated and then said, “Grant, someone was in my apartment. They took a page that I’d printed on the Dahlia killing, one about cops being under suspicion then. The thing is, I know you all want to believe I was careless somehow, but I wasn’t. The only time my keys were not in my immediate possession was at the station.”
“Do you know how many people are in that station?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep me informed. And if you bring me anything, make it candy. No flowers. I’m not dead yet!”
Sophie tried to smile at that. She couldn’t.
“Grant—”
“Stop, Sophie. I have the best guardians in the world. FBI. I’m going to be fine. You watch out for yourself.”
“I will.” She glanced at Bruce. “I’m working with the next best to you there is.”
“Glad you figured that out,” he told her. “Okay, go do what you need to do.”
She nodded.
Brodie spoke to Bruce. “Jackson is coming back in an hour or so. I’ll meet you at Sophie’s house?”
“See you there,” Bruce said.
He set his hand on the small of Sophie’s back to lead her out.
She didn’t protest.
Because she was learning that no man or woman wasn’t vulnerable?
Or because Grant Vining was watching?
He wasn’t at all sure.
But he smiled. It was all right, either way.
* * *
As promised, Jace Brown had sent Sophie scores of pictures, all taken at various shows featuring Lili Montana. She was downloading them to her computer in her home office when she heard a soft “Hey.”
She turned. Brodie McFadden had arrived. He was just checking in with her, she figured. Bruce was out front with the locksmith.
“Hey, Brodie.”
“So,” he said, “we’ve checked out of the hotel entirely—we figured that, now that you’re in compliance with your partner, we’ll all be hanging here in whatever our off hours turn out to be. Not to worry—either Jackson or I will be with Vining at all times. Unless Jackson pulls one of his Krewe members out here, and if so, you won’t have to worry, no matter what. His Krewe...they’d all die before they’d fail to keep someone safe, so...”
“I do have faith in all of you!” she assured him. “I know Bryan, of course, and Jackson Crow.”
He took a chair near her desk. “Bryan and Marnie think that the sun rises and sets around you, you know,” he told her.
“That’s really nice.”
“Well, you were damned careful not to let anything happen to Marnie.”
Sophie smiled at him. “Marnie is one of those people you admire all the more when you know her—she’s loved as an icon, and deserves every bit of it. She’s just a nice person.”
“Yeah, she is,” Brodie agreed.
Sophie hesitated a moment and then asked him, “So you see the dead?”
He nodded. “You get used to it.”
“I wish!”
“You will. Trust me. Hey, you should have seen the three of us. My mother never had any patience with someone not seeing the truth, so she was haunting the hell out of all of us—but we didn’t want to face it. I can say proudly that I was the one to just spit it out—guys, admit it, Mom and Dad are here! And while Mom is still disappointed that none of us was cut out to be an actor, she does approve of the path we’ve each taken. We like solving puzzles, I guess.”
“Looking for justice,” Sophie said softly.
Brodie shrugged. “That may be a little too lofty—although, there is no feeling in the world as great as being able to save a life.”
“All three of you...so similar.”
“Oh, not really. Bryan is a mountain man—loves the Blue Ridge, our cabin out there, hiking, fishing, you name it. Bruce is the sports guy—he probably could have played pro ball. Oh, but he’s also a huge Lovecraft fan—and a space nut. He reads avidly about every move NASA makes.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, you all haven’t had much time to chat about the mundane, huh?”
She smiled. “No. I had no idea about NASA. Does he want to be one of the first men on Mars?”
“I don’t think it goes that far. I said space, but he finds the things they’re learning that have to do with our Earth fascinating, too—NASA is working on predicting tsunamis and floods so that people can be warned, especially in developing nations where weather can be so devastating.”
She smiled, lowering her head. In a matter of days, she had learned just about all there was to know about the man physically. And she knew that he was very easy to care for...too easy. She’d come to like him. Really like him. Crave being with him, as well.
But she knew almost nothing about his interests.
“What about you, Brodie?”
“Ah, well, I’m the one who loves the water. Beach. Surf, diving, boats, you name it. Underwater exploration. Wrecks—old wrecks. Love ’em! And you?”
The question took her by surprise.
Did she actually have interests? She’d done nothing lately but work, come home, do chores and read...yes, she’d done some reading.
“I really can’t tell you just how much Marnie came to care for you and appreciate you. You’ve got to be a very dedicated detective.”
“I guess I am that,” she murmured. “Oh, and I love creature movies—you know, The Lizard that Ate Manhattan and that kind of thing.”
He laughed. “Hey, nothing wrong with a good lizard movie.”
She heard a little beep.
The pictures had downloaded.
Bruce arrived at the office door. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yep—good timing. I’ve got everything that he sent,” Sophie said.
“Let’s see what we can see,” Bruce said.
Sophie hooked her laptop up to the TV in her living room, to use it as a giant screen, and starting clicking through the album she’d downloaded. The pictures struck Sophie as being almost unbearably sad; Lili Montana had been lovely, and you could feel her vivaciousness through the pictures. Most of the pictures Ian Sanders had taken centered on Lili. Some were Lili and other members of the cast.
There were pictures of Lili with Jace, and pictures of Lili with Kenneth Trent. Sometimes she was in costume.
“Hey!” Sophie said, rising from her chair to point at the large screen. “This was one of the later performances. It’s at an old hotel downtown—I know the place. It’s right near the alley and the studio.”
“Yeah,” Bruce said. He stood, too. “There, right there. Is that Brenda Sully—there in the audience?” Bruce asked.
“It is!” Sophie said.
“And look who she’s with,” Bruce said.
“The other woman?” Brodie asked curiously.
“It’s the rather rude young actress who claimed that Kenneth Trent was completely surprised to realize that he knew Brenda Sully. And I believe Kenneth was surprised. But that is the woman who was in Kenneth’s office yesterday—her name was Grace Leon,” Sophie said.
“She obviously knows Brenda Sully,” Bruce said. “They’re there—watching the show, together.”
“Did you suspect a woman was a possibility as the murderer?” Brodie asked.
Sophie glanced at Bruce, shaking her head. “In the Dahlia case, different theories suggested a woman—but I don’t know. I’m not sure that Grace being rude and using the death of Lili Montana to further her own career makes her a killer.”
“But she sure as hell knew who Lili was—and she knew Brenda,” Brodie noted.
“I met many of Brenda’s friends—I wound up at the station most of the day when her body was discovered, just dealing with all the people who knew and loved her. She and Lili... I got the feeling they were more like Marnie. This girl... Grace Leon...she is an opportunist.”
“But you don’t think she’s a murderer?” Brodie asked.
“We can all be fooled,” Bruce said. “But I don’t know. She is a liar, that’s for certain.”
“And now we need to speak with her again,” Sophie said.
She flicked to another picture, wondering if there was any more to see.
And there was something that seriously surprised her.
“Bruce!” she said.
“I see, I see.”
This time, the Hollywood Hooligans had been performing in an actual theater.
The photo had been taken from the stage. The entire audience was visible.
“That is...”
“Yes,” Sophie said.
“Who?” Brodie demanded.
“That’s our medical examiner. One of the LA medical examiners, I mean. But he’s been assigned this case...both of the victims.” Sophie said.
It was Dr. Chuck Thompson. He was in a casual short-sleeved shirt and jeans, sitting in the audience and smiling away, his hands lifted as he clapped.
“Dr. Chuck Thompson was in the audience—and Lili Montana was onstage,” Bruce murmured.
Sophie remembered what Henry Atkins had said that morning.
Thompson had wanted to be an anthropologist—to study people. He’d wanted to dig in the field, know more about those who had come before...
He was an ME.
He sure as hell knew how to cut up a body.
Sophie gave herself a shake and looked at Bruce. She was suspecting everyone now.
“Next,” she murmured aloud, “I’ll be suspecting Captain Chagall.”
“What?” Bruce said.
“No, no, I didn’t mean that. I just wonder...why wouldn’t Dr. Thompson have said something when he was working on Lili’s corpse?” she asked.
“Maybe he didn’t want that to make him seem like a ghoul—or get himself thrown off of the case,” Brodie suggested.
“Or,” Bruce said, “maybe he just saw the show and didn’t know who all the players were—the Hollywood Hooligans are an ensemble. They’re never billed with big name stars. The players get their breaks when an agent or director is in the audience and sees their actual work.”
“I don’t know. She was on his table...” Sophie said.
“And not looking much at all as she had in life,” Bruce reminded her softly.
“Before we jump to conclusions, let’s see what else we have in these pictures,” Bruce suggested.
Lili in costume, Lili putting her makeup on. A pretty girl who had been loved and admired.
Just as Brenda Sully had apparently been loved and admired.
More than ever, Sophie wanted to catch the killer. “You know,” she said softly. “I’m a cop. We’re trained not to feel this way, but...”
“But?” Brodie asked.
“I don’t think this killer should just be apprehended. I think he should be boiled in oil and drawn and quartered.”
“Don’t look like that!” Bruce said.
“Like—vicious?”
“No, stricken. Sophie, come on. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t empathize with these girls.” He moved closer and took her hand. “And what we’re feeling is natural—the way we act on it makes us what we are. Then again, no cop is asked to give up his or her own life when it comes to a draw,” Bruce reminded her. “And you were threatened last night, Sophie.”
“It is strange. Do you think it might be more than one person involved?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t think so,” Bruce said.
“It’s very elaborate,” Brodie noted. “One corpse the first day, laid out like the Black Dahlia. And then, just one day later, another corpse. Laid out like the Black Dahlia—in almost the same place.”
“I still think it’s one killer—and I think that the killer has been reading up on the Dahlia and planning the murders for a long time. After he had learned everything that he thought he could and made his plans, he chose his victims. Both girls resemble Elizabeth Short. Both wanted to hit the big time. What they never discovered years ago was where Elizabeth Short was murdered. There was supposition not so long ago that if Dr. George Hodel was indeed the killer—and his own son, ex-LAPD, believed it—that she was killed in what was his home then. But, by now, there have been dozens of theories. Way too late to prove any of them. And while there’s the obvious connection in the past and the present, even if we knew who killed the original Dahlia, it might not point to our current killer.”
“Sophie, what do you think about the possibility of two perpetrators?” Brodie asked.
“I don’t know, either, but I doubt it,” Sophie said. “This whole thing—I mean, from the killer’s point of view—depends on anonymity. More than one killer...you’re risking more mistakes.”
Her phone rang as she spoke and she picked it up. Captain Chagall was on the other end of the call.
“Captain, anything?” she asked.
“Not that we can find. But I do understand your determination that we search—it can be described as a ‘weird’ place, and the Hollywood Hooligans did perform there. You believe that the killer was watching the girls, and that he found them through their performances?”
“Only Lili Montana was with the company. Brenda Sully had gone in to ask for an audition. But she attended performances. I’m going over pictures now that were sent to me by Jace Brown. That’s her current boyfriend, the one she started dating right after she broke up with Ian Sanders several months ago. He has a lot of pictures.”
“We’re living in the digital age. A zillion clicks at one time, and of course, selfies are snapped right and left. But you’ve already interviewed both men.”
“Yes. One was with friends on the night Lili was killed, one wasn’t even in the city. They’re in the clear.”
“We’ve got the studio. We are on track. Tomorrow morning, you’ll run the meeting. Make sure everyone knows what we have in every direction.”
“Yes, sir. Are you still at the church?”
“No, back at the station. We have more and more calls coming in. And don’t worry—I’ll see that you have access to them all.”
She thanked him and hung up. Bruce and Brodie were both looking at her.
“General meeting, summary of progress, tomorrow morning.”
“Always a good thing,” Brodie murmured.
“But a little uncomfortable—when you believe one of your fellow officers or coworkers might be involved,” Bruce noted.
“There is that...” Sophie said, and sighed.
“How are you going to handle that?” Brodie asked.
“Carefully,” Sophie said. She hit the button on her computer to bring up the next image.
“Oh!” she said.
“Yep,” Bruce murmured.
Because now the Hollywood Hooligan picture featured Lili Montana at the train station.
And there, watching the interactive performance, was another man they knew.
Police photographer Henry Atkins.
“Well, he’s not hiding his presence,” Bruce noted.
“What do you mean?” Sophie asked.
“Enlarge behind Henry Atkins to the left,” he said.
Sophie did so. With Henry was Lee Underwood and a few other men and women Sophie knew from the forensics department.
“How did no one recognize her?” Sophie asked.
“No one would have recognized her when she was found,” Bruce said flatly. “What’s puzzling is that no one else mentioned the fact that they’d seen her perform.”
“Yes, but as you pointed out...Hollywood Hooligans put on a different kind of theater experience,” Sophie said. She shook her head.
“I can see where maybe one person didn’t recognize her, but...” Bruce murmured. “Or, sorry, let me correct that. When she was found, no one—not her closest friend—would have recognized her. But once her identity was known and we were looking into the Hollywood Hooligans...well, someone should have mentioned that they’d seen her.”
“So...now I’m suspicious of Henry, Lee Underwood—and even the medical examiner,” Sophie said. “It’s really going to be one hell of a meeting tomorrow.”
“At the least, every one of them needs to explain them not mentioning the fact somewhere along in the investigation,” Bruce said.
“Let’s see what else shows in those pictures,” Brodie said. “I’m coming in a bit late to the party—trying to catch up.”
Jace Brown had not just loved Lili—he had loved photographing her. There were more pictures of Lili—in a burlesque costume, in Victorian attire, in mime whiteface.
Lili emoted. She was vibrant.
Sophie vowed silently that she would find the young woman’s killer. The monster who had stolen life and dreams and everything else from Lili and Brenda.
Another shot of an audience popped up.
“Whoa,” Bruce said. “Is that...?”
Sophie couldn’t have been more surprised.
“Yes. That’s Captain Chagall,” she said. “Captain Lorne Chagall.”
“That is going to be one hell of an interesting meeting tomorrow,” Bruce said.