Thursday afternoon
So many images...so grotesque that none of them seemed real.
And yet they were.
“He is a police photographer,” Sophie said, her voice toneless.
“Yes, a photographer who has worked for years and years—and who probably wants to make something more of his work than just images for a police file. How well do you know Henry Atkins?” Bruce asked her. He could see that the very idea that someone she knew and worked with could even begin to think about perpetrating such a crime was disturbing to her. He wanted to tell her that it was still—despite the photos—most unlikely that Henry Atkins might have had anything to do with the crimes.
But he really couldn’t tell her anything. He just didn’t know.
She shrugged. “We’ve worked together a long time. He’s with the forensic team. He’s not LAPD. He’s a civilian employee. He is called in on major cases—obviously—and he’s also asked to work as a sketch artist. He’s enhanced photos for us—he’s aged them for us. He’s good.”
“Does he do other work? I mean, with his photography.”
“I know that he photographed a friend’s wedding,” Sophie said. “And birds—he loves to take pictures of birds.”
Bruce drummed his fingers on the conference table and looked at her thoughtfully. She didn’t want a friend to be guilty, but she had independently come up with the idea that it might be a cop. Or, someone connected to the cops.
It was more than possible. The similarities to the old case were amazing. The present killer’s ability to avoid forensic clues seemed pretty remarkable, too. But was that from close proximity to law enforcement? Or research?
“Henry doesn’t look much like a young and upcoming producer,” he said. “And he sent you these quickly and willingly. He might be doing the same thing—trying to find exactly what the similarities and differences were in the killing.”
Sophie nodded. “Of course. Can we...”
“Have him tailed?” Bruce asked her.
She nodded.
“I’ll have to talk to Jackson. I mean, I assume you want someone not associated with LAPD.”
“Right.” She sighed. “You know, this department has gone through so much with so many sensational cases. And a lot of times, the cops have come out not looking so good. But it is a good department now, honestly.”
“I believe you. And if we’re looking back, two of the primary suspects were surgeons, not cops.”
Sophie sat silently. Then she sighed. “About sixty people confessed to the Black Dahlia killing. Sixty! We barely even have one lead.”
“Sophie, it’s considered the most sensational unsolved murder on the LAPD books. Armchair sleuths across the country have studied it for years. But here’s the thing. Our case is fresh. Let’s go over what we know now. We know that the girls were fed a line about auditioning. We know where they met with the ‘producer’ who was going to make them rich and famous.”
“This guy is pretending to be the kind of player who could change the industry—and that would lean toward the Bugsy Siegel/Norman Chandler theory—which some believe, and some discount.” Norman Chandler had followed in his father’s footsteps and become editor of the LA Times—and he and his wife had also been high in society. Chandler had been the money behind the Hollywood Palladium—a very important man.
“So, on that end, from what I’ve read, the idea is that Bugsy Siegel was hired to killed the Dahlia, and bisected her because she was pregnant with Chandler’s illegitimate heir.”
“We can go crazy on theories.”
“But you’re right. There’s something we’re not seeing.”
“Let’s shake it off. We need to head out.”
“Yes, you do,” Michael Thoreau suddenly interjected.
Bruce had been so focused on Sophie that he hadn’t seen their ghost arrive. But there he was—looking despondent—seated at the end of the conference table. He said bleakly to Sophie, “I really meant to help you. I didn’t mean for your partner to get shot, you know.”
“Michael, you did help us,” Sophie assured him. “Because of you, we know where the girls were lured. You’ve given us a start like no other.”
He seemed to perk up a bit, then he asked, “But at what cost?”
“Grant Vining is going to be fine,” she told him.
Bruce stood with purpose. “One of them—either Lili or Brenda—had to have said something to someone that will give us more of a clue. I want to see Kenneth Trent again—with you, this time, Sophie. We’ll try him, and then we’ll go back to Lili’s boyfriend, and the ex-boyfriend, and then any friend of Brenda’s.”
“They’ve all been questioned,” Michael said.
“But not by the super-trio of Michael, Bruce, Sophie,” Bruce said. “Let’s go.”
Their first call was Kenneth Trent. He was easy to find—usually in his office, unless he was rehearsing, and he didn’t call his rehearsals until night.
It was nearly 5:00 p.m. when they arrived, but they could hear someone talking inside the office. For a moment, it sounded like a fierce argument. Sophie rapped on the door, and the voices stopped abruptly.
Bruce and Sophie looked at one another.
Bruce was just about to bust the door in.
“Wait,” Michael said. “It’s just a scene from something...they’re reading or rehearsing something.”
A minute later, the door opened. Kenneth Trent stood there, and looked curiously out.
At first, he saw just Sophie. “Hello. I don’t have an appointment for you... Are you here to audition?”
Bruce realized he wasn’t so sure he liked working in Hollywood. Law enforcement had to be damned difficult.
“Who the hell ever knows what’s real out here?” he whispered to Sophie.
“Or anywhere?” she whispered back quickly. Then she raised her voice pleasantly and spoke to Kenneth Trent. “No, I’m afraid that I’m not here to audition, Mr. Trent.”
“Oh, well, I have an actress with me now, but you’re more than welcome to leave your information, to come back...” He stopped speaking, finally noticing Bruce. “Oh...hey. It’s um, it’s you, Mr. McFadden.”
“Yes, it’s me,” Bruce said.
“This is Detective Manning.”
“Sophie.” Politely offering Kenneth a hand, she suggested he use her first name.
“Come in, come in!” he said. “Grace and I were just rehearsing.”
Bruce was startled by the resemblance to Lili Montana, Brenda Sully—and the Black Dahlia—that he saw in the pretty, curly headed brunette in the seat before Kenneth’s desk.
She stood when they walked in.
“This is Grace Leon,” Kenneth said, introducing the young woman. “She’s just done an audition for the Hollywood Hooligans.”
“Great,” Sophie said. “I understand Kenneth has created a really talented troop of players doing all kinds of interesting things.”
“Yes!” Grace said enthusiastically. “One of his actors just landed a major role on a cable show.”
“Sloan Johnson,” Kenneth said. “We’re really so proud of her.”
Bruce wasn’t sure why, but he was pretty certain that Sloan Johnson just might have curly dark hair, too.
“Her opportunity gave me my opportunity,” Grace said. She let out a soft sigh. “This just isn’t an easy town...or an easy dream.”
“No, not at all,” Sophie said, looking at Kenneth. “You’re sure that this cable show thing is totally legitimate? I’m assuming you’ve seen the news. Young women are urged to be extremely cautious when attending interviews or auditions.”
“No, no, it was legit,” Kenneth said. “I drove her to the audition myself.”
“We’re hungry for success—but not stupid,” Grace assured them. “We’ve all been watching the news. Lili was a friend. But... Do the police have something? Any suspects?”
“Well, you know,” Sophie said lightly, “contrary to what you see on TV, it’s not all that easy. But in this case, no matter how many times we have to go back to the same friends, family, witnesses and even casual acquaintances, we will get our guy. And, of course, that’s why we’re back. Hoping, Kenneth, that you might have something...anything...else that might help us.”
Bruce thought that Kenneth would give off a weary sigh, shake his head, and swear that he didn’t know anything more.
But Kenneth glanced at Grace Leon, and she looked down at her hands.
“He does know something,” the ghost of Michael stage-whispered from behind them.
“Wow, I am so sorry,” Kenneth began.
“You’re going to be sorry,” Sophie interrupted sweetly, “if you don’t tell me what it is you’re hiding.”
“I—I no, no—”
“Come on, Kenneth,” Bruce said.
“We can go back to the station,” Sophie said. “In fact, we should do that.”
“Oh, crap, I think I need a lawyer. I can’t afford a lawyer,” Kenneth said bleakly.
“Why would you need a lawyer? Did you have anything to do with—”
“God, no! I loved Lili—I didn’t know Brenda...”
His voice trailed. Bruce knew the sound of his voice—and his expression. There was something that he wasn’t saying. Maybe nothing important in the end, maybe something. He tried to home in on what the truth might be.
“You didn’t know Brenda well. But you did know her. At the very least, you met her. Or you saw her—somewhere.”
Kenneth turned the color of pale white chalk. His mouth worked.
“Oh!” Grace Leon urged him to take her chair. She stared at Bruce. “Kenneth is a good man,” she said.
“We believe that,” Sophie said. “But...”
Kenneth took the chair.
Sophie hunkered down by him. “Look, Kenneth, I just met you, but I’m a cop and I’ve been one for a while, and I’m getting to know people. I don’t believe for a minute that you killed anyone. But there is something that you’re holding back. You do know Brenda Sully, too. Or, at the very least, you met her.”
Kenneth looked at the two of them. “I swear to you, I didn’t even realize it at first.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Grace said quickly. “I told you, Kenneth is one of the good guys, working hard for everyone. And that’s why... I know what he knows—and doesn’t know and didn’t know. Until he figured it out. We—were just talking about it.”
“Talk to us,” Sophie suggested softly.
“I swear, I didn’t even know her name,” Kenneth said. “But I met the young woman I now know to be Brenda Sully when she came here to audition. It’s not like actors flock here, but I get a fair amount of interest. Because I pay people. And the thing is, a lot of our talent does go on to be seen by the right people, picked up by good agents. We have a good reputation.”
“Why didn’t you say before that you knew Brenda, too?” Bruce asked him.
Kenneth looked at him with wide eyes. “I swear to you, I didn’t even realize that I knew her at first—like I said, she just came by. She didn’t have a scheduled appointment. I had a group in here doing reading. I had them keep going and I went to the door. When I told her we were busy, she promised to come back in a few days. Like I said—I never even knew her name. But just today I found her head shot and résumé on my desk.”
“When was this, that she stopped by?” Sophie asked him.
“I guess about a week before she was killed.” He paused and took in a deep breath. “About a week before Lili was killed, too.”
Bruce looked at Sophie. He believed the man.
He believed that Sophie did, too.
“I would have brought it up if I had thought that it could have helped...but honestly, she was just another pretty girl with dark, wavy, swinging hair, and...” He paused for a minute, wincing as he looked at Grace Leon. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t sure. I kept looking at the picture on the news. She did seem familiar. And then when I was sorting papers on my desk I realized that Brenda Sully did come here. But not the day she died! Lili was here that day, and she left. I swear it. But I didn’t see Brenda that day—just before.”
“It was at least a week before. Kenneth is a really good guy,” Grace said. “I mean, it can’t be important, right? The news is all over the fact that a studio was found and that the girls were last seen there. There were bums in the alley. Darned bums probably did it!” Grace said.
Grace seemed to be getting on Sophie’s nerves. “How long have you been with the Hollywood Hooligans?” she asked her. “Were you friends with Lili Montana? Or are you here to take her place?”
The young woman was suddenly and acutely uncomfortable. “No, I’m, uh...if I’m taking anyone’s place, it’s Sloan Johnson’s. Except people don’t take other people’s places here. It’s an ensemble, right, Kenneth?”
“I see. And let me ask you this—how long have you known Kenneth?” Sophie asked.
“Well...we met years ago.”
“At an audition,” Kenneth explained.
“And you’ve stayed close since then, have you?” Sophie asked.
“Once friends, always friends,” Grace said, squeezing Kenneth’s hand.
Bruce couldn’t judge the young woman’s acting skills. Though, with his folks, he’d had a certain amount of experience with all levels of talent.
But one thing he was certain of. Whether she could or couldn’t act, she was quick to find the right words to create a truth out of what she wanted to be true—even if it included a great deal of exaggeration.
Kenneth, on the other hand, just didn’t seem to be much of a liar.
“We, uh, met up again this week,” he admitted.
“So I figured,” Sophie said.
“How the hell could you know that?” Grace demanded, irritated.
Bruce laughed. “She is a detective.”
“Well, then, she ought to be finding the damned murderer, right, and not tormenting people like Kenneth!” Grace announced. “Some detective! Letting murderers get away and harassing good people.”
Sophie’s stiffening was barely perceptible. She was furious, of course. Bruce thought she was also just a slight bit drily amused by Grace’s naïveté.
He was ready to step in, but Sophie just looked at her and said softly, “We do hope to find this killer, Miss Leon. Before he strikes again. And harassing good people, as you say, often helps us in our search. We are afraid—and perhaps you should be, too. You see, despite our warnings, LA is filled with dreamers—not a bad thing—but of course, dreamers who might be thinking the bad couldn’t possibly happen to them, so if something was offered to them, it would naturally be legitimate. Everything helps, Miss Leon. Everything. Our knowing that there is a link—that both women had been here—may be incredibly important. It could be where this killer first saw his victims. Where he’s searching for more.”
Sophie turned away from her and focused on Kenneth. “Mr. Trent, we do hope that you’ll be here, ready to help us again if we need to speak with you.”
“Yes, for sure,” Kenneth told her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Be seeing you,” Bruce told Kenneth, nodding to Grace Leon.
When they were out the door, Bruce turned to Sophie with admiration. “Wow. Good job.”
“I’m not sure where we’ve gotten, so I don’t really know what you mean.”
“Well, let’s see—you didn’t crack Grace Leon in the jaw after her wiseass comments,” he said.
Michael Thoreau’s ghost had followed them out. “I’d have decked her. No, no, I was taught never to hit a woman. But, hey, I would have been tempted to deck her.”
“It’s okay—I’ve met with worse,” Sophie assured them.
“So, both victims...” Bruce said.
“I’m going to stick around here tonight, see what I see. If nothing else, I’ll be a fly on the wall and see what Kenneth’s new girl is up to,” Michael said.
“That would be helpful,” Sophie said. “I don’t believe that Kenneth Trent is guilty of anything—other than being a good guy who likes to give actors work—but maybe you’ll see or hear something that might be useful.” Michael nodded at her and she smiled. Then she grew thoughtful. “I’ve got to call Captain—now we know that both young women have been in this building, trying to become part of the Hollywood Hooligans. We need to start running the names of others involved with the troupe of performers. Venues where they’ve performed, professional suppliers, costumers, whoever else.” She took her phone out as she spoke.
Bruce nodded. “I’ll let Jackson know, too.”
They were both on their phones as they said goodbye to Michael and left the building. When they reached the street, Bruce checked his watch.
“I want to speak with Lili’s boyfriend again. Jace Brown has a job at a bar just around the corner, and he comes on at seven, so he’s just gotten in.”
“Let’s go see him.”
* * *
The bar where Jace worked had a handsome facade of glass and chrome and pretty paint-scrolled writing on the window that advertised it as “Pasquale’s.”
There was an attractive young hostess at the door. Sophie explained who she was and asked if they might see Jace for a moment.
The girl immediately turned white and tears popped up in her eyes.
“Has he taken time off?” Sophie asked.
“He’s working...he needs the money. But...” The young woman indicated toward the bar.
Jace Brown was a handsome guy, about six feet tall, with a swatch of ink-dark hair that fell devilishly over his forehead.
But staring at them, he looked stricken.
“Thank you,” Bruce told the girl. He and Sophie walked across the little room between the few scattered tables in the front.
“You’re that cop, the main cop,” he said. “I saw you on TV.”
“My partner is the main cop. And we met at the station the other day,” Sophie told him, settling on a barstool in front of him. “I am so sorry. We know you loved Lili. We just hope you might be able to help us. As you probably heard, Lili and the other woman, Brenda, were both lured to meet someone out at an abandoned studio.”
Jace nodded gravely. Tears rolled down his cheek.
“Lili wanted it all. She’d perform anywhere for anyone. She—she took chances. But she told me that this was so aboveboard, I wouldn’t be worried in the least. She could just tell the guy was a straight shooter.”
“We think he might have found the girls through the Hollywood Hooligans. We’ve recently discovered that Brenda Sully was going to audition there. Can you think of anyone who was at all their performances, or who seemed too interested?”
Jace Brown almost smiled. “Sure. Several of the moms. And, yeah, the Hooligans have a fan base. They’re good, you know?”
“If you were to think about it, do you think you could recall a man who might have been watching—maybe several times?” Bruce asked.
Jace Brown wiped his face and glanced down the bar. A young couple had just taken two of the stools. “I gotta work,” he said. “The owner here...he knew Lili. He’d have given me time off, but...I gotta pay the rent.” He paused and frowned, looking from Bruce to Sophie. “I have pictures from the performances. You can see a lot of people standing around. When I’m home, I can email you everything—all digital. I’m not sure I’d know a suspicious character...but I don’t know, I’d do anything to help... I loved her,” he said, ending with a whisper.
“That would be deeply appreciated,” Sophie said, producing her card. He quickly put it in his pocket.
“I’m off days,” he said. “So I could do auditions with Lili, when something came up. Kenneth is great like that—he wanted people to succeed. If you need me tomorrow, just let me know.”
They both thanked him and headed out.
On the street, Sophie consulted her case notes again. “The ex, Ian Sanders, lives in Burbank. The detective who questioned him said that he had an airtight alibi. He’s a guitarist—he was playing up in San Francisco over the weekend and didn’t even get back into town until Monday morning.”
“You still want to see him?”
Sophie sighed. “You’ll probably think I’m obsessive.”
“We can all be that way on a case.”
He realized that her quirks—and dedication—were part of what made her so fascinating to him. Beyond the obvious—she was a compact design of fitness and perfection, with a killer smile, gorgeous eyes and a sweet sensuality that haunted a man, no matter how cool and professional her demeanor—she simply had a mind that was equally as stunning. She cared. She loved her work, served justice and was determined to be a good cop—not for the accolades, but for people.
“After Burbank, we call it a night. Yeah, the powers that be have put the FBI in on this, but I’m not even FBI—I’m a consultant. And I’m not having Vining kicking me off the case, okay?”
She nodded. “No, we won’t have Vining kick you off the case. I’ll act like a normal cop and go to sleep at night.”
* * *
Ian Sanders lived in a garage apartment at a house on Burbank Road. It was about eight when they arrived—not that late.
The apartment was dark.
Sophie looked at Bruce, and Bruce shrugged and knocked.
Nothing.
He knocked harder.
A woman with wild blond hair answered the door, barely clad in a bright green kimono. She stared at them balefully.
“What? Who are you? What the hell do you want?” she demanded.
Sophie introduced herself and Bruce, producing her credentials. “We need to speak with Ian Sanders. Is he here?”
“No! And I’m sick of this shit—cops have already been all over us because of that whore he was dating.”
“Allison!”
The woman’s name was called sharply by a male voice.
Ian Sanders appeared at the door in briefs; it was apparent that the two had been in bed. Sleeping or not, Bruce wasn’t sure.
But he didn’t like Allison, so he didn’t care much if they had been sleeping or not.
“I believe you’re referring to Lili Montana, who was brutally murdered, miss, and liked and admired a great deal by everyone else we’ve spoken to,” Bruce said pleasantly. He looked at the man then. “Ian Sanders, our apologies.”
“But we do need to speak with you,” Sophie said.
“Of course. Anything,” he said softly.
He stepped outside.
Allison slammed the door behind him.
“I’m sorry. This has unsettled Allison.”
“So we see,” Bruce said.
“I’m sorry,” Ian Sanders repeated. He was tall and blond—a beach-boy type. “Lili... I still love Lili,” he said softly. “Always will.” He inhaled. “I never thought that we’d stay split up. We had one of those fights about the future. I—I wanted marriage. She wanted a little more time. I supported her in the Hooligans. Lili wanted more. I went away one weekend—we weren’t living together, but we were still talking. She didn’t cheat on me or anything. We were technically split up. But...when I came back, she’d found a new guy, and...well, I admit, I spied on them. And they were happy. And I...” He glanced toward his door. “I don’t guess this will last.”
“Sorry,” Sophie murmured.
“How can I help you? I spoke with detectives right after...right after they discovered it was Lili. I...wasn’t here when she was...killed.”
“We know that. We’re hoping that you might know something about the person she was supposed to meet, or how she might have met him. Frankly, we’re hoping for anything. We have discovered a studio where she was the night she died, but we’re falling short on leads from there.”
“I...wow. We’ve been split up a couple months, you know. I don’t think that...” He paused, thinking again. Then he frowned and said, “She did tell me once...ah, man, had to have been about eight or nine weeks or so ago now...”
“That’s okay, tell us, please,” Bruce said.
“Well, she did tell me that she might have finally made a great connection at...at...”
“At?” Sophie pressed gently.
“Sorry, I’m trying to remember. Oh, yeah! They did a performance in a cemetery—the Hollywood Hooligans did. It was really cool. You know, some people think all that is disrespectful, but I like it. It means that we remember and honor the dead while we’re living, and with happiness.”
“I understand that,” Sophie assured him with a smile. She glanced at Bruce.
Somewhere “weird.”
“Well, this is an old, old place near downtown,” Ian said. “The property is privately owned by some company that specializes in preserving old churches and cemeteries. I don’t remember the name, but I know you can find it. Once you’re on Olvera Street, you just head south and then west...” Ian drew them a map in the air. “There was an old church there and an old burial ground. Started with the Spaniards, and then the Mexicans, and then...well, I don’t know, but it’s old. And the Hollywood Hooligans did a special Saturday night performance there for one of those service clubs. I was actually there, and I didn’t see who she was talking about, but when we came home that night, she was revved. He’d said that he wasn’t quite ready yet, but that he’d find her when he was—he said he grew up here and wanted to be independent. He was coming into some money and had an amazing indie project and she just might be perfect for it.”
“We’ll find the place,” Sophie assured him. She handed him a card. “Call if you think of anything. I’m so sorry to have bothered you this late.”
Ian Sanders shook his head.
“No, it’s fine,” he said. “A part of me will always love Lili. Please, get this bastard...”
“We will find him,” Bruce said firmly.
Ian went back in. Sophie and Bruce headed to the car.
“It’s a bit awkward, interrupting someone like that,” Sophie murmured.
“I think we did him a favor. I’m betting that he got himself involved with the kind of woman who would not be his usual mate, and that we might have let him know tonight just how hard a person she might be.”
Sophie glanced at him and grinned. “You mean he’s going to ditch that bitch now.”
“Something like that,” he said, grinning, too.
“Cemetery, burial ground, old church...”
“By daylight,” Bruce said.
“But what if he has another woman there? He killed two people in two days...”
“And now he’s lying low.”
“We have to go see it.”
“We’ll drive by.”
Bruce drove; Sophie had her phone out.
“It’s called St. Augustus of the Lambs...according to this, it’s owned by a company called ‘Everlasting.’ They specialize in saving old things, just as Ian told us. For the upkeep, they rent out churches, burial grounds and other ‘salvaged’ places and institutions by renting out for parties, theatricals, and—get this—even weddings.”
“And the exact address? I’m trying to follow Ian’s finger map, but...”
She laughed and read off the street address.
Traffic was heavy; the highway was jammed. Bruce pulled off to weave his way through the streets.
Eventually, south side of downtown, he found the address. Sophie quickly hopped out of the car.
She was looking up at the old iron and stone archway that announced the church and the burial ground.
She rushed to the gate.
“Locked,” she said. “Padlocked. Look, Bruce, you can see the old church just down that path. And the family vaults and mausoleums...it looks like there are a ton of them, like something you might see in New Orleans...”
“I think that was a Spanish style,” Bruce said. “If I remember right, Spain was in charge when the old St. Louis Cathedral was built in New Orleans...and this would have been a Spanish mission originally here.”
“There are a few floodlights on,” she murmured.
He read off the sign on the gate. “It’s open from 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.”
She looked at him. “Let’s climb over the fence.”
“Sophie! You’re the cop. If we don’t have a warrant...”
She cupped a hand to her ear. “I really might hear screaming.”
He groaned.
But he was coming to know Sophie.
“Let me go first. I’m taller. I’ll get better leverage. Not at the gate—not at that arch. I can hop up on the wall, and get over, and pull you up.”
She smiled widely.
“Let’s go!”
He didn’t feel good about what they were doing; he prayed this wouldn’t come back to haunt them.
Then again...
It was a graveyard.
Who might just have hung around here after death...
And who, among the dead, might have something to say?