Hollywood Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

You’re welcome to sit in on the discussion, if you’d like.”
    “Count me in.”
    I got Bernie on his leash and we walked up the street. The night was damp and cool. I glanced down the road, now seeing the press had already arrived and was beginning to set up behind the police lines. As we got closer, I recognized one of the reporters as the woman Leo and I were supposed to work with on our upcoming TV show.
    Shelia Woods worked for the Sentinel Dispatch and a cable news show called Blast TV. She’d been given special permission by our police chief, Bradley East, to work on the TV show with us. If I was a cynic, I might have thought Woods had been given the assignment because she looked like a supermodel and our big moose of a chief was smitten with her. Since I don’t consider myself a cynic, all I could do was assume Woods had won the LAPD lottery.
    “Detectives,” Woods called over to us. “What can you tell me about what happened here?”
    Since we were destined to work together, I stopped and said, “We just got the call, so there isn’t really anything we can tell you at this time.”
    Woods came closer. Even though it was the middle of the night, her blonde hair and makeup were flawless. It also looked like she was wearing a designer outfit from one of those stores on Rodeo Boulevard that I felt guilty about even browsing in.
    “The victim…” She looked at a notepad. “…Maria Chavez.” Her blue-gray eyes met me again. “I understand she was decapitated.”
    I shrugged, giving nothing up. “Then you know as much as we do.” I started to walk away.
    “Can we meet tomorrow morning on the Potter case? The production staff is ready to go.”
    I stopped and dragged a hand through my messy hair, wondering why my brother, who is a hairdresser, couldn’t do something similar to the reporter’s luxurious coiffure. “We’ll talk to our lieutenant and let you know.”
    When we walked away, I whispered to Leo. “Could you just shoot me now, Dr. Kingsley.”
    He smiled. “You aren’t taking the easy way out.”
    When we got to the residence, a sprawling white-washed Spanish colonial, we met up with Hall and Peters, who were talking to one of the patrol officers. Darby Hall, a middle-aged detective with dark hair and muddy brown eyes, asked the officer to repeat what he’d already told them for our benefit.
    “The vic was the maid, Maria Chavez,” the youthful officer told us. “She was found in the kitchen by her sister. No head, lots of blood. The sister’s name is Paula Ramirez.” He motioned to a dark-haired woman who was with another officer. “She’s pretty torn up.”
    “What about the family who lives here?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “A Vincent and Allison Marsh, and their two kids. Gone missing. Ramirez says nobody was home when she got here. She can’t explain where they might have gone. The couple’s got two cars registered in their names: a BMW that’s missing, and a mini-van that’s in the garage.”
    We thanked him and walked over to our victim’s sister. Since Melvina, or Mel as everyone called her, spoke Spanish, we waited while she introduced herself and had a brief conversation with Paula Ramirez.
    After chatting with the distraught woman for a couple of minutes, Mel filled us in on what she’d learned. “She says her sister has worked with the Marsh family for a couple of years. She usually got off at ten and came straight home. Ramirez got worried when Maria didn’t answer her phone, and drove over here. The front door was cracked open, so she went inside. She positively identified the body as her sister by the tattoo of a cross on her arm.”
    “Did she say anything about Maria’s relationship with the family?” Leo asked.
    Mel brushed her hair out of her eyes. The detective was in her mid-thirties, attractive and slender. “She said as far as she knows it was good. The husband, Vincent, works for a law firm in downtown Los Angeles. The wife doesn’t work.”