Authors: M. Z. Kelly
Hollywood Murder
HOLLYWOOD MURDER
MZ Kelly
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TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Collin Russell pointed a gun at my head.
The man, who I’d at one time thought might be my biological father, had been a friend of my deceased mother. He had a son named Kellen Malone, who had possibly killed the man who raised me, along with Jean Winslow, one of the most famous stars in Hollywood history.
“Don’t do this,” I said, at the same time thinking about my boyfriend. After years of loneliness and bad choices in relationships, I’d finally put my shattered personal life back together. Noah and I had recently professed our love to one another. Our future together was now in the hands of the madman holding me at gunpoint.
Russell’s hand tensed on the weapon. “I’m sorry.”
I waited for the bullet that would crash into my skull, ending my life and my dreams for the future. Russell’s attention appeared to shift for an instant. I saw a slight tremor and his hand relaxed. He dropped the gun. It bounced on the tile floor and skidded away from him.
Tears sprang from my adversary’s eyes. “I don’t know what possessed me.”
I scrambled over and got the weapon, at the same time Russell fell on his knees, sobbing like a child.
I held the gun on him, taking several deep breaths and trying to steady my nerves. I thought about my options. I could call for a police unit and have him arrested for attempted murder, but I knew how the system worked. Russell was a billionaire philanthropist. Given his wealth and influence, he’d likely go down for a lesser charge, maybe even be released on probation for attempted assault.
I decided to use the weapon as a communication tool. There’s nothing like the motivation that comes from pointing a gun at someone to loosen their lips.
I motioned to a table in the corner of the sunroom. “Let’s have a little chat.”
“I need a moment,” Russell said. He went over, found some tissues, and blew his nose. I followed him just to make sure he didn’t have a change of heart and another gun.
I should probably explain how I ended up in a Malibu mansion, narrowly escaping death at the hands of Collin Russell, while trying to find a killer. For that you’re going to need some background.
My name is Kate Sexton. I’m a detective with LAPD’s Robbery Homicide Division or RHD. My canine partner Bernie and I are assigned to Section One, a homicide unit that operates out of Hollywood Station and handles some of the department’s highest profile cases. Bernie, a cross between a German Shepherd and an unknown species, possibly related to the
Star Wars
creature Chewbacca, is the first ever canine assigned to RHD. When he isn’t taking down bad guys my big dog is always looking for trouble in the form of love. He’d already sired a couple of love puppies and I had my doubts that he had finished sowing his wild oats.
Bernie was spending the day with my best friends, Natalie and Mo, who live next door to us, at the Barkley Bungalows, an apartment complex in North Hollywood. Natalie’s in her early twenties, British, and gorgeous, with a mouth that would make a Las Vegas comedian blush. Mo is her opposite. She’s African-American and heavyset, with an attitude that makes the women on those real housewives TV shows look tame by comparison. My friends work as part-time actors on a sitcom called
Hollywood Girlz
and as private investigators known as the Sweet Sistahs. They try to insert themselves into my cases every chance they get, not to mention my personal life, which, thanks to Noah, was finally back on track.
Russell finished drying his eyes and went over to the table with me. I’d come here wanting answers about Kellen Malone, who I’d just learned was Russell’s son, and might possibly be responsible for ordering the murder of John Sexton, the man who raised me.
When we were seated, I said, “Tell me about your son.”
“Kellen.” He sighed. “Where do I begin?”
“I want to hear everything.”
Russell brushed his thinning gray hair off his forehead. He was in his sixties, tall, with green eyes and olive skin. The similarities in our height and features were part of the reason I’d previously thought he might be my biological father. The one-time actor had appeared in some movies with my deceased mother, Judie Crawford, about three decades earlier.
“As you know, I was married before I came to terms with my sexuality,” Russell said. “After I came out, my marriage ended along with my relationship with Kellen.”
“Because he didn’t accept that you’re gay?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to my son…” He sighed and choked up, “…since he threatened to kill me if I ever told anyone I was his father.”
My eyebrows inched closer together. “I don’t understand. What destroyed your relationship with your son?”
Russell controlled his emotions and his watery eyes fixed on me. “My son is a monster.”
“Tell me about him.” I still had the weapon in my hand but lowered it, concealing it beneath the table.
Russell made a chortling sound that fell short of laughter. He started to say something about his son’s wealth and influence, but stopped in mid-sentence, “This is all about John, isn’t it?”
Russell knew that I’d recently learned that John Sexton was not my biological father. My love-dad, as I call him, had been involved with my bio-mom, Judie Crawford, at one time. After they’d broken up, Judie had gotten pregnant by another man and had given birth to me.
Judie’s mentally unstable former boyfriend and future husband, Ryan Cooper, had subsequently come back into her life. She was so concerned that Cooper might harm both her and me if he ever learned she’d given birth while they were estranged that she’d made the life-altering decision to give me to my love-dad to raise. Four years after I was born, he was gunned down by Cooper in a local park right in front of me. I’d come to believe that he’d been killed in a jealous rage after Cooper learned that my mother had been romantically involved with him at one time. I’d only recently learned that his death might have been part of a conspiracy to cover up the murder of the actress, Jean Winslow.
I confirmed what Russell had speculated, adding, “John Sexton raised me and I want to know who, besides Ryan Cooper, was involved in his death.” When he didn’t respond, I said, “Tell me how your son fits into the picture. I know he was involved with Jean Winslow at one time.”
Russell took a moment, his gaze drifting over to the easels set up in his sunroom. He was a painter, of a sort. The room was cluttered with works in progress and art supplies. He finally looked back at me and said, “My son and Donald Regis stopped at nothing to control the studios and the stars back in the 1980s. It’s just a guess on my part, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Jean became the prize both men coveted and she ended up paying the price.”
Donald Regis was a Hollywood producer. He’d recently committed suicide, but I suspected someone might have helped him along with that process. Jean Winslow’s death had also been officially ruled a suicide back in the early 1980s, but there had been lots of speculation to the contrary over the years. “Do you think Winslow was murdered?”
He shrugged. “I have no personal knowledge about what happened, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”
I had reason to believe that my love-dad might have found out Winslow’s death hadn’t been a suicide and that either Donald Regis or Kellen Malone had murdered her. My dad had been a police officer and worked part-time at the studios doing security work where he’d befriended Winslow. I’d also learned that Ryan Cooper, who worked at the studios as a make-up artist, had connections to Regis.
“Do you think your son could have killed John Sexton to cover up Winslow’s death?”
“Anything’s possible, but I have no way of knowing and it wouldn’t be healthy for me to speculate.”
I held on his eyes until he flinched, his gaze moving off. “You’re afraid of him—your son.”
He looked back at me and nodded. “Please do me a favor and never tell anyone that we talked. It wouldn’t be healthy for me.”
I agreed to keep our conversation confidential, for now. I thought about the letters that Russell had given me when we’d previously talked. My mother had written three letters, giving them to him, with instructions that, in the event of her death, he was to give them to me if I ever found him.
Those letters confirmed that John Sexton, my love-dad, was not my biological father, something I’d already determined on my own. She’d also said that his murder was part of a cover-up, orchestrated at the highest levels in Hollywood, to silence what he knew about Jean Winslow’s death. My mother hadn’t revealed who my biological father was, but had made the cryptic comment that he’d made a vow never to reveal himself in order to protect me, whatever that meant. I’d learned she was planning to turn Ryan Cooper in to the authorities for abusing her, when he’d effectively ended her life by putting her in a coma. She later died in a convalescent hospital.
“What about my mother’s letters?” I said, “Were they authentic?”
“Oh my, yes. I kept my word to Judie all these years. I never read the letters.” He looked away from me and sighed. “I didn’t think you’d ever find out about my son, since Judie really didn’t know him.”
“What about my biological father?”
“As I told you before, I have no idea who he was. Judie made it clear that she wouldn’t talk about him.”
I felt deflated by what he’d said, but was still determined not to leave until I learned everything he knew. “Let’s cut to the chase. You said your son was a monster. What exactly did you mean?”
Russell blanched. He looked away from me and didn’t respond to my question. I decided he needed some prompting. “I’m willing to forget your earlier indiscretion when you nearly killed me, but only if you answer my question.”
The man, who a few moments earlier held my life in his hands, finally looked back at me. He leaned closer to me, lowered his voice, and said, “My son is part of the inner circle.”
My brows inched closer together. “What are you talking about?”
Russell’s gaze swam around the room for a moment and he lowered his voice even further until it was just above a whisper. “Kellen Malone is a member of the Revelation.”