Authors: M.Z. Kelly
Leo and I exchanged glances again, realizing that what Dr. Castillo was telling us made it likely that our crime was even stranger than we could have imagined.
“Our crime analyst did some research on the Day of the Dead,” I said. “She came up with the name Catrina for the female figure that I think you’re referring to.”
Castillo shook her head. “La Calavera Catrina was a likeness, using a female skeleton that was dressed in a similar manner to an upper class European woman during an earlier era. It was intended as a satire of a Mexican woman, whom the artist felt has aspirations of adopting European traditions. While that image is the modern day prototype for the female figure representing the goddess of the dead, I believe the elements of your crime, especially involving the removal of the flesh and the heart, are more rudimentary, suggesting whoever was involved has some knowledge of the historical background of the traditions.”
Leo scribbled notes in his pad and asked, “Do you think we’re dealing with someone who is highly educated, maybe an expert in this area?”
“Perhaps. But it’s impossible to say without more information.”
I took a moment to process what she’d said. The idea that we had a modern day killer, recreating an Aztec myth that was several hundred years old, seemed incredible. I then remembered serial killers often engaged in strange practices and beliefs.
I recalled reading about a killer named Edward Gein, who exhumed corpses from a local graveyard and fashioned trophies from their body parts. Then there was David Berkowitz, who went on a killing spree in the 1970s, claiming he was acting at the behest of a demon. There were also a host of psychotic killers that I’d personally dealt with over the years, many with bizarre beliefs. I decided to keep an open mind about what Castillo was suggesting.
“What can you tell us about the removal of the victim’s heart?” Leo asked.
“In the Aztec culture the ritual sacrifice was done by a priest, who would use a ceremonial knife. As in your case, a cut was made through the abdomen. The priest would then grab the heart and tear it out, while it was still beating. Some reports suggest that, in some locations, thousands of sacrifices were made over the span of a few days.” Her gaze moved between the both of us. “Your crime has similarities to the modern Day of the Dead ritual, based on the way the victim was dressed. But I believe the removal of her heart is a further indication that your crime has its roots in early Aztec mythology.”
“What about the writing?” Leo asked. “What do you think he was trying to tell us?”
“I believe the message is about power and control,” Castillo said. “The biblical reference left inside your victim references light and darkness, peace and evil. You are dealing with a megalomaniac who believes he has the power of God, controlling who lives and dies.”
Leo glanced at his notes. “What else can you tell us about this Aztec myth?”
“As I mentioned, the Queen of Mictlan was said to preside over the underworld. That is a place that is hidden from the everyday world. This kingdom was said to be ruled by Hades, a ruler whose only purpose is to deliver souls to the underworld.”
The room was silent as Leo scribbled notes again. When Castillo didn’t continue, I asked, “Do you think whoever did this sees himself as someone who is part of this underworld?”
“Perhaps. We’ll know more after the next victim.”
My brows came together. “Are you saying this killer will strike again?”
“Let me be frank. My specialty is a field not unlike yours. While you deal with homicide in the present tense, I deal with the murders of the past, sometimes in its starkest and most brutal form. This killing revisits those ancient beliefs in human sacrifice as an offering to the gods. Whoever is behind this isn’t finished. It’s my belief that you are dealing with a monster of mythic proportions.”
Leo and I were in the courtyard outside the professor’s office, where we stopped and took a moment to process what we’d learned.
While Bernie sniffed along the sidewalk, I said, “I think we need to have Selfie and Molly scour the databases again to see if anything comes close to our crime.”
Leo raised his brows. “Maybe we’ve got someone out there who thinks of himself as an Aztec priest.”
“Someone making a sacrifice to the gods?”
“It could be. All I know is that Dr. Castillo is an expert in her field. I think what she said has a lot of credence.”
“Any way you slice it, our suspect has to be about as deranged as they come. Maybe he’s acting out some past trauma.” What I’d said about the past and trauma triggered something for me. I decided that I needed to talk to Dr. Castillo again, but I didn’t want Leo present when I did it. “I’d like to go back upstairs and ask Dr. Castillo about something that just occurred to me. Would you mind walking Bernie for a minute?”
Leo took his leash. “Sure. I could use a break.”
I handed over Bernie’s lead. “It was pretty heavy stuff.”
I made my way back upstairs and knocked on the frame of Dr. Castillo’s open door. When she looked up, I said, “Sorry to bother you again. If you’ve got a moment, I’d like to ask you about something that just came to mind.”
“Of course.” She motioned to a chair. “I’ve got a couple of minutes before my next class. Please have a seat.”
I took a moment to settle in again, trying to decide how to ask her what was on my mind. “Given your expertise, I thought…” My gaze moved off. “This has nothing to do with our prior conversation.” I met her eyes. “Have you ever heard of a secret organization in Hollywood called the Revelation?”
Dr. Castillo leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “The Revelation.”
I nodded. “It supposedly goes back over thirty years. Their members are said to have control over the studios and the stars. I’ve heard rumors about them using initiation rites, secret passwords, and violence against anyone who crosses them.”
Castillo’s eyes remained fixed on me. “Are you asking because of a case you’re working?”
I didn’t want to go into all the details about Jean Winslow’s and my father’s deaths. “My inquiry is personal. I may know someone who has ties to the group.”
She stood up and walked over to a table in front of the window that had a pitcher and some glasses. “Would you care for a glass of water?”
I accepted her offering. After a moment, she came back over to her desk, handed me a glass, and said, “As you may have guessed by now, I have an interest in all things related to the past, including culture, clandestine organizations, and cults. The Revelation is familiar to me.”
“What can you tell me about the group?”
She sat back down. “From what I know, back in the early days of Hollywood, the Revelation did have a lot of control over the studios and the stars. Over the years, much of that control has waned. The organization has changed and gone underground, with just a few players still involved.”
“When you say ‘changed’, can you tell me what you mean?”
She studied me for a moment. “Have you ever heard of a man named Harlan Ryland?”
My pulse quickened. I knew the name because my new age adoptive mother had gone on a retreat at Ryland’s so-called spiritual center a few months back. “He’s the head of the Tauist Society.”
“Yes. Mr. Ryland was the original founder of the Revelation.”
I felt my adrenaline surging now, maybe another piece of the puzzle about my love-dad’s death coming into play. And then a question came to me: Had my mother known about the Revelation and of Ryland’s involvement in the group? She’d made a point of going to the Tauist retreat. Did she have some connection to Ryland that she’d kept from me?
“What can you tell me about Ryland and his connections to the group?”
Castillo sipped her drink, then said, “As you might know, the Revelation believed in a form of enlightenment and that they would eventually take over and change society. At one time, they had adherents throughout the country. About twenty years ago, there was a lot of infighting and the Revelation began to splinter and disintegrate. Ryland split off from the original founders and created his Tauist Society. Their beliefs are similar to those of the Revelation.”
I took a moment to process what she’d said, still wondering what my mother knew about the group. “The other original members. Do you know who was involved and what happened to them?”
“All I know is rumors about what happened. It’s my understanding that some of them went away under suspicious circumstances.” Castillo set her glass down. “One of those members was a man named Donald Regis.”
“The head of Wallace Studios.”
Castillo nodded. “He recently committed suicide.”
“
Supposedly
committed suicide.” My adrenaline was really pumping now. “According to what I heard, he may have had issues with a man named Kellen Malone, who was also part of the Revelation. They were both said to have been involved with the actress Jean Winslow at one time. There’s been some speculation that Malone may have been behind Regis’ death.”
Castillo shrugged and her brows went up. “I’ve heard the rumors about Winslow, but I’ve never heard of Malone.”
“Are you sure? He and my fath…” I took a breath, realizing that if I was going to find out everything she knew, I would need to be honest and tell her about my family circumstances. “There’s a lot more to this story than I’ve told you. It’s going to take me some time to fill you in on everything. I’m not sure when your next class is scheduled to begin.”
Castillo glanced at a clock on the wall. “I’m actually running a little late. Maybe we could get together for dinner tomorrow night, if you’re free. There’s a lot more I can tell you about Ryland and his connections to the Revelation.”
***
When I got back downstairs, Leo asked me about my conversation with the professor. I took Bernie’s leash and we began walking to our car, as I said, “I just wanted to be sure I understood what she’d told us about the crime as it relates to mythology.” I saw his gaze hold on me out of the corner of my eye.
“You sure there was nothing more?” he asked.
“I’m sure.”
I hadn’t told Leo about my discussion with Dr. Castillo because I still wasn’t ready to discuss the photograph I’d found of Lieutenant Oz with him. I knew I would eventually need to have that discussion with both him and Oz, but I wanted to be sure I had as many facts as possible before I took that next step. I also still had my concerns about whether or not Leo would tip Oz off about everything.”
When we got to our car, I got a call from Buck that I put on speaker so Leo could also hear what he had to say. “We just talked to the DA on Gooseberry. He’s decided not to file charges against him on the death of Howard Slade. He said the evidence that he killed his manager is circumstantial. We’re going to have to dig a lot deeper if we’re going to make anything stick.”
“It looks like it’s back to square one,” I said.
“He’s being released as we speak. His attorney, Preston Shepherd, is holding a press conference, telling everyone that his client is innocent.”
Shepherd was almost as big a sleaze as Mean Gene. “Leo and I are leaving UCLA now. What’s your twenty?”
“We’re heading over to Crime Scene LA to talk to the owner. We’re about fifteen out if you want to meet us there.”
I looked at Leo. He nodded. “See you in a few.”
After I ended the call, I asked Leo, “What do you know about the Internet site?”
“I’ve just heard a couple rumors about them sensationalizing a lot of stuff. Nothing very good.”
I’d googled the company on my iPhone and read him some information about its owner that I pulled up. “Jilly Montrose is an investigative journalist and author. She’s written stories about high profile cases throughout the United States. She’s considered an expert in her field and has testified in several murder cases.”
“Just what the world needs,” Leo said. “One more expert in her field.”
“I’d settle for an amateur who had something else that seems to be sorely missing these days—ethics.”
As it turned out, our high profile investigative journalist had less than high profile office space. Crime Scene LA was located in a small apartment above a bar called Swinks on the outskirts of Culver City. It was a high crime area, full of gangs and violence, that maybe provided fodder for the website.
After making an inquiry at the bar, the four of us tramped up a narrow hallway. Darby, who didn’t know the meaning of subtlety, pounded a fist on the door and announced, “Police!”
“What’s this about?” Jilly Montrose said, after opening the door to an apartment that I saw over her shoulder was full of cats. The reporter was around thirty, with dark hair and brown eyes. She looked like she’d just gotten out of bed and smelled faintly of alcohol. I wondered if she spent a lot of her time downstairs. I tugged on Bernie’s leash, but he didn’t react to Montrose’s furry friends, instead remaining on alert as he was trained.
“Our crime analyst has already talked to you,” Darby barked. “So, you know damn well this is about evidence you obtained that’s critical to a murder case. We want to know who sent you the video of our victim.”
“Oh, that. Sorry, it’s privileged information.”
Darby continued, now raising his voice. “There’s nothing privileged about it. You either give up your source, or we’ll get a fucking court order and seize every laptop, iPad, cell phone, and piece of paper in this shit hole.” He glanced into the apartment. “Then we’ll call animal control.”
Montrose tried to push the door closed, at the same time I saw there were tears in her eyes.
Darby stuck out a foot. “I’m not kidding.”
“Sorry.” Montrose pushed harder, now succeeding in closing the door.
We all stood in the hallway. “What the hell do we do now?” Darby groused.
As usual, the pudgy little detective had pushed his weight around, with no results.
I handed Bernie’s leash to Leo. “Let me give it one more try before we call a judge.” I looked over at our little blowhard companion. “I’ll meet you all downstairs.”
Darby followed the others downstairs, grousing about this being a waste of time and calling a judge.
After they were gone, I tried the door again. I heard Montrose say, “Go away.” Her voice was reedy, full of emotion.
“Please. Just give me ten minutes, then I’ll leave. It’s just me, Detective Sexton. Everyone else is gone.”
I waited almost a full minute, then heard the lock turn. The door cracked open.
“Are you sure the others aren’t with you?” she asked.
“It’s just me.”
The door swung a foot wider and Montrose regarded me. “I still don’t have anything to say.”
I nodded. “Okay. Just give me a couple of minutes.”
She opened the door, closing it quickly after I entered so that the cats wouldn’t escape. We then went over and took seats at a small table near her kitchen. The cluttered apartment looked like it consisted of only two rooms and a bath. I had the impression Montrose slept on the couch.
“I see you like cats,” I said, making small talk and trying to further defuse things.
Her eyes brightened a bit. “They’re my babies.”
“How many do you have?”
“Just four. They’re strays. The bar won’t let me have any more.”
“It’s nice that you’re giving them a home.”
She nodded and exhaled. “I know what it’s like to be homeless.”
I had the impression that things hadn’t been easy for Jilly Montrose. She seemed fragile, almost childlike in some ways, despite her online persona.
“Let me tell you why we’re here, Jilly.” I met her sullen eyes. “Can I call you Jilly?” After a nod, I went on. “What happened to the girl—her name was Sylvia—it was terrible and we want to stop whoever was involved.”
She held on my eyes. “What can you tell me about the case?”
I took a moment, knowing that I was at a crossroads. If I agreed to give her information, she might cooperate. If I didn’t, I’d probably get about as far as Darby. I settled on trying to find some middle ground. “There’s not a lot I can tell you at this point. We just have to stop him.”
“Why…why do you think he did that to the girl?”
“I think he’s deeply disturbed, Jilly. And you can help me stop him.”
Her gaze lowered and she said, “I’ve read about some of your past cases.” Her eyes came back up to me. “I even have a scrapbook. You’ve done some amazing work.”
I smiled. “It’s a team effort. I work with some good people.” I thought about Darby, then added, “With one or two exceptions.”
“Your partner’s a jerk.”
“He’s not my partner, but you’re right, he needs to loosen up.” I held on her eyes. “Will you help me?”
She nodded. “I will, if you give me an exclusive interview when everything’s over.”
“I’ll have to clear it with my boss, then I’m all yours.”
She went over and got her laptop. She sat down and opened it. “The email was sent early in the morning the night the girl was killed.” She exhaled as her fingers danced across the keyboard. “I made the mistake of saving it and then sending it to a friend. He forwarded it and the media outlets eventually picked it up.” She turned the screen so that I could see the original email. “I have a program that allows me to trace email addresses. It came from some guy named Osgood. He lives in Hollywood.”