Hollywood Assassin by M. Z. Kelly Read Free Book Online

protest off before it started. “Save it. I know you talked to Jack.”
    “He called you?”
    “Do me a favor. Let me make my own decisions.”
    Charlie’s gaze slid back to the Times . “Just don’t want to see you in any more trouble.” I tried not to show my annoyance as he went on. “Sources tell me Cassie Reynolds never met her father. Disappeared before she was born.”
    “Sources, huh?”
    Charlie chugged the last of the diet drink and then massaged his jaw. “Also heard that the records on the case are missing.”
    I glanced up from the booking paperwork, my brows lifting. “That’s interesting.”
    “Not really. Thirty-year-old case. Records get misplaced. Hollywood Division wasn’t even here back then.”
    There was another possibility he didn’t mention. The records could have been purposely destroyed—a cover-up.
    My partner’s cell phone rang. His voice softened as he answered it. “I want you to do your homework, honey.” He paused, shook his head. “Okay, I’m not gonna argue, but be home by nine. I should be on time tonight. I’ll make dinner and keep it warm for you.”
    Charlie ended the call and looked over at me. “Kid’s sixteen going on twenty-five.” He tossed his cell phone on his desk. “I even bought us both these fancy new idiot phones, thinking it would help with our communication.”
    Charlie showed me the latest version of the iPhone, his peace offering to an out of control teenager. I felt sorry for him being a single parent and trying to raise a daughter without any help.
    “It’s a difficult age,” I said. “Irma’s a nice enough kid.”
    “Wants a tattoo.”
    I dragged a hand through my damp hair. So much for Robin’s work.
    Charlie continued, “I Win.”
    “What?”
    “Irma Winkler—I Win. That’s the tattoo she wants.” Charlie went on about his daughter. Whatever their problems, at least Irma had a father who was there for her, unlike Cassie Reynolds. Her dad had been missing, maybe murdered, for almost thirty years.
    My own father had been killed when I was only four years old. I often thought about our relationship; what it would have been like if he’d lived. I was too young when he died to really remember him, but I had the impression that my father was the only stabilizing influence in our family, balancing out my mother’s eccentricities. I also harbored illusions, maybe like Cassie, that I’d someday find out who murdered him and bring the killer to justice.
    After Charlie finished his Irma rant, I changed the subject. “I wonder if there are any old timers from the force that were around when Cassie Reynolds’s father went missing?”
    From somewhere behind me I heard laughter. Charlie scratched his head and said, “Before my time.”
    The laughter grew louder. There was movement toward the windows overlooking the parking lot.
    “There is a guy…” Charlie said as we began moving toward the crowd of cops gathering at the windows, “first black cop to work Hollywood. I went to his retirement party a few years back. Took me a week to recover.”
    Someone at the window said,” He’s not gonna be able to keep ‘em up.”
    “Guy’s name is Pearl Kramer.” Charlie’s words drifted away as we reached the window.
    I now saw what the commotion was all about. “Oh, my God.”
    The transportation officers were trying to keep Harold Wiener’s pants from slipping down below his waist as he was escorted to the jail transport wagon. They were unsuccessful. To make matters worse, when he’d chosen his ensemble for the day, Mr. Wiener had decided to go commando.
    Charlie summed up the scene for all of us, “I guess Harry Wiener came by his name honestly.”

 
    Chapter Six
     
    A black Mercedes came within inches of Olive’s bumper, engine roaring. I hit the brakes and downshifted into a four wheel skid. We hit a berm, saving us from flying off into a canyon. A one-finger L.A. salute followed and the car was gone, racing around a