Hollywood Jury by M. Z. Kelly

Author:M. Z. Kelly [Kelly, M. Z.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kingston Roads Press
Published: 2015-05-05T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-THREE

After booking Leo Dole, Pearl and I went back to the station where we told Oz what we’d learned. “The dorm manger eventually admitted that our suspect, who went by the name Bill or Bob Kline, was in the building almost a week before he murdered Amanda Ripley.”

“No doubt casing the place,” Pearl added. “I’m going to contact Detective Payton and let her know what we’ve got. There should be additional footage of him in the building on that date they can access.”

“I had Molly run record checks on the name he gave,” I said. “There’s nothing in the system that was a hit.”

Oz tugged at his collar, twisted his bow tie. He looked exhausted. “Let’s also follow up on this with Lester Sherman’s mother tomorrow. Maybe she can tie her son to the images of our suspect.”

Before we left the lieutenant’s office, Pearl asked him about Ted. “His girlfriend still hasn’t seen him. He’s in the wind. I’m afraid it’s with IAD now.”

After we got back to our desks, I called Pearce Landon and made arrangements for him to meet me in the San Fernando Valley. I stopped at a coffee shop on the way and got myself a latte with an extra shot of caffeine. It was the only thing keeping me going as I met up with Landon in front a small bungalow on the outskirts of Van Nuys where the former owners of the Downtown Bakery lived.

“I’m not even going to ask you how your day was,” Landon said, glancing at me before we walked to the door.

I realized that after being up all night, chasing after Ted, and working our case, I probably looked like hell. “That would be a wise decision on your part.” I then took a line from what Pearl had said the other day and put my own spin on it. “If mama had told me there would be days like this, I would have shot mama and then myself.”

After ringing the doorbell twice, Nancy Bradley finally came to the door. She was in her late sixties and heavyset, with thinning gray hair. After introductions, I took a moment and explained why we were there.

“That all happened almost twenty years ago,” Bradley said, trying to push the door closed. “I don’t have anything more to say about it.”

I pushed back, holding the door open. “Please just give us a couple of minutes. Carl Hanson is going to die unless we uncover something to help him.”

Her eyes held on me for a long moment. It was obvious that she didn’t want to talk, but she finally, reluctantly, agreed to give us five minutes. We were allowed inside where we took seats on a sofa in her small living room. I saw that the house was cluttered with photographs and memorabilia in that way older people sometimes have. There was a photograph of a smiling Nancy Bradley and her husband on a nearby coffee table that was probably taken around the time Carl Hanson’s life had been forever changed.

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