“They’ll be doing signings at Horror-palooza tomorrow,” Bryan offered from his chair.
“We’ve been in touch with the convention organizers, who have arranged extra security. People will be on guard. We’ve spoken to the comic publisher who does Blood-bone. There are no approved licensed uses of the costume tomorrow—or for any of the days of the show. Stop anyone in a Blood-bone costume.”
Assent went around the room.
An officer cleared his throat. “Sir, if someone did just want Cara Barton dead with some kind of agenda in mind...well, we’re going to be hard put to find out more. It is just possible that the deaths are not related.”
“I almost guarantee you this is all related,” Jackson said. He was quiet for a minute. “What frightens me is we believe that this is just getting started.”
“Why?”
Vining decided to take the question.
“It may have started with a specific motive. A killer was hired, possibly to accomplish something in particular. But now, we believe he—or she—has killed of their own accord. And when you’ve hired a hit but then commit murder yourself...killing gets easier. Beyond the agenda, maybe.”
Again, there was silence in the room.
“So we watch out for Blood-bone. Anything else?” another officer asked.
“High security at the Dark Harbor booth at Horror-palooza,” Jackson said. “A watchful eye over the homes of the surviving actors. We are looking after Marnie Davante—she might have been the original target.”
“Because she was a holdout on the Dark Harbor update?” a different man asked. His fellows looked at him. “What? I read the covers of the magazines at the checkout counter at the grocery store!” he added quickly.
“We need eyes on Jeremy Highsmith, Roberta Alan and Grayson Adair. I will leave that to Detective Vining and your managing sergeants and lieutenants,” Jackson said.
“What about Marnie Davante?” someone asked. “She’s the one we’d all like to watch!”
Smiles went around—No, laughter.
“We have that covered,” Jackson said simply.
There were a few more random questions. Then another officer asked Jackson, “Sir, we’ve been taught we need three murders and a similar MO for a serial killer. Why is the FBI in on this situation?”
“We take all the help we can get,” Vining said flatly.
Jackson added, “This is a very particular, high-profile situation. We’re hoping we don’t have a serial killer and we can end this. For now, we’re trying to stop the situation from escalating.
“The LAPD is an excellent force. We’re simply added resources and manpower,” Jackson said. “We thank you for your cooperation.”
“Thank you all!” Vining said.
It ended. The officers broke off into groups and started to filter out.
One man approached Bryan.
“You’re not a cop or a fed, right? You’re the PI on the case?”
“That’s right.”
The young officer nodded and then offered his hand. “Jenkins. I don’t know if this is anything or not, but one of the men I spoke to—a fellow just off Barham—said that he thought the Blood-bone was a woman.”
“Really?” Bryan said, not sure if he was surprised or not.
“I have the contact information for you to follow up. He was vague with me. A woman or, in his words, ‘an old dude.’ Anyway, I thought you might want to question him further.”
He produced a piece of paper. It had a name, Ben Madrigal, an address and a phone number.
“I will talk with him. Thanks very much.”
“Of course. I told Vining. He said you would want to do the interview yourself.”
Bryan glanced over at Vining. He was giving officers instructions regarding the upcoming Horror-palooza. But Vining saw him look, and he inclined his head with a smile.
Thank you, Bryan mouthed.
A minute later, Vining came over to him. “I’ll want a report on the follow-up, of course.”
“Of course,” Bryan agreed. “Jackson and I will head there now.”
“What about Marnie? Er, Miss Davante?” Vining asked.
“Special Agent Hawkins is at the duplex,” Bryan said.
Jackson was near. “Angela may look like an angel, but trust me. She’s hell on wheels.”
“I guess you would know,” Vining acknowledged. “You work with her.”
“Yes, I do. And besides that, I married her,” Jackson said. He smiled. “If anyone is smart, they wouldn’t mess with her. Trust me. I know I don’t.”
“We’ll go speak with this witness right now,” Bryan told Vining.
“I’ll go with them,” Sophie Manning had heard them talking; she had walked over.
“I’ll be setting some schedules with the police. Oh, and on the rest of the Dark Harbor cast. We had patrol cars watch their homes.” Vining pulled out his phone. “Jeremy Highsmith was back in his house by about 3:00 p.m. Roberta Adair—3:30 p.m. with a large bag of groceries. Grayson Adair, 3:25 p.m. None of them have left their homes.”
“Thanks!” Bryan said.
“Shall we?” Jackson asked.
“I’ll drive,” Sophie said.
“I can drive,” Jackson said.
“It’s my neck of the woods. I know where I’m going!” Sophie said.
The two of them were heading out.
Bryan looked at Vining, who was grinning.
“Don’t worry,” Bryan said. “I don’t give a damn who drives. It will probably be me—they’ll still be arguing.”
*
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Aladdin, Alice in Wonderland...
Marnie was reading pros and cons on the production of various beloved plays for children’s theater when her phone rang.
Bridget was with her, discussing the merits of each and the possibility of her scripting a new play for children Marnie might use as her introductory piece.
Assuming her theater ever got off the ground.
Angela was at her computer, doing whatever she did at her computer.
The alarm was on.
George was sleeping at Marnie’s feet.
They’d all been so engrossed in their various tasks that they jumped at the sound of the phone.
“Man, I have that ringer loud,” Marnie said, answering the call.
“Marnie, hey, it’s David Neal.”
“Hi, David. How are you?” Marnie asked.
“Fine, fine. I was just in your neighborhood and wondered if I might stop by. I have something for you.”
“Oh?” Marnie asked.
Angela and Bridget were looking at her.
It was sad to her that any and every phone call had become suspect.
She covered the phone with her hand. “David Neal,” she said. “He has something for me.”
“What is it?” Angela asked skeptically.
“I’ve got a play for you,” David said, as if he had heard the question—or, most probably, just responding to her “Oh?”
It seemed coincidental. Then again, David might just want to be a good assistant, anticipating what she might be needing next.
“A play?”
“It’s a great play for children. It has an old wizard, a witch, a beautiful fairy and then roles for children. I mean, you’re not just planning on doing plays for children—you’re using them in your cast as well, right?”
“Both,” Marnie said.
“The playwright passed away in 1878. The play is public domain, and it’s truly wonderful. I saw it once when I was a kid in Nebraska. I couldn’t find it for ages—I couldn’t remember the title. And then I did. About a month ago, I ordered it from a theater shop in Chicago, and I received it this morning. I’d love for you to read it.”
His enthusiasm was contagious. “It sounds great. We were just discussing the play list. I’d love to read it, David.”
“Okay. I’ll be right by—if that’s convenient for you?”
“Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.”
“He’s bringing a play over?” Angela asked.
Marnie nodded. “You’re okay with that, right?”
“I am—since I’m here. He’s coming alone, right? And I have a Glock.”
“And we have George!” Bridget said.
“Yes, and we have George,” Angela said. She grinned. “The alarm won’t mean much since we intend to let him in. I’ll just let Jackson and Bryan know what’s going on.”
*
Ben Madrigal was quick to agree to see them when Bryan called. He was more than willing to help in any way.