Video Kill

9


Lon smiled as he posed the fully articulated mannequin in the shower stall he’d ordered from the prop department. He was working late at the studio, shooting the test footage he’d promised for Erik and Tony. Lon enjoyed test shots. He often ran experiments with the new equipment that appeared on the market. He’d developed numerous techniques that would bring out the best of its qualities. Often the results were amazingly good, but most producers preferred to stick with standard equipment and conventional techniques. They simply had no imagination. Anything out of the ordinary, no matter how impressive, was suspect. At least Tony and Erik seemed eager to try something new and different. And they’d promised him he’d be in sole charge of the photography. It was a golden opportunity to do something different, something artistic, and perhaps even radical. Lon found himself wishing he could be a part of their Video Kill project, but something held him back. It wasn’t just the subject matter; he knew he could deal with that if he had to. It was a deep-down reluctance, some sort of psychological block that he couldn’t seem to overcome.

He had just finished setting up his shot when there was a knock at the door. Before he had time to call out, Diana Ellington opened it and stuck her head inside.

“Lon, darling! You’re working late.”

“So are you, Diana. Night shooting?”

Diana sighed and shook her head. “Dubbing. Will you invite me in? Or am I interrupting the genius at work?”

Diana smiled and swept her long eyelashes up to reveal her best asset, what people in the trade called her “bedroom” eyes. They were dark and widely spaced, creating a startling contrast with her delicate English peaches-and-cream coloring. One film reviewer had coined the phrase “bedroom eyes in a schoolmarm’s face.” And she was certainly using them on him tonight.

Lon laughed and motioned her in. “I’m just running some tests, Diana. Nothing critical. Coffee?”

“God forbid! I’ve been swilling the horrid stuff all day. I’d much rather have a nice, tall gin and tonic with a squeeze of lime. I’m into preventive medicine these days.”

“Preventive medicine?”

“Lon, darling . . .” Diana gave him a smoldering look. “Tonic is quinine water. For malaria, you know? I can be almost certain I’ll never come down with it.”

Lon laughed. “Very cute, Diana. Unfortunately, Cinescope didn’t see fit to equip me with a bar.”

“Oh well.” Diana sat down on a stool near Lon’s test set. “We’ll just have to pop out to the Polo Lounge when you’re through for the night. Go ahead, darling, finish up your work. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Lon shrugged. “Well, you could stand in for my mannequin if you don’t mind being stabbed in the back with a rubber knife.”

“I don’t mind.” Diana slid off the stool, giving Lon a flash of lovely tanned thigh. “It’s certainly not the first time I’ve been stabbed in the back in this business.”

Lon shot several takes, but it was difficult to keep his mind on his work. Diana had said she’d been dubbing, but she was dressed to kill in a baby blue silk dress that came barely to midthigh. And she was wearing full makeup. Most actresses who were scheduled for dubbing wore old comfortable clothes and no makeup. Diana looked smashing and extremely provocative. Although they’d worked together on a project in the past, she’d never dropped in on him at work before. It was clear she wanted something from him. There was only one way to find out. Lon cut the lights and picked up his jacket.

“Let’s go, Diana. My hands are beginning to shake. It might be the first symptom of malaria.”

Diana slid off the stool and moved so close that Lon could feel the heat from her body. “Perhaps, darling. But then, it may only be me.”





Tony and Sam sat on the couch watching the television screen. They were on their third or fourth pot of coffee—Tony’d lost count. They’d finished all the food except for one sardine that was staring at them, glassy-eyed, from the open tin. It was midnight and they’d watched the Sharee Lyons murder scene twice.

“You were right, Sam.” Tony clicked off the television. “I couldn’t find anything to point to an accomplice. When the killer’s on screen, the camera’s stationary.”

“And you still think he’s doing Hitchcock?”

Tony nodded emphatically. “There’s no question in my mind. The footage we just saw was pure Hitchcock, I’ll swear to it. I’m just amazed that the killer pulled it off with his self-imposed limitations.”

“You mean the fact that he’s working alone?”

“Yeah. It would take a hell of a lot of planning, Sam. He has to know Hitchcock, inside and out. And he’s got to be damn good with that camera.”

Sam poured himself a little more coffee and dumped in plenty of Cremora and sugar. “Do you think the Video Killer could be someone who actually worked for Hitchcock?”

“He’d be too old. Hitchcock died thirty years ago and this guy’s strong and athletic.” Tony clasped his hands together. They weren’t shaking as much now, but the upper he’d taken an hour ago had almost worn off. “I just don’t know, Sam. It’s like I said before, he could be a professional or he could be a very talented amateur. That’s not much to go on.”

Sam nodded ruefully. “If this were Fargo, North Dakota, it would be a lot easier. You can’t even walk down the street in L.A. without bumping into a director or a producer or a cameraman. And as far as videos go, forget it. They’ve taken the place of snapshots. Half the guys on the force have videos of their kids on their cell phones. ”

“Forget the video aspect.” Tony tried to put some energy in his voice. “Let’s concentrate on the victims. Female. Both of them. And did you notice how much Sharee Lyons looked like Janet Leigh in Psycho?”

“Sure.” Sam nodded. “And Tammara Welles was a ringer for Laura Elliott in Strangers on a Train. I already thought of that, Tony. I’m planning to go through all Hitchcock’s films to identify the female victims, and then I’ll try to contact any actresses who resemble them. It’s a big job, especially since Hitchcock made twenty-five feature films.”

“You’re only counting the American ones, Sam. He also made twenty-eight British films for a total of fifty-three. And that doesn’t count the special sequences he did for other directors.”

Sam sighed. “I can’t do it alone, Tony. That’s over a hundred hours of watching films, not to mention the time it’ll take to identify the look-alikes. And I don’t dare bring anyone in to help me while this whole thing is still under wraps.”

“Why all the secrecy, Sam? There must be a couple of guys in the department you can trust to help you.”

“Not really.” Sam sighed. “That’s how leaks happen, Tony. The only way to keep a secret in the detective business is to keep your mouth shut. I’ve already broken that rule by bringing you in.”

Sam looked so depressed, Tony couldn’t stand it. The least he could do was offer to help. Sam had done him a big favor by showing him the murder scenes and giving him permission to use what he’d seen in his script.

“Since I’m already on the inside, maybe I can do something. I know a guy who has a complete collection of Hitchcock films, including the ones that were never released in America. I’ll have him dupe them and then I’ll write out a plot synopsis and a list of the female victims. I still remember a lot from class, Sam, and I might even be able to dig up my notes. Once you have my list of movie victims, you can figure out some way to warn the actresses without giving too much away to the media.”

“Spoken like a true friend.” Sam smiled for the first time that night. “Archer does the legwork and Sam Spade gets the credit. How soon do you think you can get that list for me?”

“A week or two, maybe less.”

“Thanks, Tony, I’d really appreciate that.” Sam looked a little more cheerful as he stood up and yawned. “You didn’t spot anything new on the DVDs tonight, did you?”

“Not really.” Tony frowned. “All we know is that he’s great with a camera, and he’s got a style that’s almost the same as Hitchcock’s except, well . . .”

“Except what? Spit it out.”

“Except I gotta admit it’s great footage, Sam. Head and shoulders above Hitchcock’s. I know the Video Killer’s a real sicko, but he’s the best filmmaker I’ve ever seen!”





Lon opened his eyes as Diana got out of bed and slipped on a robe. “Where are you going?”

“You’ll see, darling. I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

Lon sat up and arranged the pillow behind his head. He was smiling. Diana still hadn’t told him why she’d taken him to her place and practically raped him, but he wasn’t complaining. This sort of thing hadn’t happened to him very often and it sure as hell beat working.

There was a satisfied grin on Lon’s face as he reviewed the evening. They hadn’t bothered to go to the Polo Lounge. Diana had decided it would be too crowded. She’d suggested her place instead. And then, the moment she’d unlocked the door, she’d wiggled out of her dress, kissed him passionately, and led him to the bedroom. Why? Lon knew Diana wasn’t the type to sleep around with just anyone. Rumor had it she favored only those few select men who could make a real difference in her career. But why him? And why now?

“Here, darling.” Diana appeared in the doorway with two tall, frosted glasses. “I’ve brought you the cure. Unless you don’t have those symptoms anymore.”

Lon took the glass, set it down on the table next to the bed, and reached out to part her robe. “I’ve still got them, but I don’t think the cure is in this glass.”

“Insatiable!” Diana laughed and got into bed, snuggling up close to him. She ran her hands down his body and moved in a way that made him gasp. Then they began again, slowly this time, touching and rubbing and tonguing the places that caused the most exquisite pleasure. Many minutes passed before Lon sat up again and took the first sip of his drink.

“Okay, Diana, let’s talk. I don’t want to give the impression I’m ungrateful, but I’m sure you didn’t invite me here because you were crazed with passion at my good looks or my charm.”

Diana put on such a look of grievous injury that Lon almost laughed out loud.

“Lon, darling! How can you be so unfeeling? Do you really believe that I had an ulterior motive for this interlude of passion we shared?”

“Cut! Print it! You’re a wonderful actress, Diana, but the cameras just stopped rolling. The sex was great. I loved every minute of it, and I’d like to do it again, anytime. But what do you want?”

Diana sighed. “Either you’re a hard case, or I’m losing my touch. Truth?”

Lon nodded. “Truth, Diana.”

“I want one of the leads in Video Kill. I’m getting typecast, playing nothing but diplomats’ wives and uptight society ladies. I’d die for the chance to do something different. How about it, darling? I know you’re on the project.”

“Then you know more than I do.” Lon shook his head. “I haven’t made any commitments, Diana. It’s a real pity, but I’m afraid you expended all your energy tonight for nothing.”

“But you will sign on eventually, won’t you, Lon?” Diana looked worried. “It could be so perfect for both of us. I’d love to work with you. And we’d have so many opportunities for more nights like tonight. You did enjoy it, didn’t you?”

Lon grinned. “You know I did. Are you giving me an incentive, Diana?”

“Perhaps.” Diana flashed her famous smile as Lon got out of bed and began to dress. “Will you promise me you’ll at least think about it?”

“I promise.” Lon finished dressing and turned to look at her. “By the way, Diana, do you know Rocca and Nielsen?”

“The team that’s writing Video Kill? No, I don’t think I’ve ever met them.”

Lon leaned down to kiss her lightly on the forehead. “Don’t bother to show me out, Diana. I know the way. And if you ever have the chance to meet Rocca and Nielsen, jump at it. You three have a lot in common.”