Video Kill

15


Monday, July 26





“Hey, Erik . . . it’s daylight in the swamp.”

Erik opened his eyes to see Tony standing over him, holding a steaming mug of coffee. He was wearing a pink T-shirt that said I’M THE ONLY GUY IN TOWN WHO DOESN’T WANT TO DIRECT. Erik reached out, blinking, and took the first scalding sip before he realized that he was sleeping on the couch in the office.

“What time is it?” Erik asked the first question that popped into his head.

“Just after seven in the morning. I figured you wouldn’t want to sleep the day away when there’s work to do. The Video Killer gave us another scene to write last night.”

“That’s nice.” Erik took another gulp of coffee and struggled to sit up. “What was that about the Video Killer?”

“He did it again, last night.”

“Another actress?”

“They didn’t think so at first, but then they found out she was taking acting classes. Her parents didn’t know about it, or they probably wouldn’t have left her alone.”

“She was young?”

Tony nodded. “Only nineteen. She worked part-time as a cashier at the Bijou Theater. I’ve got the whole news flash recorded.”

“Let’s see it.” Erik got to his feet. It took him a minute to remember why he was sleeping on the office couch when he had a comfortable bed at home. “I’ve got to talk to you, Tony, about the Video Killer.”

“Sure, Erik. The outline for the next scene is on your desk. It’s good, even if I do say so myself. And the next time you decide to sack out on the couch, leave a note on the door to warn me, will you? I came in about midnight and worked for three hours before I even knew you were here. Then I heard snoring, and I just about jumped out of my skin.”

“You came in to work at midnight?”

“Right around that time. I didn’t look at my watch. You know me, Erik. I get my best work done in the middle of the night. No noise and no telephone calls. Now, come on. I’ll show you that DVD.”

Erik took another swig of his coffee and followed Tony to the reception area. Even though his head still felt fuzzy, he managed to catch the salient points of the news flash. The Video Killer had struck sometime between eleven and one. The victim, Christie Jensen, had been discovered by her parents shortly after one-twenty in the morning. She had been choked to death in the family apartment and then partially dismembered.

“Pretty gruesome, huh?” Tony flicked off the television set. “Did you catch that shot of that apartment building, Erik? Our guy couldn’t have picked a better setting for the fourth scene. The minute I saw it, I thought of Rear Window. And guess what was playing at the Bijou yesterday?”

“Rear Window?”

“Right. And Christie Jensen looked a lot like Hitchcock’s victim, Irene Winston. For all we know the killer watched the movie, picked up Christie from her ticket booth, and then acted it all out for real in her parents’ apartment. How’s that for sheer balls?”

Erik looked up to find Tony grinning. His partner’s obvious pleasure made him feel ill.

“Balls isn’t quite the word I’d use. We have to talk, Tony.”

“Good idea.” Tony nodded. “We’ll have a conference over breakfast. Come on, Erik. I’ll treat you to three eggs and a full stack at Du-par’s.”

“You want to have breakfast after seeing that?”

“Why not? They didn’t actually show anything. Come on, Erik. I can tell you’re hungry. Your stomach’s growling.”

Erik hesitated a moment, but his appetite won out over his sensitivity. Dr. Trumbull’s zonker had knocked him out over the dinner hour, and he hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch.

“Okay. Just let me get cleaned up a little first.”

“You’ll have to use the bathroom at Du-par’s.” Tony grabbed his arm and steered him out the door. “The city shut off our water line for repairs, and it’ll be off for most of the day.”

Erik frowned. “But that’s crazy, Tony. This whole block is office buildings. Why don’t they do their repairs on Sunday or in the middle of the night, when no one’s working?”

“Oh, they couldn’t do that.” Tony looked serious. “The city’s on a tight budget, and they can’t afford to pay overtime.”

Twenty minutes later Erik came out of the bathroom at Du-par’s to find a tall stack of pancakes, three eggs over easy, five strips of extra-crisp bacon, a side order of hash browns, and a cup of fresh coffee waiting for him. He slid into his side of the booth and took a forkful of hash browns before he said a word.

“Mmmm!”

“You bet.” Tony took another forkful. He was having the special California omelet, and the waitress had said he was the only customer who hadn’t asked what was in it. Allison had tipped him off, early in their marriage. Anything on the menu with the word California in it was mostly avocados.

As soon as Erik had eaten one pancake, he took the bull by the horns.

“I talked to Allison last night. Why did you give her all those Hitchcock films to watch?”

“Because she loves Hitchcock, and I needed her to do some research.”

“But all we need are three scenes for our Video Kill script.”

“Four scenes. You’re forgetting Rear Window.”

“Okay, four scenes. But she told me you wanted her to watch all fifty-three films.”

Tony took a sip of coffee to stall for time. He’d have to give Erik the same story he’d given Allison. “She’s not watching them for the script, Erik. The UCLA alumni association conned me into researching a list of Hitchcock’s female victims, and Allison’s helping me out on it. As a matter of fact, that’s what gave me the idea for the Video Killer’s motivation.”

“The alumni association asked you to do it?”

“Right.” There was a moment of silence in which Tony refused to meet Erik’s eyes. He picked up a piece of toast and smeared it with a package of jelly that was labeled MIXED FRUIT, but when he looked up, Erik was still staring at him. He had to lighten this up and divert Erik somehow.

“You ever wonder what’s in this stuff, Erik? It says mixed fruit, but that could be anything. Even tomatoes. Tomatoes are a fruit, aren’t they?”

“I’m not sure. My mother used to say that if you sprinkled sugar on them, they’re fruit. And if you use salt, they’re vegetables.”

“A wise woman, your mother.” Tony nodded solemnly. “But how about if you eat them plain?”

“Then they’re a fregtible.”

“Nice, Erik. Very nice. Please pass the peppalt.”

Erik laughed as he handed over the salt and pepper. At the moment Tony seemed perfectly normal, smiling and cracking jokes. But hadn’t the neighbors of that guy who’d murdered all those migrant workers claimed that he’d seemed like a perfectly normal, likeable guy? There were just too many unexplained facts to ignore, too many times when Tony had claimed he was going somewhere and then never showed up. Even last night was suspicious. Tony claimed he’d come in to work at midnight, but that was a lie. Erik had been alone in the office when he’d sacked out on the couch at twelve-thirty.

“More Swedish plasma?”

Erik nodded and Tony reached over to fill his cup. As the sleeve on Tony’s T-shirt pulled up, Erik found himself looking for the scratches a young woman being strangled might leave on her attacker’s arms. There was nothing there. Erik reminded himself that all his suspicions were circumstantial, and he might very well be a victim of his own overactive imagination. But his doubts still remained. Maybe Tony wasn’t the Video Killer, but it was clear that he was hiding something. Erik had to find out what it was.





Tony leaned back and stretched. They were making great progress on the second scene, and it was possible they’d finish it by early afternoon if they kept on working.

“Why don’t I call out for Deli and we’ll eat lunch here? We’re really on a roll. Get it, Erik? Deli? On a roll?”

“It’s lunchtime already?” Erik looked up from the keyboard to glance at the clock on Tony’s office wall. He had to meet Allison for lunch at Donny’s. “What time is it, Tony? I can’t read your damn clock.”

“It’s easy, Erik. The purpose triangle is the minute hand, the pink oblong thing is the hour hand, and the little turquoise circle counts off the seconds. Just remember that the hands don’t move but the clock face does, and the twelve is marked by that little orange square. See? It’s eleven purple rectangles and three green dots past the orange square.”

“Fine, Tony. But what time is it?”

“Eleven fifty-seven give or take a few seconds. By the time I figure them out, they’ve changed anyway.”

“I thought you were having lunch with Lon Michaels today. It’s in your book.”

“I was, but he canceled. So how about it? Do you want Deli?”

Tony turned to see Erik staring at the clock in dismay.

“Sorry, Tony. I’ve got something I have to do. An important appointment. If I don’t leave right now, I’m going to be late.”

“It’s really important?”

“Yes. I’m meeting with my tax man. Sorry, Tony. I’ll try to be back early.”

Tony was about to protest when he remembered that it was his fault that they hadn’t worked on the screenplay yesterday.

“Okay, but hurry back. I’ll keep on working, and maybe we can still finish this up today. I don’t have to leave again until three.”

“Three?” Erik frowned. “Do you really have to leave so early?”

“Sorry, old buddy.” Tony thought fast. He’d arranged to see the new murder DVD with Sam at three-thirty. “I promised to meet Alan at the studio. I could always call and put it off until tomorrow but . . .”

“No, don’t do that. Keeping up a good rapport with Alan is critical. I’m just getting nervous about meeting our deadline. He needs those scenes by August second.”

“Don’t sweat it, Erik. This is only the twenty-sixth and that gives us a full week. We’ll be done long before then, especially if we put in a couple of marathon nights.”

Erik sighed, resigned to missing his regular sleep. “Okay, Tony. You work up a schedule that’s good for you, and I’ll be here.”

Five minutes later Erik was speeding through Hollywood, feeling guilty about lying to Tony. He didn’t even have a tax man. But he hadn’t wanted to admit that he was meeting Allison. Naturally, Tony would have joined them, and then they couldn’t discuss Tony’s problem. As Erik pulled into the parking lot at Donny’s, he suddenly realized that he was doing the very same thing that Tony was doing. Telling outright lies to cover his actions. Of course, there was a good reason for Erik’s lies. Were there also good reasons for Tony’s?





Katy turned off her television with trembling hands and reviewed her notes. She’d just finished rewatching the murder scenes in the privacy of her own living room They were graphic, frightening, and amazingly well done. She felt ill.

Katy got up and went into her kitchenette to make a cup of herbal tea. The leader in her therapy group was death on coffee. She claimed that caffeine poisoned the body and caused negative personality changes. Katy had been scrupulous about restricting her coffee intake to one cup a day, and she’d already had her limit.

Katy took out the package of tea and read the ingredients on the box as she waited for the water to heat. Blackberry leaves, lemongrass, and rose hips. It sounded like breakfast for a rabbit. She tossed the box of tea in the wastebasket and immediately felt better. She hated herbal tea. Maybe it was time she started thinking for herself instead of listening to her therapy leader. She’d been much happier before she’d started attending the group. Using the microscope of introspection to examine the psychological motivation behind her every action was more bother than it was worth. If she spent hours thinking about why she wanted to do something before she did it, she never got around to doing it at all.

Suddenly Katy longed for the old days when she was lighthearted and impulsive. She grabbed ajar of instant coffee from the top shelf and spooned the freeze-dried crystals into a mug. If it was true that caffeine caused personality changes, she might just be due for one.

Armed with a steaming cup of coffee, Katy returned to her spot in front of the television. She had noticed that Tammara Welles seemed half in a trance when she’d arrived at the murder scene. That was something she could dig into. Had the Video Killer used drugs to dull his victim’s senses? She knew that Miss Welles had hosted a party for charity that night. Was it possible that the Video Killer had mingled with the guests to slip something in her drink?

Katy reached for the phone and put in a quick call to her boss. Billy Goat had told her to call if she needed anything from the newspaper morgue. The phone was answered on the third ring by his secretary, Margo.

“Bill Morgan’s office. He’s not in right now, but I can take a message.”

“Hi, Margo. This is Katy Brannigan.”

“Oh, Katy!” Margo sounded breathless. “Things are really popping down here with the new murder and all. Mr. Morgan’s down at police headquarters. Your ex called a press conference. But he told me to beep him immediately if you called in with a story.”

“No story yet, Margo. I just need some information from the files.”

“I’ll pull it for you. Mr. Morgan told me to give you anything you wanted.”

“Thanks, Margo. I need a list of the guests who attended Tammara Welles’s charity party on the eleventh.”

“That’s easy. I have a copy right here on my desk. Your ex requested one the day after Miss Welles was killed, and I haven’t refiled it yet.”

Katy sighed as she made arrangements to pick it up. Sam was ahead of her by two full weeks. What other information did he have? She simply had to find out.

A moment later Katy was back on the couch, watching the murder scenes again. There was something very familiar about the scenes the Video Killer had shot. They were a lot like Hitchcock films. That was it!

Katy fast-forwarded through them again. Yes, the first one was Psycho, the second was a remake of Strangers on a Train, and the third, with the necktie strangling of Diana Ellington, had all the elements of Frenzy. Had Sam noticed the pattern? Katy doubted it. Sam’s movie collection consisted entirely of detective films. Naturally he’d heard of Psycho, but she doubted that he’d seen any other of Hitchcock’s films. She knew she had to see the fourth disc, the one Sam must have in his possession right now, to find out whether her theory was correct.

VIDEO KILLER REMAKES HITCHCOCK MURDERS. Katy could see the headline now with her name below in twelve-point type. She’d be the first to break the story, scooping every veteran investigative reporter in the city. She’d be famous. Maybe she’d even win a Pulitzer. But first she had to find out if she was right.

There was only one way to get her hands on the fourth DVD, and Katy reached for the phone again. She took a deep, calming breath as she dialed Sam’s private office number.

Sam answered on the second ring. He sounded tired and harassed, but the moment he realized who was calling, there was a special intimacy in his voice.

“I heard about the fourth murder, Sam. You must be exhausted. I just thought I’d offer to cook dinner for you tonight so you won’t have to go out.”

“That sounds great, Katy. Your place or mine?

“Yours. That way you won’t have to drive. Is six all right?”

“It’s fine. Do you want to stop by my office to pick up the key?”

“Uh . . . no.” Katy could feel herself starting to blush even though she knew Sam couldn’t see her. “I still have mine. Unless you’ve changed the locks.”

“I haven’t. I’ll see you at six, then. And Katy? Last night was wonderful.”

Katy smiled and hung up the phone. He hadn’t changed the locks. She quickly stopped herself from looking for psychological motives and began to jot down a grocery list. She’d stick to Sam like glue this week. It shouldn’t be hard. He’d certainly been glad to see her last night. Naturally, she’d copy the fourth murder DVD, and if she got very lucky, Sam would slip and tell her even more. As Katy gathered up her things and headed for the door, she was surprised to find that she was trembling a little in anticipation of the evening ahead.