Video Kill

18


Daniele Renee studied her face in the wavy mirror over the sink and rummaged in the drawer for her lipstick brush. Her once-beautiful face was puffy from the drinking, but her makeup covered a multitude of sins. Her hands were shaking as she applied color to her lips. Another drink would help, but she’d already had three in the bar, and she didn’t want to look like a lush. The man was waiting for her in the living room, so she had to hurry. She’d given him her scrapbook to look at, but she didn’t have many screen credits, so there wasn’t much in it.

When he’d first approached her in the bar and called her by name, she’d been puzzled. Had she met him before? He’d explained that he’d seen her on the screen, and since he’d been armed with her favorite drink, a Tequila Sunrise, she’d agreed that he could join her. By the second drink she’d been impressed at how he’d followed her career. He’d praised the bit part she’d played two years ago in a low-budget film, and he was probably the one person in the world who’d recognized her in the elf costume she’d worn for a cookie commercial. After the third drink, when he’d asked if they could go somewhere quiet to talk about the movie that he was producing, she’d suggested dinner at the Bistro, just to check his reaction. Everyone knew it was expensive.

In the course of her acting career, Daniele had run into plenty of men who claimed they were producers. It was a standard line they used to pick up an actress. But this man was well dressed, and he appeared to have money. He might just be the exception.

The man had agreed immediately, even though he’d already eaten. There would be no problem getting reservations since he knew the maître d’. The Bistro was one of his favorite restaurants, and he tried to get there at least once a week. Had she tried their Coquilles Saint-Jacques à la provençal?

Daniele had been a bit nervous when she followed him out to his car. It was Sunday night, she was an actress, and there had been warnings on the news all week about the Video Killer. Then, when he’d unlocked the door to his expensive Mercedes, Daniele had thrown caution to the winds. She prided herself on being a good judge of character, and this man simply couldn’t be the Video Killer. He was much too rich and much too nice. She’d suggested they skip dinner and go straight to her place. It was private, and she still had enough liquor in the bottle to mix him a drink. Kirstin, her roommate, had a job demonstrating all-purpose wonder knives at the annual boat show in the L.A. auditorium. The show didn’t close until eleven, and since it was only a little after eight, Daniele knew she had at least three uninterrupted hours to convince him that she was the perfect actress for his movie. This could be her big chance, even bigger than the one she’d blown when she’d been married to Erik Nielsen.

A frown crossed Daniele’s forehead as she remembered her other chance, the part in the comedy series that Erik had made her turn down. And she’d suffered through all the inconveniences of her pregnancy, watched her beautiful body change into something so bloated and ugly that she’d barely recognized herself in the mirror, all for a baby who had to be shipped off to some fancy sanitarium.

Daniele shuddered a little as she remembered the expression on Erik’s face when she’d explained that she couldn’t possibly take care of the baby. He’d looked at her like she was some kind of monster. But wasn’t that better than ruining her career for a kid who’d never even know his own name?

There were tears in her eyes, and Daniele blinked them away quickly. Fourteen years had passed. Jamie was a teenager now, a child’s mind trapped in an adult’s body. Several times she’d almost called Erik to ask about Jamie, but she’d always hung up before his phone could ring. Sometimes it was better not to know.

A final pat to her hair, and Daniele was ready. The whole process of redoing her makeup had taken less than five minutes. Now she was glad that she’d brought the man here, to her apartment. The lamp she’d switched on in the living room had a rosy glow in which she knew she’d look beautiful. She put on her best smile, opened the door, and stepped out.

Where was he? Daniele’s breath caught in her throat as she saw that the couch was empty. Had he grown tired of waiting and left? Then she heard a noise in the kitchen, and she began to breathe again. He was just freshening his drink.

“I hope I didn’t take too long.” Her voice was perfectly modulated, friendly, inviting. It was the voice of the innocent seductress she’d played in her first part.

Daniele stood in the center of the room with her best profile toward the kitchen doorway. As she heard his footsteps cross the floor, she turned, very slowly and very gracefully. Then everything seemed to speed up suddenly as her eyes focused on the camera, red light glowing. And the apparition that approached her. And the knife blade slashing down. And then the action stopped. Permanently. And her scream died stillborn on her perfectly drawn and colored lips.





It was past ten at night when Sam finished his third bowl of stew and pushed his chair back from the table. Katy had fixed his favorite meal, Irish stew with fresh vegetables and big man-sized hunks of meat. He’d eaten in hundreds of Los Angeles restaurants, but he’d never found one that served stew like Katy’s. And the soda bread. She’s told him her secret was ground cardamom seeds for flavoring.

She’d been here every night this week, cooking for him and sharing his bed. Sam knew why, and he’d doled out just enough tidbits about the Video Killer to keep her coming back for more. He knew she had an ulterior motive, but so did he. He wanted his wife back for good.

Katy came out of the kitchen, carrying a steaming cup of fresh coffee and a whole pie. Some of the juice had bubbled up through the crust, and it looked like peach, his favorite.

“Coffee, Sam?”

“You bet. It’s Sunday night, Katy. I have to stay alert.”

“Do you think he’ll do it again tonight?”

“There’s no reason to think he’ll break his pattern, but let’s not talk about it now. I want to enjoy my dessert.” Sam hooked his arm around her waist as she began to slice the pie. It was definitely peach. “I don’t suppose there’s any . . .”

“Ice cream to go on top? Of course there is. If you can hold off for a minute, I’ll get it.”

Sam started down at his slice of pie as Katy dashed back to the kitchen. Then he reached out to lightly touch the crust. It was still warm and the aroma was tantalizing. He took his fork and cut off the very tip. The crust was light and flaky, the way only Katy could make it. An expression of rapture crossed Sam’s face as he popped the forkful in his mouth. Delicious! He’d have just one more bite and then wait for the ice cream.

“Where’s the ice cream scoop, Sam?”

Sam chewed quickly and swallowed. The pie looked a little ragged now, and Katy had always complained that he’d finished his dessert before she could dish out the ice cream, so he cut off a little more to even it up. She’d given him a big piece to start with and she’d never know the difference.

“Uh . . . I don’t know, Katy. I haven’t seen it since I hired the new cleaning woman. She must have put it somewhere.”

The pie really looked lopsided now. Sam shaved a little more off the left side with his fork.

“Did you ask her where she put it?”

Sam frowned down at the pie. Perhaps a little more off the right would make it more wedgeshaped. “I can’t ask her, Katy. I don’t know the word for ice cream scoop in Vietnamese.”

“Doesn’t she speak English?”

Sam eyed his slice of pie critically and shaved off a bit more. It still looked lopsided. “Very little, but she’s going to night school. I figure by Christmas she’ll be able to understand me.”

“It’s okay, Sam. I’ll use a big spoon and buy a new scoop tomorrow.”

Sam heard Katy pull out the silverware drawer, and he made a last stab to even up the pie. Perfect.

“Here’s the ice cream.” Katy appeared at his elbow with a big spoonful. Then she looked down at his pie and started to laugh. “Oh, Sam! I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with that pie. You never could wait for the à la mode part.”

Sam grabbed her and pulled her down in his lap. He kissed her, and neither one of them cared that the spoon was dripping on the tablecloth.

“I’ve got a great idea.” Sam’s voice was husky with passion. “Why don’t you put the ice cream back in the freezer, Katy? Or better yet, just leave it here.”

Katy set the ice cream down on the table. It was difficult to believe what she’d just heard. Ice cream was Sam’s favorite thing. Or at least she’d always thought it was. She kissed him on the tip of the nose and cuddled even closer.

“But, Sam, don’t you want a second piece?”

“Yes, honey.” Sam got to his feet and carried her to the bedroom. “I definitely want a second piece.”



Tony stashed his video camera in his carrying bag and slipped on his jacket, covering his orange T-shirt, which proclaimed BEING GOOD IS BETTER THAN BEING NICE in blue letters.

“That’s it for tonight, gang. Do you girls have a ride? It’s Sunday.”

“We know.” Ginger shivered a little. “Bobby’s taking us home. Besides, Sunday’s almost over, isn’t it?”

Tony glanced at his watch and grinned.

“Nope. It’s only ten-thirty. I thought we’d be here for another couple of hours, but your new scenes go a lot faster and they’re easier to shoot.”

“Oh, sure.” Tina grumbled. “Easier for you guys maybe, but not for me. I just about died, bending over that chair. And look at my feet! Next time get roller skates that fit me, will you, Tony?”

Tony couldn’t help it. He started to laugh. Ginger and Bobby joined in, and finally even Tina began to smile.

“Okay, okay. I guess I shouldn’t complain. But if you decide to do another scene with wheels, put Bobby on ’em. My legs feel like rubber.”

Ginger looked thoughtful as they started out the door. “Wheels, huh? Maybe one of those exercise bikes, the type that leans way back. We could open with Bobby pedaling away, and then we could—”

Tony grinned as the rest of Ginger’s sentence was cut off by the closing door. She was bound to come up with something weird by tomorrow night. She had an active imagination, and she was a wizard at finding props they could use. Tonight they’d done a scene in a doctor’s office, a bank, and a bakery. And they’d finished with Tina playing a topless pizza delivery girl on roller skates. Ginger’s talents were being wasted, doing skin flicks like this, but at least she made enough money to support herself. That was more than he could claim.

Tony took a clean T-shirt from his camera bag and pulled it on. It was black with red letters that said WARNING: LIVING MAY BE DANGEROUS TO YOUR HEALTH. Then he made a final check of the room before letting himself out. The nap he’d taken at home had been worse than no sleep at all. It seemed he had barely closed his eyes when the alarm had sounded, and he’d crawled out of bed to shower and rush off. He’d found a pipe store that was open on Sundays, picked out a duplicate lighter, and paced the floor nervously while it was being inscribed. Then he’d rushed straight here and worked on the porn for five and a half hours.

As Tony walked quickly down the block to his car, he wondered what would happen if he just stopped, gave up, stretched out on a concrete bench at the bus stop, and took a little snooze like some deadbeat wino. Right now that prospect was immensely appealing. No responsibilities. No deadlines to meet. And plenty of good hot food from the Salvation Army soup kitchen.

Tony hesitated slightly as he walked past the bench, and then he laughed. If he actually did it, he’d probably end up getting busted by a couple of L.A.’s finest. Then, when Allison came down to bail him out, she’d find out there wasn’t any money in their bank account. It would be one colossal mess. No. He couldn’t give way to his exhaustion now. There simply wasn’t time. At ten-thirty his evening was only beginning. First he had to get something to eat. His body wouldn’t run without fuel. And then he had to drive to the office to work on the script. Maybe, if he really rushed and the traffic was light, he might catch a couple of minutes sleep on the office couch before Erik came in.

Tony unlocked his car door and got into the driver’s seat. Before he started the engine, he gulped down two dexies with a swallow of cold coffee that was left in his dashboard cup. He had to keep going. There was no end in sight.





Katy and Sam were watching television. To be more accurate, Sam was watching television. Katy had stretched out on the couch, and she was currently sleeping through a rerun of a talk show. The topic tonight was the oldest profession, and a particularly succulent blonde had just come on to tell of her experiences in Vegas when Sam noticed that Katy was crying in her sleep.

“Katy? Honey, what’s wrong?”

Drowsily, Katy said, “Uh . . . nothing. Just a bad dream.”

“Tell me about it.” Sam pulled her into his arms.

“I don’t exactly remember it, Sam. I was doing something bad. Something terrible. And then you found out about it and . . .”

“And what?” Sam prompted her.

“And you didn’t love me anymore!” Before Sam had time to reply, Katy found herself sobbing again.

“Don’t cry, honey.” Sam stroked her hair. “It was just a dream, and that’s impossible anyway.”

“What’s impossible?”

“There’s nothing you could do that would—”

The phone rang loudly, drowning out the rest of Sam’s sentence, but Katy knew what he had almost said. There’s nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you. His words were sincere. She knew that. But would he change his mind if he knew that she had taken advantage of his loving trust in her to copy the murder discs?

Sam reached for the phone and answered it before it could ring again. He listened for a moment, and then Katy saw his face harden into that of the professional cop as he barked out orders.

“Another one? Jesus! Get Jackson and the fingerprint team out right away, but tell them not to touch anything until I get there. I’m ten minutes away.”

Sam hung up the receiver and jumped up. Then he turned to Katy, and his expression softened.

“It’s another murder, honey. Do you want to come along? I hate to leave you here alone, and I could sure use your help. Bob said the victim’s roommate is pretty shaken up, and you’ve always been good at calming people down.”

Katy started to nod, and then she stared at Sam in disbelief. “But, Sam, you forgot. I might pick up some information at the scene and I’m a reporter!”

“I didn’t forget.” Sam smiled at her. “I just decided to bend procedure for the sake of humanity. I know I can trust you to check your story with me before you file it.”

“Of course I will, Sam!”

As Katy climbed into the car and they raced toward the murder scene, she found herself thinking about what Sam had said. He trusted her to check her story with him before she filed it. And she’d promised she would. This time. If only she could do that with her feature on the Video Killer!





Allison shut off the television and returned the movie she had just watched to its case. It was past one in the morning, and she was exhausted. She wished she could go to bed, but she knew she couldn’t sleep with work left to do. She had just watched the last Hitchcock movie for Tony’s list, and now all that remained was to check the accuracy of her notes against the resource material she’d gathered.

Her eyes hurt from watching the screen so intently, and Allison took three aspirins before she opened the big cardboard box on the coffee table. She’d called Larry Edmunds Bookshop in Hollywood this afternoon and explained exactly what she’d needed. Within an hour a messenger had delivered seven books. Three were basic synopses of Hitchcock’s plots, two contained stills from various features and a brief critique of his methods, another had a complete cast list with pictures of his stars, and the last was a biography of the man himself. These seven books, along with the notes she’d found from her college class, would prove that her list of Hitchcock’s victims was valid and complete.

Allison yawned as she arranged the books in a pile. It would be a long night, and she wondered whether she ought to just throw the list in the wastebasket and quit. If what Erik had told her this afternoon was true and there was no UCLA research project, she had wasted her time. She was tempted to go straight to bed, but she couldn’t let Tony down.

Without being consciously aware of what she was doing, Allison began to make excuses for Tony. She’d worked as a student assistant while she was in college, answering the telephones and taking messages. She remembered making several stupid mistakes. When Erik had called UCLA to ask about the project, he might have talked to a series of student helpers. Or even more likely, the person on the staff who knew about the Hitchcock study might be away on summer vacation.

Allison checked her first two references and then she sighed deeply. She could explain away the phone call Erik had made to the college, but there was the matter of Tony’s lighter. He’d lied about that. Or had he? That might have been a simple mistake, a case of remembering something inaccurately. How many times had she been willing to swear that she’d left her purse on the ledge in the hallway and found it on the bed instead? Erik had looked for Tony’s lighter on his desk, and it could have been anywhere in the office. She was jumping to conclusions, and that wasn’t fair to Tony.

But was Tony at the office now? He’d told her he’d be working with Erik all night. If she called the office, and he wasn’t there, she’d have definite proof that he’d lied.

Allison picked up the phone and dialed the number. Her hands were shaking. She gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles were white. One ring. Two rings. Then Erik’s voice came on the line.

“Hello, Erik?” Allison had to work to control her breathing. “Is Tony there?”

“Hold on a second, Allison. I’ll put him on. By the way, he found his lighter about ten minutes ago. He left it in the men’s room. That silver’s beautiful, but your inscription’s something else. At first I thought it was a gift from Debby Boone.”

“Oh, thank you, Erik!” Allison breathed a big sigh of relief. Tony was at the office. And he’d found his lighter. Erik had been very clever about telling her that it had the proper inscription.

“Honey? There’s nothing wrong, is there?” Tony came on the line. “It’s past two in the morning.”

“Is it that late?” For a moment Allison didn’t know what to say. She had to give him some reason for calling. “I just called with a progress report. I watched the last Hitchcock film, and I’m just finishing up my notes. I think I can have it ready for you by tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s wonderful, honey!” Tony sounded tired but grateful. “I knew I could count on you.”

Allison hung up the phone and smiled. Tony was at the office, just like he’d said. And he’d found his lighter. All the tension of the past few weeks began to disappear. She found herself so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. There was no need for her Valium tonight. She’d fall asleep the minute her head touched the pillow.

Five minutes later Allison was in bed. She’d set the alarm clock for six. It would be easier to finish checking the list when she was rested. It wasn’t until she was dropping off to sleep, a contented smile on her face, that she remembered Erik’s description of the lighter. Silver? The one she’d given Tony for their anniversary had been gold.