“It’s self-protection. Anything else?”
Stride removed the page of Florida driver’s license photos from his pocket. “I wonder if you could take a look at these pictures and let me know if any of these women look familiar to you.”
Casperson found reading glasses in his back pocket and positioned them at the end of his nose. He eyed the pictures one by one. He noticed the names, too. “These are all Florida women named Haley Adams?”
“Yes. Are any of them the Haley Adams you knew on the set?”
Casperson took a look at them again and shook his head. “No. At least I don’t think so. Oddly, I was never entirely sure what Haley really looked like. She looked different to me whenever I saw her.”
“What about the last picture on the page? It’s a woman named Haley Adams who lived in Fort Myers. Do you recognize her? Even if it wasn’t from the set.”
Casperson’s eyes flitted to the page, but his review looked perfunctory this time. There was no reaction on his face. For a chameleon like Casperson, the lack of expression looked out of character. “No. Sorry.”
“Are you sure about that?” Stride asked.
“I am.”
Stride took the paper back and filed it in his pocket again. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Casperson.”
“Of course. I’ll walk you out. You might get lost in this place.”
Stride followed Casperson on the twisting route back through the house, and when they reached the foyer, the actor pulled open the front door, letting in a frigid blast of winter air. Neither of the men shivered.
“Oh, one quick question,” Stride said as he stepped onto the porch. “I’m not very good with my Florida geography. Where is Fort Myers in relation to Captiva?”
Casperson smiled, but his eyes looked as cold as the Duluth morning.
That was the moment Stride realized they were going to be enemies, not friends.
“It’s close, Lieutenant,” Casperson told him. “Very close indeed.”
11
Aimee Bowe was in the box.
There was dead silence on the set. Serena watched from the rear wall of the warehouse, where it was dark and cold. They were nowhere near the rural lands where Art Leipold had his hunting cabin. Instead, they were inside a giant empty building steps from the frozen water of the Duluth-Superior harbor. Shipping had closed for the winter, and a film company renting warehouse space was a welcome source of off-season cash.
The movie version of the cage where Art kept his victims was built with one side open for filming, but otherwise the interior details were shockingly real. Jonny had shown her crime scene pictures, which were enough to make her shiver at the thought of being trapped there. The straw floor. The filth. The steel mesh. The tiny claustrophobic space that made you feel as if the walls were closing in on you.
Aimee didn’t look like Aimee today. There was nothing sexy or glamorous about her appearance. Her skin was made up to look pale and drawn, to emphasize the bones in her face. Her fingers were covered in fake blood, as if she’d tried to claw free of the box, the way all the victims had. Her clothes were dirty and frayed, and she huddled in one corner, shivering. She yanked at her hair.
The cameras rolled.
The look that took over Aimee’s eyes alarmed Serena. She knew the woman was acting, but she felt terror emanating from her anyway. Aimee mumbled in hushed, disjointed words, too low for Serena to hear. Then Aimee screamed out a wail of frustration and fear and threw herself against the wall. She beat on it with her fists and tore at it with all the futility of a moth beating against glass. She fell back and kicked the wall with her bare feet. More fake blood—Serena hoped it was fake—seeped between her toes.
Aimee collapsed. Tears leaked down her face.
She murmured again, louder now. “Save me.”
She shouted it. “Save me, Evan Grave.”
Evan Grave was the character name of the detective in the movie. It sounded strange to Serena’s ears to hear it that way. The movie was fiction, but she still expected to hear Aimee say it the way all the other women had.
Save me, Jonathan Stride.
Aimee emerged from the box, and the crew swarmed around the set like insects. They touched up her makeup. They fixed her hair and clothes. Someone handed her water, but she shook her head.
“Those women didn’t have water,” Aimee said.
Serena waved from the back of the set, and Aimee came over to her. The two of them stood in the shadows at the back of the warehouse, and frozen air from outside blew in from a crack under the metal door. Serena wore a coat, but Aimee wore only a dirty white T-shirt with a knot tied at the base and frayed red jeans. She could see the actress was bitterly cold, but Aimee didn’t seek any help.
“That was amazing,” Serena told her.
Aimee shrugged. “That was crap.”
“What? I thought you were great.”
“No, I was completely outside the character. I was me, not her. That’s the problem. As a human being, you just naturally block out that kind of torment. I don’t know how to let it all in. I can’t find my voice.”
Serena didn’t understand the actor’s craft or what Aimee was looking for in her performance. However, she could see the frustration in Aimee’s face, and she hesitated to intrude on her mind-set. “Look, I wanted to ask you a few more questions, but I can see it’s a bad time.”
“It won’t make any difference. I just don’t have it right now. What do you want to know?”
“I’m trying to find out more about a party at Dean Casperson’s house on Saturday night. Were you there?”
Aimee shook her head. “No, I wasn’t feeling well. I popped a couple vitamin C pills and spent the evening in a hot bath.”
“Did you hear any stories about the party?”
“What kind of stories?”
“Anything that people might not want to see in a newspaper.”
“Sorry, Serena. I wasn’t there.”
Serena noticed that Aimee had dodged her question. “I’m curious. How well do you know Dean Casperson?”
“Dean? We’re not in the same circles. Dean Casperson is an A-lister. He’s a household name. I don’t exactly jet off to Dean and Mo’s house for brunch.”
“You’ve worked with him before, though, right? I looked up your profile on IMDb. Your first role six years ago was in a Dean Casperson film.”
“Yes. That was a huge break for me. Dean picked me himself.”
“Did he help you get this part, too?” Serena asked.
“In fact, he did. Why are you asking about this?”
“Because you were right that Haley Adams was a spy,” Serena said. “She was spying on Dean. I was wondering if you had any idea what she might have been looking for.”
Aimee hesitated. “Honestly, these questions are making me uncomfortable.”
“Why is that?”
The actress looked over her shoulder to make sure that none of the crew was within earshot. She lowered her voice. “You have no idea how much power someone like Dean Casperson has. If he thought I was gossiping about him, he could ruin me.”
“This isn’t gossip. Haley Adams is missing.”
“I know, and I feel bad about that, but I’m sorry, Serena. I’m not saying anything about Dean.”
“Okay. What about Jungle Jack? I heard there was something going on between him and one of the interns.”
“Interns. Extras. Crew. Jack keeps plenty busy.”
“Did he get busy with Haley Adams?” Serena asked.
“He tried.”
“Did Haley tell you that?”
“She did. She also asked me how tight Jack was with Dean. I figured Jack was giving her a line. He was probably hinting that he could get her a role in the movie if she slept with him.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her to stay away from Jungle Jack,” Aimee said.
Before Serena could ask anything more, she heard a loud voice on the set. “Ms. Bowe, we’re ready for you.”
“I have to go,” Aimee told her. “Time for take two.”