Video Kill (21 page)

“It's out of state.” Mr. Thatcher frowned. “Don't you have anything else?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Well . . . I think we can make an exception this time. Now I need the answer to a few short questions. We'll start with the checking account.”

Twenty minutes later Allison walked out of the bank, clutching a slip of paper with their account balances. She still couldn't believe what Mr. Thatcher had written on the paper. Their joint savings account contained four dollars and seventeen cents. And the checking account would show a negative balance once the monthly service charge was deducted. Tony had lied. They were broke. Flat broke.

For the first time in her life, Allison didn't listen to the traffic report before she got on the freeway. There was the usual jam at the top of the pass, but she barely noticed when she had to creep along at ten miles an hour. She was too busy rehearsing what she would say to her agent when she dropped in at the office to beg for work.

 

 

It was ten o'clock by the time Tony dropped off the script at Alan's office. He was only fifteen minutes from the house, and even though he still had what seemed like millions of things to do, he needed to talk to Allison. He wanted to tell her about Erik's medicine and ask her what she thought. When he'd told Dr. Trumbull's nurse that it was critical, she'd given him the earliest appointment possible. The doctor was away on vacation and wouldn't be back until next Sunday, but she could squeeze Tony in then, right after his morning rounds. She was sorry, but there was no way she could give him any information about a patient over the phone. Tony had tried all his usual tricks, but he'd run into a stone wall. Then he'd thought of Allison. It was a long shot, but perhaps Erik had confided in her about what Tony was sure was a serious illness.

Tony didn't make the connection until he was pulling up in front of the house. The Video Killer's latest victim. Daniele Renee. The name sounded very familiar when he'd heard it, but he'd figured that he'd probably met her at a party or something. Now he remembered. Daniele Renee was the actress Erik had married.

Tony's hands were shaking as he got out his key and unlocked the front door. No wonder Erik had been so upset! He'd tell Allison about it, and maybe she could run over to Erik's apartment to see if there was anything she could do. He'd go, but he had to meet Sam in less than an hour.

Allison didn't answer when Tony called out for her. He checked every room, but she was obviously gone. There was no note on the refrigerator. She was probably at the convalescent center visiting her mother. If he'd called first, he could have saved himself the trip.

Tony was ready to turn around and go back out to his car. He didn't have time to wait for her to come home. But now that he'd driven all the way here, he might as well check to see whether she'd finished her list.

A packet of paper was on the table, and Tony picked it up. Five copies of the Hitchcock list, collated and stapled. Allison had come through for him again. She always was a whiz at doing research. He'd get this right over to Sam, and they could start warning look-alike actresses.

Tony scrawled a hasty note and slipped it under a magnet that was shaped like a watermelon slice on the door of the refrigerator. It said,
THANKS FOR THE LIST, BABY—AT OFFICE UNTIL LATE—WILL CALL.
Then he rushed back out and tried not to speed as he drove to police headquarters.

 

 

Tony shuddered as the monitor in Sam's office went blank. They had just finished watching the fifth murder DVD, the worst of the lot as far as Tony was concerned. It wasn't just the cold-blooded murder of Erik's ex-wife that was so horrifying. It was the list he held in his hand. Tony glanced at Allison's neat printout again.

If they'd had that list yesterday, Sam might have been able to warn Daniele Renee in time to save her life.

“What's the matter?” Sam turned to Tony as he shuddered again.

Tony hesitated. He'd been about to tell Sam that the latest victim was his partner's ex-wife, but he'd quickly thought better of it. Sam would find out soon enough, and poor Erik didn't need some cop hammering on his door, asking him questions.

“I was just thinking that this one didn't have to die. We could have warned her if I'd had this damn list sooner. She's a Lucie Mannheim look-alike.”

Sam put his hand on Tony's shoulder. “Sam Spade's first rule of good detective work. Don't get hung up on what might have been. You finished that list a lot faster than I expected, and now I'll start warning actresses personally. How many Hitchcock victims are left?”

“Too many.” Tony sighed and referred to his copy. “We could narrow it down if we knew which movie he'd choose next, but I haven't been able to find a pattern. Hitchcock killed off a lot of actresses in his films, and for every victim, there are at least twenty or thirty look-alikes.”

“That many?” Sam looked shocked as Tony nodded.

“I went to a costume party once, where everyone was supposed to come dressed like a famous character in a movie. There must have been twenty girls that came as Scarlett O'Hara in
Gone with the Wind
, and every one of them looked the part. All those Vivien Leigh's, Sam, at one random party. Those are the kinds of numbers you're up against.”

“Okay, I'll just take those books of photos you gave me and start making calls. Why don't you run home and get some sleep? You look as if you've been up all night.”

“Well, most of it.” Tony got to his feet and yawned. “Call me if you need me, Sam. If I'm not at the office, the answering machine'll be on.”

On his way out Tony noticed that Andy Mertens was at the desk again. He waved and started for the door, but before he could get outside, the older officer stopped him.

“Hey, Archer! Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure. What is it, Andy?”

“It took a couple of weeks, but I think I got it figured out.” Andy lowered his voice. “If you're Archer, the chief's got to be Sam Spade! Am I right?”

20

 

Alan Goldberg gave a weary sigh as he waited for the butler to call his uncle to the phone. He'd sent a copy of Rocca and Nielsen's sample scenes to Hawaii on Monday, and Uncle Meyer still hadn't called with his decision. Alan needed an answer today. Cinescope's option ran out at midnight tomorrow.

“Hi, Uncle Meyer.” Alan made his voice deliberately cheerful. “I called to see what you thought of the
Video Kill
partial.”

Static crackled from the receiver, and Alan held it away from his ear until it stopped. “What was that, Uncle Meyer? We have a bad connection.”

Alan listened for a minute and then he winced. The old man was cranky this morning.

“Of course, Uncle Meyer. I'm very interested in the air pollution reading in Honolulu. I just forgot to ask, that's all.”

Alan sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair as Uncle Meyer went into a lengthy lecture on the levels of ozone and nitrogen dioxide and carbon monoxide. While he was listening, he flipped through the paper for a summary of the week's air quality ratings for the L.A. area.

“You're lucky you're not here, Uncle Meyer.” Alan lit a cigarette and glanced down at the figures. “It was really bad yesterday. West L.A., downtown, and the airport had third-stage episodes. They kept broadcasting that the air was hazardous for everyone.”

As his uncle reacted predictably and went into another of his tirades on pollution, Alan crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the wastebasket. Actually, the whole L.A. Basin had been in the safe zone, but Uncle Meyer didn't need to know that. He was looking out the window, watching a bird build its nest on the ledge below, when his uncle asked a question that made him sit up with a jolt.

“Yes, Uncle Meyer. I know our option on
Video Kill
runs out tomorrow. If we don't sew it up now, another studio could snatch it right out of our hands.”

There was another burst of static, and Alan caught the tail end of his uncle's question.

“Other offers? Yes, Uncle Meyer. I know for a fact that they have. Sony is very hot on the project, and Rocca and Nielsen have already taken one meeting with someone at Paramount.”

Alan put down the phone very gently and got up to pour himself another cup of coffee as his uncle hemmed and hawed. Mentioning other offers had been a brilliant tactic on his part. It might even be true, for all he knew. As soon as there was silence from the other end of the line, Alan picked up the phone again.

“So, what's your final decision, Uncle Meyer? Shall I have the contracts drawn?”

Thirty seconds later, Alan said good-bye to his uncle and hung up the phone. Then he opened the manila folder on his desk and scanned the contracts for
Video Kill
he'd ordered from Cinescope's legal department a month ago.

 

 

“Good morning. It's Saturday, August seventh, at ten forty-five a.m. Time to get up. Good morning. It's Saturday, August seventh, at ten forty-five. Time to get up. Good mor—”

Erik sat up in bed and pushed the button on his new alarm clock, cutting off its disgustingly cheerful synthesized voice. He'd finally replaced Daniele's clock with this new digital model. He didn't want anything to remind him of Daniele and the awful way she had died.

As he got out of bed, Erik realized what the clock had said. August seventh. Tomorrow was the day their option with Cinescope ran out, and Alan had promised that they'd know one way or the other today. Tony had called several times during the past week, but Erik had put off any meetings between them. He knew Tony wanted to talk about Daniele's murder, and he needed some time before he could discuss it. Naturally, they had to include the scene in their script. It was part of the Video Killer story. But Erik wasn't ready to face that prospect quite yet.

The day after Daniele's murder, Erik had left town. He'd driven up the coast and spent three full days with Jamie at Pine Ridge. Jamie had been glad to see him, and the reports on his progress had been very encouraging. It would have been a wonderful respite if he hadn't been plagued by the headaches. They were worse now, one a night, every night since he'd heard about Daniele. And Dr. Trumbull was out of town on vacation. Erik just hoped his supply of zonkers would last until his next appointment.

Now that last night's headache was completely gone, Erik realized that he was hungry as a hibernating bear. Evidently Al was hungry too. He could hear the big white cat pacing back and forth in the kitchen, meowing and rolling his empty food bowl across the tile floor.

“Hold on, Al. I'm coming.”

Erik pulled on a pair of jeans and an old Minnesota Vikings sweatshirt. As he walked into the kitchen, he could swear that Al smiled. A few minutes later Al was chowing down on his microwave-heated food and Erik was standing at the refrigerator door, trying to find something to eat.

The egg carton was empty and the milk that was left in the carton didn't smell right. The bread had some green stuff on the edges that had to be mold, and there wasn't a thing in the apartment to eat. He'd get some take-out Chinese from the place across the street, eat his lunch, and then call Tony to see if he'd heard from Alan.

 

 

Tony let out a whoop of joy as he hung up the phone, and several people passing on the street turned to look at him. He'd just finished talking to Alan and the news was fantastic. Cinescope had finally made an offer on
Video Kill
, and the terms were better than either Tony or Erik has expected. They would be going into production as soon as the script was ready. The only hitch was Lon Michaels. Alan's uncle had insisted that he be a part of the deal, and Lon was still dragging his feet. Tony had lied through his teeth when he'd told Alan that Lon was ready to sign. Now he had twenty-four hours to turn that lie into a truth.

With hands that were shaking slightly from the excitement, Tony took out the card with Lon's home number. He dialed, and the phone was answered on the third ring.

“Lon? This is Tony Rocca. Erik and I finished the first three scenes. I know it's your day off but, well, if I bring this partial over to you, do you think you'd have time to read it today? I know I'm asking a lot, but quite frankly we're stuck and we need your advice on which direction to go.”

There was a long silence, and Tony gripped the phone so tightly, his knuckles turned white. He wanted to grovel, plead, even cry if that would convince Lon to sign on to the project, but he knew that he had be perfectly silent and wait for Lon's response.

At last Lon broke the silence. “I'm flattered you want my advice, but wouldn't you be better off discussing this with Alan?”

“Come on, Lon.” Tony forced a laugh that he hoped would sound lighthearted. “Alan's a money man. I'm not putting that down, but he's not exactly known for his sensitivity.”

“That's true.” Lon gave a bitter laugh. “Did I tell you what he said about Diana when I ran that test for him?”

“Yes, you did. Alan can be pretty crass at times. And that's precisely the reason we can't use him for a sounding board. We need advice from someone who's in sync with the concept we're trying to present.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Lon sounded pleased. “All right, Tony. I'll read what you got so far. Can we meet at my house at four?”

“You bet!” Tony wrote down the address and hung up with a grin. As long as he could keep up the bullshit to con Lon into thinking he was indispensable to the project, he'd sign on with no trouble.

The liquor store across the street had a banner advertising a sale on California champagne. Tony dashed in to buy a chilled bottle of Korbel Brut. Then he ran back out again. He had to call Allison right away.

“Damn!” Tony swore as he got the answering machine. He didn't want to leave a message. News this good should be delivered in person. He was just starting to punch out Erik's number to share their good fortune when he noticed the time. He'd have to call Erik later. He was due at the Traveler Motel in twenty minutes and he couldn't be late. He had the only key to the room, and the management might start to get suspicious if they saw Ginger and Tina standing around outside.

 

 

Allison let herself in the door and dropped her purse and her tote bag on a chair. She'd just come from a session with the photographer her agent had recommended, and it had gone well. His studio had been a reconverted garage with a shower curtain strung in one corner for a dressing room, but since he was just breaking into the business, he worked cheap.

Once she had seen the state of their bank balance, or rather, the absence of their bank balance, Allison had decided to take matters into her own hands. Rather than phone her agent, she'd dropped by the office and gone into her rehearsed speech. She needed work badly. She'd take anything. She was available day or night. Her agent hadn't promised anything, but agents never did. She'd just given Allison the photographer's name so she could update her portfolio and promised to call if anything came up.

The red light was blinking on the answering machine. Allison grabbed a Diet Coke and drank it while she listened to the messages. The first two were hang-ups, but the third was the call she had been anticipating with dread for the past twelve months. It was from Doris Stanley at the convalescent center. Could Allison call her as soon as she got in? Helen Greene had experienced a reaction to her medication, and they had moved her to the hospital.

 

 

Erik sat at the kitchen table, struggling with his chopsticks. He had finished an order of Szechuan Beef, and one stubborn peanut was left in the carton. After chasing it around for what seemed like an eternity, he had just managed to pick it up when the telephone rang. Startled, Erik's grip on the chopsticks faltered and the peanut dropped to the kitchen floor in Al's territory. By the time Erik had said hello, Al had the peanut cornered between the dishwasher and the stove.

“Erik? This is Allison. Thank God you're home! Do you know where Tony is?”

“I'm not sure, Allison. Did you try the office?”

“I called there but the answering machine's on. I've got to find him right away!”

Allison sounded rattled, and Erik kept his voice deliberately calm.

“He didn't tell me his schedule, Allison. What's wrong?”

“It's Mom.” Allison's voice broke in a sob. “She had an allergic reaction to her medication. They've taken her to the hospital.”

“Which hospital?” Erik reached for a pen.

“West Community on Fairfax, room three forty-two. I'm there now.”

“I'm so sorry, Allison. Did you leave a message for Tony?”

“Yes, I did. But I'm not sure what I said. I've got to go, Erik. They're paging me.”

“Keep calm, Allison.” Erik grabbed his car keys. “I'm on my way.”

Erik had no sooner hung up the phone when it rang again. It was Tony.

“I've been trying to reach you for twenty minutes, Erik. Where have you been?”

“I just ran across the street for some food. Listen, Tony . . .”

“No, you listen.” Tony interrupted him. “Alan's finally offered us a contract! He got the okay from his uncle this morning, provided Lon Michaels signs on. I called Lon and I'm heading over there in a couple of minutes. From the way he sounded on the phone, I'm eighty percent, no, make that ninety percent sure he'll sign.”

“That's great, Tony. But is there any way you can reschedule that talk with Lon?” Erik took a deep breath. He didn't like to be the bearer of bad news. “Allison just called. They've moved her mother to West Community Hospital, room three forty-two. She wants you to meet her there right away.”

“Oh no. Not again!” Tony sounded exasperated. “Listen, Erik, I know I sound hard-hearted, but it's not like this hasn't happened before. Allison didn't say it was life-threatening did she?”

“Not exactly. She said her mother had an allergic reaction to her medication.”

“That's what I thought.” Tony sighed. “Look, Erik, if I really thought this was something serious, I'd drop everything. But Allison's mother has been in and out of the hospital four or five times for the same thing. Will you just go and keep Allison company until I can get there?”

“Sure. I'll go. I was going anyway. But what should I tell Allison?”

“Tell her, oh, hell, Erik! Tell her you couldn't reach me.”

“I can't lie to her, Tony.”

“Then tell her the truth. Say I've got to sign the cinematographer for
Video Kill
or the deal won't go through. I'll have her paged when I'm through, and if she's still there, I'll come right over.”

“Okay. I'll tell her.”

There was a click, and Tony hung up. Erik followed suit, but he was frowning as he hurried out to his car. He just hoped that Tony's meeting with Lon was actually taking place, that it wasn't just another of Tony's lies.

 

 

Katy shuddered as she read the last page of Rocca and Nielsen's partial script. Her friend at Cinescope had come through, and the result was staggering. Rocca and Nielsen's first three scenes paralleled the murder DVDs exactly.

This script was too accurate to be a coincidence. Rocca and Nielsen had known exactly what to write. Katy knew that Sam had been very careful about his press releases and the details contained in this script were highly confidential. Had either Rocca or Nielsen seen the murder DVDs?

Katy disregarded that possibility immediately. Sam was sitting on those DVDs like a mother hen. No one had seen them except Sam . . . and her, of course. There was no one else who could possibly know their content with the exception of the person who had actually shot them. And that meant either Tony Rocca or Erik Nielsen was the Video Killer!