Tracking Shot

by Colin Campbell

  “To this day. As proud as I am of my sons, the thing I’m proudest of is the best thing I ever did in my life: Adopting Tom and giving him a new life.” He leaned forward and looked McNulty in the eye. “Because not everyone gets a second chance.”

  The friendly tone turned hard. “And you know all about that, don’t you?”

  It was a rhetorical question. McNulty didn’t answer. The crickets were drilling into his brain. Susan was hugging her knees. The stars twinkled in the night sky and moths bumped around the porch light. Harlan lowered his voice and it became friendly again.

  “Your sister was five when she got her second chance.” He softened his gaze. “You were ten when you lost yours.” The tea was forgotten, the cookies an unwanted distraction. “The Chester Brook Orphanage deals with second chances. I don’t want this terrible thing to reflect badly on all our good work.”

  McNulty’s eyes widened. It was beginning to dawn on him why Susan wanted him to meet the man who had arranged her adoption. He didn’t speak. He waited for the man to ask.

  “You were a police officer. You know how this works.” Harlan had no option but to come out and say it. “I want to hire you to protect the integrity of the adoption agency.”

  McNulty looked at his sister. Susan lowered her head. Harlan pressed on.

  “The publicity could destroy us.”

  McNulty turned to Harlan. “Not if you aren’t involved.”

  Harlan shook his head. “You know better than that. If there’s any hint of impropriety…” He raised his eyebrows. “Scandal ruins lives. Whether or not there’s any truth in it. I want you to sift through the evidence and guide it away from scandal.”

  McNulty looked at the “favorite uncle.” “People were killed,” he said.

  The uncle returned the gaze. “Not because of the Chester Brook Orphanage.”

  McNulty didn’t blink. “But at the Chester Brook Orphanage.”

  Harlan’s shoulders sagged. His face aged ten years. “I know. That’s why I need your help.”

  McNulty looked at the grey-haired man and then at his sister. Susan smiled but it couldn’t hide the hurt she was feeling. At asking this favor after only just reconnecting with her brother. McNulty sighed and stood up. He looked down at his sister and her mentor.

  “I’m not for hire.”

  SEVEN

  Waltham PD called in extra staff the following day to take more complete witness statements. Off-duty police officers got overtime and a re-rostered day leave. Civilian personnel and office staff were diverted from their usual duties to take statements. The lead detective had saved McNulty for himself. That should have given the Yorkshireman a feeling of importance. Instead it had McNulty wondering what Jon Harris had up his sleeve.

  Waltham Police Headquarters was an ugly grey concrete building on Lexington Street. It was next door to an almost identical grey concrete fire station. The only differences were the full-height roll-up overhead shutter doors and the red painted window frames at the fire station. A smaller office building was set back from the road between the police headquarters and the fire station, complete with a memorial garden and the obligatory flagpole. The flag was at half-mast. A sign in the flower border read:

  AUSTIN D. RHODES

  MUNICIPAL CENTER

  Sunlight streamed through the plate-glass door as McNulty closed it behind him. He nodded at the detective and kept his tone respectful. “You must be in full on major incident mode.”

  “Thanks for coming in,” Harris greeted McNulty at the reception counter. He looked as if he hadn’t had much sleep. He shrugged. “You were on the job. All hands to the pumps.”

  McNulty asked what all cops ask, even ex-cops. “You got anybody for it yet?”

  Harris did what all cops talking to the public do. “Let’s talk about that in my office.”

  Leading McNulty to wonder again about what the detective had up his sleeve.

  Forty-five minutes later, Harris had sketched out McNulty’s timeline with a page full of scribbled notes and several insightful questions. The Detectives Bureau was on the first floor, overlooking the rear parking lot. Second floor, McNulty reminded himself, falling into the English way of calling the entrance the ground floor. There were two mugs of coffee and a yellow legal pad on the desk. Something else that was different from the UK was getting witnesses to write their own statement.

  Before Harris asked McNulty to begin, he tapped McNulty’s mug. “Refill?”

  McNulty shook his head and looked out of the window. Half a dozen patrol cars were parked in the slanted spaces. A gas pump and car wash stood in the far corner near the maintenance workshop. Staff parking was along one side in the shade of a factory on Ames Street. Another marked unit pulled into the lot and parked next to the six already there, and the officers began to unload their equipment. End of tour. Watching cops go about their business reminded McNulty of what he was missing. He let out a sigh, which Harris noticed from his position at the coffee machine.

  “Working in the movies doesn’t fill the gap, huh?”

  McNulty snapped out of his reverie. “It pays the bills.” He waved at the parking lot. “But it’s not the same. No.”

  Harris stirred three sugars into his coffee. “Going through doors with your partner.”

  McNulty glanced at Harris. “Going through doors. Period.”

  Harris sat at his desk, still stirring his coffee. “You went through the door. With a fire extinguisher.”

  McNulty drummed his fingers on the legal pad. “Stupid thing to do.”

  Harris kept level eyes on McNulty. “Instinct. Something you never lose.”

  McNulty returned the stare. “Common sense. Something I never had.”

  Harris stopped stirring. “And yet you know enough to be technical adviser on a movie set.”

  McNulty stopped drumming. “It’s a Larry Unger movie set. Doesn’t have to be all that technical.”

  “You make sure things look right though.”

  “As right as I can. If it doesn’t interfere with the story.”

  Harris took the spoon out and put it on a buff folder. “So how come they were filming at the orphanage instead of the courthouse?”

  McNulty snorted a laugh. “You should know that. With all the security for a real judge, you think they’re gonna let us film inside?”

  Harris leaned back in his chair. “Armed security.”

  “Yes.”

  “You had guns on set though.”

  “Blank-firing.”

  “But they look real enough. Like the courtroom set.”

  McNulty shrugged. “Even Larry gets it right sometimes.”

  Harris glanced at his notes then took a drink of coffee. Once he’d swilled it down he looked at McNulty. “Want to hazard a guess who your judge looked like?”

  Two sirens started up outside. McNulty turned and watched a pair of black and whites peel off out of the parking lot, careful of the traffic but insistent on speedy forward momentum. That’s what life on the front line was all about. Being aware of your surroundings but always moving forward. Harris had set the scene with sweeping brushstrokes, then pushed ahead. McNulty thought about Larry Unger pointing out the courthouse façade and came up with the same response.

  “Nobody’s that stupid.”

  Harris tapped his cup. “I think some people are exactly that stupid.”

  McNulty drew an invisible line on the desk as if tracing the route. “I don’t care how good we made the frontage. Nobody’s going to drive past the District Court building and shoot the judge on a movie set by mistake.”

  Harris looked across the desk. “Who said he drove past the District Court?”

  McNulty didn’t even think about his answer. “Van came from Main Street. Had to pass the courthouse before reaching us.”

  Harris let out an exaggerated sigh. “Ah yes. The grey van. I forgot. You saw that as well, didn’t you?”

 
; Harris hadn’t forgotten anything, he was just reminding McNulty how many coincidences were stacking up. He made a mixing gesture with both hands. “There are too many possibilities and not enough facts at the moment. Could be an idiot shot the wrong judge.” He shrugged. “Could be sending a message to the real judge, him being too well protected to target in court.” He sighed again. “Could be a random shooting at an orphanage.” He took a breath and held it, as if something had just occurred to him. He let the breath out slowly before continuing. “Publicity won’t help campaign contributions, the adoption guy being a healthy backer of the sheriff’s re-election.”

  Harris feigned surprise as another thought struck him. “You met him last night didn’t you? Harlan DeVries.” He leaned forward and tapped McNulty’s cup again. The ding sounded loud in the quiet office. “The agency that brought your sister over.”

  McNulty kept a level tone to hide his rising anger. “Where’d you hear that?”

  Harris made a circle motion. “This is a small town. We hear about everything.”

  It was McNulty’s turn to lean forward. “Well maybe you should try hearing who shot the judge.”

  Harris sat back in his chair. “He wasn’t a judge.”

  McNulty didn’t relax. “He wasn’t the only one shot, either.”

  Harris nodded. “Even worse publicity.” He tilted his head sideways and looked at McNulty. “He wouldn’t be wanting you to help deflect that from the orphanage would he?”

  McNulty straightened his back. “I don’t help orphanages.”

  Harris straightened, too. “I guess not. They’ve not exactly been a happy hunting ground for you, have they?” He mimicked stirring the pot. “Something else to add to the mix. A random shooting would certainly damage anyone connected to it.”

  McNulty hardened his stare. “Not solving it won’t help your re-election campaign, either.”

  Harris shook his head. “That’s the Middlesex County Sheriff’s Department. I’m with Waltham P-D. But I take your point.” He gave a hard stare back. “What I want is to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone else.”

  McNulty pulled the yellow legal pad toward himself and picked up the pen. “Then why don’t we get started?”

  EIGHT

  Filming was disrupted by key personnel giving their statements, but the real delay resulted from changing locations. The courthouse set at the orphanage was off limits for the foreseeable future, so Titanic Productions relocated to the Cambridge Reservoir just across I-95 out past West End. Location services and transport vehicles were camped in Fresenius Medical Care’s parking lot on the edge of the business park. The location was two hundred yards along the western shore on a spur of land jutting out into the reservoir. McNulty found Alfonse Bayard in the woods overlooking the water.

  “You okay?”

  Alfonse looked anything but okay. He was pale with dark rings under his eyes, despite the ministrations of Amy Moore. There are only so many things you can cover with makeup. The look in Alfonse’s eyes wasn’t one of them. McNulty kept it light. “You’re still breathing. Chin up.”

  Alfonse looked at the man who’d helped him look like a real cop. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Is that it?”

  McNulty turned serious. “What doesn’t kill you…” he jutted his chin out,“…doesn’t kill you. After that, you just have to deal with it.” He slapped Alfonse on the back. “Cops have to deal with the afterwards. You’ve got to hold it together or you can’t help anybody.”

  Alfonse looked out across the water. “I’m not a cop.”

  McNulty stood beside him, following his gaze. “Neither am I.”

  Alfonse glanced at his mentor. “You stormed in with a fire extinguisher.”

  McNulty kept his eyes straight ahead. “Not a good idea.”

  Alfonse turned to face McNulty. “What I’m saying is, you didn’t think about the consequences. You just acted on instinct. The rest of us ran out the back door.”

  McNulty took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He turned serious eyes on Alfonse and held the actor’s gaze. “A man came in shooting. Sensible thing is to run out the back door. I’d have done the same.”

  “But you didn’t. You came in after Amy.”

  McNulty hardened his focus. “You got Amy out safe. If I’d known that, I’d have stayed put.”

  Alfonse shook his head. “Amy got me out safe. All of us. She kept a cool head.”

  McNulty nodded. “And now it’s over. You’ve got to carry on.” He waved at the camera position “They can’t just shut down. There’s a lot of money at stake. A lot of people.”

  As if to prove a point the set dressers and sound crew came through the woods. Strong men moved arc lights into position. Reflectors and diffusers were adjusted. The continuity director checked her clipboard—Titanic Productions was a mass of moving parts and all the parts had to work together. The actors were just the part that appeared on camera, and Alfonse was the lead.

  McNulty leaned forward for emphasis. “Larry’s got a lot of mouths to feed.” He softened his tone. “And a lot of them were in that room.” He looked at Alfonse. “Some didn’t make it out. We’ve got to look after the rest.”

  Alfonse nodded but didn’t speak. He knew the show had to go on. There’d been countless movies where tragedy had struck, but a movie ship was too big to turn. The second assistant director called over from the promontory, and Alfonse signaled that he’d heard. He glanced at McNulty and nodded again. “He picked the right man to be motivational speaker.”

  “Technical adviser.”

  Alfonse didn’t quite smile but came close. “Same difference.”

  McNulty scanned the woods leading to the promontory. “Speaking of our captain, where is Larry?”

  Alfonse didn’t need to look. “Feeding mouths.”

  What Alfonse meant and everybody knew was that Larry Unger was in serious trouble and paddling like mad to keep his head above water. And it was very deep water. The producer had to weigh the pros and cons. The shooting at the orphanage had given the production worldwide publicity, ensuring that Dead Naked would get lots of press when it was released. The downside was the sensitivity issue. Larry couldn’t be seen as exploiting the tragedy, even though that’s exactly what he planned to do. Everyone in the industry remembered the movie theatre massacre during The Dark Knight Rises screening and how it forced Gangster Squad to reshoot a similar scene to avoid bad taste. Bad taste was Larry’s middle name, but even he understood the courtroom scene had to be rewritten.

  That’s why he was late arriving on location. The screenplay had to be changed, the plot altered to remove the courthouse, the scene reset and the dialogue altered. That wasn’t his only problem. When he arrived two hours late, he sought out McNulty—his problem-solver.

  “McNulty.”

  The familiar shout sounded across the promontory between takes. Larry waited at the edge of the woods until he saw McNulty coming, then walked past the location to a bend in the road. The crew were busy in the woods. Equipment and personnel were brought in from the parking lot to the south. There was nobody on the road to the north. Larry stood at the side of the road and looked at the spur of land jutting out into the reservoir. Trees were reflected in the calm waters. He made a mental note to have the director of photography snatch an establishing shot from here. Footsteps crunching gravel turned him to McNulty.

  “How’s Alfonse holding up?”

  McNulty glanced at the location across open water. “He’ll be fine.” Then he surprised the producer. “How are you?”

  Larry was touched but couldn’t stop being Larry. “Conflicted.”

  McNulty decided to make it easier. “We can’t use the courthouse. But the fact that we don’t means everyone will remember and thank us for it. The courtroom scene is just the detective making inquiries. We can do that anywhere.”

  Larry didn’t look any happier. “Already done that.”

  M
cNulty tried to cheer up the producer. “A dedication in the end credits. That’ll do us good.”

  Larry looked distracted. He nodded but let out a sigh. “If the police don’t tie any of this to the production.”

  That caught McNulty by surprise. “Why would they do that?”

  Larry turned to the Yorkshireman. “Can you imagine how much shit they’d have been in if they’d lost the Zapruder film?”

  McNulty frowned. “The Kennedy assassination?”

  Larry nodded. “Footage of the shooting.”

  McNulty began to understand but stated the obvious. “The police seized all our footage.”

  Larry’s shoulders sagged. “I thought so too. From the main camera, yes. Not the Arriflex.”

  McNulty still wasn’t sure. “They didn’t take that?”

  Larry shook his head. “Reverse angle footage. Toward the double doors at the back of the courtroom where the shooter came in.” This time the sigh puffed out his cheeks. “We’ve lost the Zapruder film.”

  NINE

  It wasn’t just that they’d lost the Zapruder film. They’d lost Zapruder and his camera as well. “You’ve lost the Arriflex and the operator?”

  Larry walked two paces farther along the road and glanced over his shoulder. “We didn’t lose it. Somebody took it.”

  McNulty followed, then blocked Larry’s way. “The camera?”

  Larry didn’t answer. McNulty reviewed the crime scene in his head. He’d already drawn the police a diagram of where everything had been located. He tried to remember whether he’d included the Arriflex. He knew he’d included the static camera and the bodies, but he ran through the standard crime-scene procedure just so he got it straight.

  First responders were the police. He closed his eyes and replayed the aftermath. Paramedics, once it was declared safe.