by Blake Pierce
“Mr. Struce?” Trembley asked cautiously.
“Yes,” the man replied in a soft, quavering voice.
“Hello, Mr. Struce. My name is Alan Trembley. I’m a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. This is Jessie Hunt. She’s a consultant for us. We’re here about your wife.”
“Yes. They told me she died.”
Though Jessie had never heard the man speak before, he sounded weak and foggy to her. She wondered if he’d taken something.
“Yes sir,” Trembley said gently. “We heard that you were informed of her passing. That’s why we’re here. If you’re up to it, we wanted to ask a few questions in the hope that it might help us with the case. May we come in?”
Struce looked at them with a slightly lost expression.
“I…are you sure it can’t wait?”
“The sooner we speak with you, the more helpful it is in our investigation,” Trembley said politely but insistently.
“Yes, of course,” Struce said and turned back into the house. His bare feet padded softly on the wooden floors as he led the way back into the house. Jessie followed close behind as Trembley shut the door behind them.
“Are those production stills from An Unfamiliar Land?” the detective asked when he caught up, pointing at several framed images on the hallway walls.
“Yes,” Struce answered, truly focusing on Trembley for the first time. “Do you know the film?”
“Do I know it?” he replied, amping up the fanboy vibe to a notable but still respectful degree. “I’ve probably seen that movie half a dozen times. I love how the effects were so matter-of-fact. You didn’t call attention to it. You just showed it.”
“Thank you,” Struce said as they arrived in the living room. “That’s among the work I’m most proud of. We computer geeks don’t get much attention so any time we’re noticed is flattering.”
Jessie saw an opening and jumped in.
“Clearly Corinne thought you were worth noticing as well,” she said. “It’s not every—as you say—computer geek who wins the heart of a famous actress.”
Struce motioned for them to take seats on the well-worn leather sofa across from the rocking chair he sat in.
“Cory used to always joke that we were beauty and the beast. She said that no one knew that on the inside, I was the beauty and she was the beast. It’s a sweet sentiment, don’t you think, even if she was unduly hard on herself?”
“It sounds like she cared about you very much,” Jessie sympathized. “And it’s clear that you felt the same way. That’s why we’re hoping you can set aside your grief long enough to help us.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll do whatever I can. However, an officer already came by earlier to inform me and ask some questions so I’m not sure what more I can add.”
“We like to start fresh,” Trembley told him. “So please forgive us if we cover some territory you’ve already addressed. Shall we begin, Mr. Struce?”
“Please call me Willem,” he said before indicating they should proceed.
They started with the basics, working their way through the previous night and this morning. Yes, he was worried when Cory texted she’d be leaving soon but didn’t show up. No, he didn’t panic. Last-minute shot setups were common. He just assumed that was the case. Oftentimes shoots run late and it’s hard to get away from set to call loved ones. Sometimes folks just forget in the heat of the moment.
“I stayed up until about one a.m. but kept drifting off,” he said. “I finally went to bed. It was only when I woke up this morning and found that she wasn’t here and I had no texts that I got truly concerned.”
“You called it in,” Trembley noted.
“Yes, but I guess they found her soon after that because an officer showed up with the news less than an hour after I made the call.”
He proceeded to give his alibi for the evening, saying he was home all night, binging a William Holden film marathon. He took no offense when they asked how they could confirm that.
“We have a comprehensive security system, with multiple cameras,” he told them. “I set it up myself. Cory used to have several overenthusiastic fans; no one dangerous, just extremely exuberant. Even though that tailed off in recent years, I kept the system current. I’ll give you the login info and you can search it if that helps.”
“That would be great,” Trembley said. “You mentioned that she had some intense fans but no true stalkers. Was there anyone else who might have wished her harm, any co-workers or other industry professionals who resented her?”
“Oh no,” Willem insisted. “Everyone loved her. Well, maybe not everyone, but most people. She was definitely a perfectionist and that might have rubbed a few people the wrong way. But in this business, that’s par for the course. Everyone I knew considered her to be as lovely as I did.”
They continued the questioning a little longer but it was clear that Willem was either medicated, exhausted, or, more likely, both. His answers became less focused over time and he repeatedly lost his train of thought.
Jessie wanted to ask him about the possible marital strife that Miller Boatwright had hinted at. But she got the sense that, at least right now, it would be a waste of time.
“Why don’t we let you get some rest?” she finally said. “Maybe we can come back another time if we have any follow-up questions.”
“That would be wonderful,” Willem said, seeming to forget this was a police interview, not a cocktail party. He started to get up but Trembley waved him off.
“You say here and rest, Willem,” he said courteously. “We’ll see our way out.”
Willem nodded and settled back into the rocking chair as they headed out. Jessie glanced over her shoulder and saw that his eyes were closed. She couldn’t be sure but she thought he might already be asleep.
“What do you think?” Trembley asked as they headed back to the car.
Jessie sighed heavily before replying.
“First, we need to check the security camera footage. But even if he alibis out, he’s definitely hiding something. The question is whether he’s protecting his wife’s memory or covering up a darker secret.”
“Where to next?” Trembley asked as they got in the car.
“Let’s go to back to the film set. They must be ready for us by now.”
“Excellent,” Trembley said enthusiastically. “That’s what I call a real den of secrets.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hannah walked into the boutique near the corner of South Grand Avenue and West 8th street in downtown L.A., acting as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She did her best to project the image of just another teenage girl, window shopping on her summer vacation.
She’d specifically chosen this store because it was a small operation, without the electronic theft sensors one might find near the exit of a larger chain store. If she was going to do this experiment, she needed to start with baby steps. Besides, if she got caught, she was still a minor. She wouldn’t turn eighteen until next spring.
She walked around for ten minutes, trying on a variety of earrings at different stations. The lone staff member, behind the register, glanced up occasionally but seemed generally disinterested in her. Hannah slid two pairs of earrings into her pocket over the course of her wanderings before eventually walking up to the register with two other pairs she intended to buy legitimately.
The clerk chatted with her amiably as she rang her up, apparently oblivious to the crime taking place in right front of her. Then she dropped the earrings in a bag with her receipt and returned to her phone. Hannah turned and headed for the exit, trying not to walk too fast or slow. Her heart was beating slightly faster than usual, though not as fast as she would have expected.
When she stepped outside, she pulled out her phone and pretended to look at it while she waited for the clerk to come chasing after her. Nothing happened. Realizing she’d been holding her breath, she let out a deep sigh.
As she walked down the sid
ewalk she did an internal check. Had she felt an emotional reaction to shoplifting? Yes, there had clearly been some kind of thrill, though it was less intense than she had anticipated. Did she feel guilty? She couldn’t really say that she did. She knew what she’d done was wrong and that Jessie would be disappointed in her if she found out, but there was no feeling of remorse eating at her.
Of course, she’d only stolen two pairs of earrings. It wasn’t like she robbed Tiffany’s or killed a homeless guy. She suspected lots of kids her age had done the same thing without ever wondering if they were on the antisocial personality disorder spectrum. It was just a thing people her age sometimes did. She suspected the only reason she hadn’t stolen anything up to this point was that it never really occurred to her.
If I’m going to really test my boundaries, I need to up the ante.
She wondered what she could do to test herself. She didn’t need the hassle of robbing a store or killing a man. Getting thrown in prison wasn’t worth proving a hypothesis about her essential nature. There had to be a way to see if she had disregard for right, wrong, or other human beings without ending up incarcerated or institutionalized.
And then, as she stood at the crosswalk waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green, it came to her. Without giving it any additional thought, she stepped off the sidewalk into the street and started walking. She stared straight ahead, ignoring the yells from other pedestrians on the curb and the nearby squeals of tires on the asphalt. A car swerved to avoid her and passed mere feet in front of her. She felt the rush of air as it passed by and veered toward the stopped cars waiting for their own light to turn green.
The car that had narrowly missed her slammed almost head-on into another vehicle. The sounds of multiple horns rang out and, apparently stuck, didn’t stop. Hannah kept walking across the street, stepped up onto the sidewalk, and veered left away from the accident. She could hear angry shouts behind her but didn’t look back.
A half block down, she cut into a drugstore and meandered slowly through the aisles to the back until she got to the restroom. She stepped inside and made her way to the stall farthest from the front door. Only when she sat down on the toilet seat did she allow herself to process what had just happened.
Her fingers started to tingle and she felt beads of sweat form on her forehead and along the small of her back. She noticed that her breathing was more rapid than normal. Finally she’d done something that produced a real reaction. She was capable of feeling things, not just faking them. It was an amazing high, one she’d never experienced before. She had to have it again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
This time Jessie and Trembley walked to the soundstage alone.
The security guard gave them visitor passes, then directed them to the same parking lot as before. They headed in the direction of the stage, more confident than earlier but still armed with a paper map just in case.
They took a slightly different route, following Avenue 5 north this time so that Trembley could get a closer look at the famous water tower. After passing that, they emerged at Alexander Dayne Way, between Stages 31 and 32.
The street was blocked off with police tape so that folks exiting Stage 31 couldn’t pass near Stage 32 and had to follow the less direct route Jessie and Trembley had just taken back to the parking lot. Multiple security guards patrolled the area. A few people grumbled about it as they walked by.
“What do they shoot there?” Jessie asked, pointing at Stage 31.
Trembley consulted his map before answering.
“It looks like that’s where they shoot the TV series Courting Justice,” he said. “You know it?”
“I have honestly never heard of it before in my life.”
“That’s not a surprise. It’s brand new and doesn’t premiere until the fall. According to the studio description, it’s about the romantic and legal entanglements of a group of lawyers at a high-profile Manhattan firm. It stars Kendall Cox, Jolene Markinson, Teddy DeWitt, and Callie Hemphill.”
“It sounds like that old show L.A. Law, just set in New York,” Jessie said. “Should I know any of those actors?”
“You might recognize some of their faces. It’s a lot of up-and-comers mixed with never-quite-made-it types.”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“What a shocker,” Trembley said drily.
They were about to cross under the police tape when Jessie heard Trembley let out a small gasp.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Don’t look now,” he muttered under his breath, “but a couple of the actors are walking our way right now.”
Despite his instruction, she glanced casually in the direction he’d been looking. Coming toward them were two stunningly attractive people in business attire. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man with sun-dipped blond hair and teeth that were almost blindingly white. He looked like he’d just come from playing beach volleyball, poured himself into a suit, and ambled into their path.
The other was a woman about a head shorter than him, but no less stunning. She was slender and perfectly proportioned. Her brown hair was cut conservatively but there was nothing traditional about her looks. Her features were sharp, with sculpted cheekbones and a delicate mouth and nose. Her brown eyes were almost scarily piercing, as if she could melt someone just by staring at them hard enough. They were just passing by when Trembley, apparently unable to contain himself, blurted out, “Love your work.”
Jessie closed her eyes in the hope that it might allow her to transport anywhere else. But when she opened them again, she was still standing there. Both actors had stopped and were smiling skeptically.
“Whose work?” the guy asked.
“Both of you,” Trembley said, now slightly more restrained. “You were great as Professor Bodie in Relic Warriors. And Ms. Hemphill, I loved you as Detective Patterson in Detective Duty. I was bummed when it got cancelled.”
“Wow, Callie,” the blond guy said to his co-star. “It looks like we’ve got a real TV aficionado here.”
“Don’t be snide, Teddy,” the woman said before turning back to Trembley. “Thanks very much. I wish it hadn’t been cancelled too. But if it hadn’t been, then I wouldn’t be able to work on a new show with this charmer.”
“I am pretty charming,” the guy named Teddy conceded before adding, “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Trembley said. “So when does the show premiere?”
The actors exchanged awkward glances.
“It was supposed to start airing in September,” the woman named Callie said.
“Is it delayed?” Trembley asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
Callie shrugged but Teddy was more forthcoming.
“There are issues,” he said, clearly not happy about them. “Even before the tragedy on the stage next to ours, we had to deal with productions delays, mostly due to that diva.”
“You mean Corinne Weatherly?” Jessie asked, suddenly interested.
“Yeah,” Teddy answered. “First she complained that our trailers were bigger than hers, so they got switched out. Then she claimed there was a smell coming from our stage that was making her ill. We had to shut down production for three days while they checked it out. They didn’t find anything. But we’re so far behind schedule that the network pushed our premiere to the spring and cut our episode order from thirteen to six. Now that she’s dead, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe they’ll shut us down for good out of respect for her loss.”
“Teddy, come on,” Callie said, obviously embarrassed. “A person died. Show a little sympathy.”
That seemed to snap the guy out of his tirade.
“You’re right,” he said. “I guess even a cancellation isn’t that big a deal in the grand scheme of things.”
“Were you guys here when it happened?” Jessie asked, trying to adopt the persona of a curious fan.
“No,” Callie said. “We had wrapped up shooting for the day, than
k god. We only knew something was up when we came in this morning and saw police tape everywhere.”
“It’s a good thing I was at a panel discussion event last night or I’d probably be a suspect,” Teddy said before adding, “Listen, we only have a half hour for lunch so we’ve got to run. But did you want an autograph or a picture or something before we go?”
Jessie gave Trembley her best “don’t you dare” stare and he seemed to get it.
“No thanks,” he said, a little sheepishly. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. But I look forward to checking out the show in the spring.”
“Make sure to tell ten of your closest friends too,” Callie pleaded as they walked off.
“Will do,” Trembley called out after her.
When the actors were out of earshot, Jessie turned to him.
“Two things,” she said. “First, we should confirm that the Teddy guy was at that panel. He sounded like he had a real axe to grind.”
“Okay, I’ll ask Jamil to look into it. What’s the other thing?”
She tried to keep her voice level as she told him.
“The other thing is, if you ever pull anything like that fan boy crap again, not only will I get you kicked off the case, I will personally ram your own gun up your ass.”
Trembley, now removed from the glow of television stardom, seemed to have returned to his senses.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not.” She left it at that.
When they arrived at Stage 32, the place was full. Detective Bray guided them to a corner, where she filled them in on the situation. Apparently a paparazzo had snuck onto the lot earlier and managed to get within shouting distance of the soundstage before he was tackled. That was why the area was now taped off and the extra guards were loitering about.
