Diagnosis Murder 3 - The Shooting Script

by Lee Goldberg

"Starting point?" she asked.

  "I think you have the chops to give it even more levels of intensity," he said. "I want to see the rape of your sister, the firebombing of your house, and the kidnapping of your son on your face when you slice that bastard's throat. I saw the rape and the firebombing, but I didn't sense the kidnapping."

  "We've already done six takes," she said.

  "Think of your performance as a staircase and each take as one tiny step," he said. "Each step gets you closer to the top, to where you want to be."

  "And with one shove you could tumble all the way down those stairs and land at the bottom," she said. "With a broken neck. If were you, I'd hold on to the railing, and think about moving to the next shot. I'll be in my trailer."

  She pushed past him and left the soundstage. He looked after her for a moment, and suddenly saw a horrific vision of himself freezing in a soundstage in Canada; directing episodes of Sue Thomas F.B.Eye, trying to get intensity from a deaf FBI agent and her hearing-ear dog.

  He cleared his throat and turned to his assistant director.

  "She really hit it out of the park with that performance," the director said. "I think we're ready to move to the next shot."

  Lacey's trailer was parked right outside the soundstage door. She rushed in without even noticing the two uniformed police officers standing a few yards away, or the bland Crown Victoria sedan parked behind her vintage Mustang.

  Perhaps if she had, she wouldn't have been so surprised to see Mark Sloan sitting on her couch, his feet up on her coffee table, watching television. Or his son, Steve, standing in her kitchen, helping himself to one of her Glacier Peaks bottled waters.

  "Look who's here. It's Lt. Sloan and Dr. Sloan, too. I don't think I've ever seen the two of you apart," she said, turning to Steve. "Tell me Lieutenant, is this relationship reciprocal? Do you go into the operating room with your dad and offer him pointers during surgery?"

  Steve shook his head. "I don't have an interest in medicine. But my father has a definite interest in homicide."

  "I bet you're thrilled about that, aren't you?" she said to Steve, a malicious twinkle in her eye.

  "It depends," Steve said. "Sometimes he sees things everybody else missed."

  "I've seen something on Stryker's tape that might interest you," Mark said, holding up her remote. "I've got it cued up for you."

  "Sure, why not?" She walked over and stood beside the couch. "This is the only film of mine I haven't seen."

  Mark aimed the remote at the TV and hit PLAY. They watched the screen and saw Lacey driving up to the Slumberland Motel and parking in front of room 16. He paused the playback.

  "That's a very nice Mustang. It's a classic, isn't it?" Mark said. "I couldn't help noticing it parked out front the first time we visited your house. It really stands out."

  "I'm glad you like it," she said. "Is that why you're here, to talk about my car?"

  "No, no," Mark said. "I just thought it was interesting that you'd chose such a distinctive car to go on such a discreet rendezvous."

  "It's my car," she said. "It's how I get from place to place."

  "Of course," Mark said, starting the tape again.

  The film showed Lacey getting out of her car, embracing Titus Carville, and then tumbling into the room in his arms.

  Mark paused the film again. "I should warn you: The next scenes may make you a little uncomfortable."

  "I think I can handle it," she said.

  He shrugged and hit PLAY. The next scene up was shot through the window of the motel room, showing Lacey straddling Titus, her back to the camera. Mark paused the film.

  "That's a pretty distinctive tattoo you've got there," Mark said. "It really stands out."

  "Is there a point to this, Dr. Sloan?" She said.

  "There are a few little things that bother me about this shot," he said. "For one thing, I understand you like sheets that have at least 600 threads."

  "I have sensitive skin," Lacey said. "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "The sheets at the Slumberland have maybe five threads," Steve said. "On a good day."

  "When you're caught up in passion, Lieutenant, you don't notice little discomforts," she said. "Are we done here?"

  "Did you know your TV has a split-screen feature?" Mark said. "And multiple inputs?"

  "No," she said. "I didn't know that."

  "It's a wonderful feature, especially if you have two things you want to watch at once, and two VCRs." Mark hit a button on her remote. The screen split in two, with the image from the Slumberland Motel on one half, and a still image from her stolen sex tape on the other. "We can watch two videos at the same time. I never understood why anyone would want to do that until now."

  "Do you get off watching me have sex, Dr. Sloan?" she asked.

  "I didn't notice the sex, to tell you the truth," Mark said. "I was paying attention to other things."

  "Don't tell me," she said. "You were admiring my performance."

  "I was thinking about how clearly I can see your face in this home video you shot," Mark said. "And how I can't in this bedroom footage at the Slumberland Motel. You're photographed from behind. I can see your unique tattoo, but your head is turned in such a way that I can't quite see your face."

  "Now you know why Stryker is a PI instead of a cameraman," she said. "But you know that's me. You saw me go into the motel room."

  "And I saw you leave an hour or so later. But you know what I kept thinking about? Your harrowing brush with cancer. And the benign tumor you had removed from your shoulder. I read all about it, and your brave struggle," Mark said, motioning to a magazine he'd brought along and set on the coffee table. "The thing is, I can see the scar on your shoulder in your home movie, but not in the video of you at the motel."

  She stared at the screen. "That doesn't prove anything."

  "It proves that's not you having sex in the motel room," Steve said. "Add that to the fact that Titus Carville rented adjoining rooms and it's pretty clear what happened."

  "You knew your husband hired Stryker to follow you, and you used that to create your alibi. Your body double, Moira Cole, was in the other room Carville rented, waiting for you to show up," Mark explained. "You allowed yourself to be clearly seen arriving, then you slipped out of the adjoining room in disguise while your double and Carville made love. You used the car she came in, drove to Malibu, and shot your husband and his lover with a silenced gun."

  "You wanted to be sure they'd be there and that they'd be helpless," Steve said. "You drugged their champagne so they'd just be laying there for you, waiting to get shot."

  "You also made a sixty-minute recording with four gun shots at the end, burned it on a CD, and left it to play in Cleve's stereo system after the murders," Mark said. "You returned to the motel, slipped into the adjoining room, and took off your disguise. You made absolutely sure you were clearly seen on film coming out of the room with Carville and driving away at the same time the shooting was reported. Your double stayed behind in the adjoining room until she was sure Stryker was gone."

  Lacey glowered at Mark. "I suppose you expect me to break down and confess."

  "I'd rather you waited until I read you your rights," Steve said, getting out his handcuffs. "You're under arrest for the murders of Cleve Kershaw and Amy Butler."

  While Steve cuffed her and informed her of her Miranda rights, Lacey stared at Mark, her eyes blazing with fury.

  "This isn't over, Dr. Sloan," Lacey said as Steve led her to the door, her arms cuffed behind her back. "It's only the beginning."

  When Lacey stepped outside, she was shocked to see the entire crew standing there. From the expressions on their faces, it was obvious that they knew what had happened. That's when she realized she was still wearing the wireless microphone for her scene. Everything that was said in her trailer was heard by the sound engineers, the director, the assistant directors, the producers, and everyone else who had a headset on the stage to monitor her performance.<
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  The director stepped up to Lacey and smirked. "Now you've got the intensity on your face I was looking for."

  Lacey was handcuffed, but she wasn't defenseless. She kneed the director in the groin with all her might.

  The director crumpled to the ground, clutching himself in agony.

  Steve hustled her through the crowd to a black-and-white squad car, where Lacey saw her stunt double, Moira Cole, was already sitting in the backseat, hands cuffed behind her back. She'd been arrested, too.

  Everyone's eyes where on Lacey, so when Mark stepped out of the trailer, the only one who seemed to notice him was the director, who was still doubled over at the steps.

  "Great performance in there," the director said through gritted teeth.

  "Thanks," Mark replied, helping the director to a seat on one of the steps. "Take a deep breath and try to relax. There's really nothing else you can do. The pain will pass in a few minutes."

  "I came in a little late and missed the opening credits," the director said. "Who are you, anyway?"

  Mark glanced at Lacey in the backseat of the police car, turned to the director and smiled playfully.

  "You can call me Justice."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The scent of death is unmistakable. Even if someone has never smelled it before, the recognition is immediate, as is the instinctive revulsion and fear that comes with it.

  Mark and Steve were outside Titus Carville's front door, a half-dozen uniformed officers behind them, when they smelled it.

  The odor was like a physical barrier and it provoked a physical response. The gag reflex. The Sloans had encountered the rotting aftermath of death before and had long since learned to control their reactions. The police officers with them weren't as experienced. They staggered back, their chests heaving.

  While the officers tried to control themselves, Steve took out the pocket-sized container of mentholated cream that, as a homicide detective, he always carried with him for exactly this kind of encounter. He dabbed a little of the strongly scented solution under his nose to dull the smell, and offered the container to Mark, who did the same.

  Steve took pairs of rubber gloves from the inside pocket of his coat, handed one set to Mark, and put on the other. Given the smell, it was a safe bet that they were about to enter a crime scene. Once his gloves were on, he tried the doorknob. It was unlocked.

  "This is the police," Steve yelled, on the slim chance that somebody was still inside despite the overpowering stench of decomposing flesh. "We're coming inside."

  He motioned his father to step back, drew his gun, and proceeded into the house.

  It was oppressively hot inside, the odor of death even more intense. The air wasn't circulating at all and felt heavy enough to touch. The living room was empty, except for the flies. They were everywhere.

  Steve moved down the hall to the office and found Titus Carville's swollen corpse on the floor in front of his computer. Carville was curled on his side, his desk chair in the center of the room, Lacey McClure smiling down at him from a dozen different posters.

  He unclipped the radio from his belt and notified the officers outside. "This is Sloan. We're clear. Secure the location, this is now a crime scene. Notify SID and the medical examiner that we have a decomp."

  The desktop computer was still on. He tapped the space bar on the keyboard and the monitor snapped to life, revealing a Microsoft Word document.

  It was a suicide note.

  Forgive me, Lacey, for everything I have done. I'll be waiting for you in heaven.

  Mark came in behind Steve and read the note over his shoulder.

  "That's convenient," Mark said, waving away the flies buzzing aggressively around him.

  "Amazing, isn't it?" Steve said. "Everything seems to happen just at the right moment."

  "For Lacey McClure, though I doubt she was expecting her alibi to fall apart," Mark said, then noticed the coffee mug and CDs scattered on the desk. "Did your friend at the Bureau teach you how to find out a computer's MAC address?"

  "I was going to use what I learned on Lacey's computer, but I might as well get some practice now." Steve took out his notebook, referred to his notes, then used the mouse to minimize the Word document and click his way to a DOS command prompt. He typed "ipconfig /all" and hit RETURN. The screen displayed a list of the computer's configuration details. He compared the MAC address on screen with the one in his notes.

  "That's one mystery solved," Steve said, diminishing the DOS window and restoring the Word screen to full size. "Titus made the CD with the gunshots on it."

  "He was certainly devoted to Lacey," Mark said. "He was willing to help her establish an alibi by making the CD and having sex with her stunt double at the Slumberland Motel."

  "I don't know if that last part was such a big sacrifice," Steve said. "I understand his motivation, but I don't see what was in it for Moira Cole."

  "Neither do I," Mark said.

  Steve motioned to the fly bloated corpse on the floor. "What do you make of this?"

  Mark glanced at the office chair in middle of the room, then crouched beside Titus Carville's decomposing body and examined it. The squirming maggots were newborns, about the size of rice, which gave Mark a rough idea how long Carville had been dead. But what was the cause of death? The only sign of trauma he could see was a superficial scrape on Carville's forehead. Otherwise, there were no wounds, no broken bones, nothing that obviously indicated violence. Even so, it wasn't difficult for Mark to make an educated guess about what had happened to Carville.

  "I'd say Carville was sitting at his desk about two days ago, drinking whatever was in that mug, when he lost consciousness," Mark said. "He slumped forward, hit his head on the edge of the desk, and then fell, his chair rolling out from under him into the middle of the room."

  Steve nodded. He'd come to pretty much the same conclusion. "If I was going to off myself, though, I don't think I'd do it sitting in my home office staring at my computer."

  "Perhaps you would if you didn't think of it as an office, but as a shrine to the woman you love," Mark said, glancing at all the posters of Lacey that covered the walls. "And if it was her face you were looking at, not the computer."

  The incessant buzzing of the flies seemed to be increasing. It was bothering Steve even more than the smell. "So you believe it was suicide?"

  "I believe Titus Carville would do just about anything for Lacey McClure," Mark said. "But I wonder if even he would have drawn the line at taking his own life."

  Mark wandered out and went to the bedroom, Steve following after him. The sheets were turned down, as if a maid had come in. All that was missing were the chocolates on the pillows. With a glance, Mark could see they were nicer linens than Carville had on his bed before. He touched the folded-over top sheet. It was soft and silky, 600 threads or better.

  He turned to Steve, who was standing in the doorway. "Carville was expecting Lacey."

  Steve glanced at the bed. "He was expecting a lot more than that. Apparently, she never showed up."

  "Or she did, and it never got this far, because she poisoned him first."

  "Looks like Lacey was cleaning up after herself," Steve said. "It's a good thing we arrested her when we did or Moira Cole could have been the next one to die."

  "Maybe you can use this as leverage to get Moira to testify against Lacey."

  "Wouldn't that be nice," Steve said.

  Jesse woke up on the couch at Mark's house. It took a minute before he realized where he was and why he was there and then he felt stupid. He'd begged Steve and Mark to let him come along for the arrest, but he must have fallen asleep while Steve was on the phone, finding out where Lacey McClure was shooting her movie that day.

  He'd missed all the action. His thirty-six-hour shift and the hours he spent awake immediately afterwards doing re search on Noah Dent had taken their toll. His body decided to close for business without consulting him first.

  Jesse checked his watch
. It was a little after six p.m. He'd only been asleep a few hours, but he knew a lot had gone down in the meantime, and it was probably on the early evening news. He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Lacey McClure's surprise arrest for the double murders of Cleve Kershaw and Amy Butler was the top story on every network and local channel, as he knew it would be.

  But he wasn't expecting to hear Mark Sloan doing the play-by-play. Over the footage of Lacey being led into the county jail downtown, CNN played a tape, made without her knowledge, of part of her conversation with Mark and Steve in her trailer. The sound engineer only began recording after Lacey accused Mark of getting off on watching her have sex. Jesse didn't know what came before that, but as far as he was concerned, the engineer got the best part. Mark's step-by-step explanation of how she committed the murder, and all the mistakes she made, was all there.

  The guys at CNN knew they had some good stuff to work with, and used it well. Over the shot of Lacey McClure walking into jail, the big doors slamming shut behind her, the camera panned up to one of the barred windows and played her final, taunting words: "This isn't over Dr Sloan. It's only the beginning."

  Jesse loved it. He'd been with Mark in so many similar situations that he could easily imagine the expression on his face as every word was said. It was like Jesse was right there, in middle of it all. It was so good that Jesse decided that Mark should consider recording all his confrontations with killers.

  When the CNN report was over, Jesse felt like he hadn't slept through a thing. It was easily the most accurate reporting he'd ever seen on television.

  He grabbed the phone and called Susan.

  "I hope you weren't too worried about me," Jesse said.

  "Mark called me and told me he made you take a nap," she said. "He also told me the video you brought him was the key to solving the case."

  "So you forgive me for buying it?"

  "I never had a problem with you buying it," she said. "I had a problem with how much you wanted to watch it."

  "Have you seen the news?" Jesse asked. "You've got to turn the TV on," he said. "You're missing all the great stuff they've got on Lacey McClure. They've even got a tape of Mark nailing her with everything."