Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4)

by Terry Odell

  “He gave me a list of possibilities. They’re going to run screens to see if they can find any of them, and then once they know for sure there won’t be any other complications, they’ll let her go home.”

  “I want that list. I’ll send it to Asel. Maybe they’ll find the same thing in Marianna.”

  “I’ll get the doc to write them down, and I’ll send it to you. Having to spell or pronounce things like that is above my pay grade. And, speaking of Marianna, you still want me to go to the autopsy?”

  Gordon heard the eagerness in Solomon’s voice. “Yep. What did Yolanda say about meeting Marianna? Who called who?”

  Solomon’s voice lowered, his tone dead serious. “She said she was totally unaware that Marianna had been in the wardrobe RV. She never called her.”

  “Wait. You’re saying Yolanda left the RV before Marianna got there? You have a time?” Gordon felt the window narrowing.

  “She left a little after seven-thirty. She’d dressed everyone who needed dressing, and was heading to the set to be ready for any wardrobe malfunctions—that’s my term, not hers, by the way. She said she felt a little dizzy, disoriented, and decided to take the long way around to clear her head. That’s the last thing she remembers until she woke up in the clinic.”

  “So, we have her testimony that Marianna hadn’t been in the trailer before seven-thirty, and Mai found her at seven fifty-two.”

  “The wrinkle I see,” Solomon said, “is that if this was a case of poisoning, and they were both given the same drug, it probably isn’t the sort where death—or, noticeable symptoms—are immediate. So, it could have been administered somewhere else, and well outside the window we’ve been looking at.”

  “Which means we’re going to have to find out if they were together at all, and when. Or if they ate or drank the same thing. Did the doc give you any idea how long it might have taken between ingesting the drug and feeling the effects?”

  “We don’t even know for sure whether it was ingested. What if it was injected?”

  “Did the docs find any needle marks on Yolanda?”

  “I’ll ask.”

  “You do that, and at the autopsy tomorrow, maybe Asel will get answers from Marianna.”

  “You think one got the drug in food or drink, and the other was injected with it? That sounds like two different MOs, and aren’t you the one who’s always shooting down my theory of a deadbeat dad serial killer because there have been too many methods of killing?”

  “You’re right. Ask the doc to check, get back to me if he finds needle marks, or if Yolanda remembers anything like a pinprick—maybe she thought it was an insect bite—and then you can call it a night. We’ll meet here at oh six-hundred, go over any new developments.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. Consider yourself off the clock.”

  Gordon couldn’t say the same for himself. The beginning of a case was vital, and he needed to get his ducks in parade formation. He stared at the monitor, at his legal tablet, and his phone. He dialed a number he knew by heart, and wished he didn’t. And that Caller ID wouldn’t identify him. After two rings, Tyler Colfax picked up.

  “Ready for real help from the big guys, Hepler? Not just increased manpower?”

  Gordon ignored the jibe. “Manner of death hasn’t been determined, so this is still unofficial. Thought I’d pick your brain—that is, if there’s anything left to pick.”

  “I can always spare a few brain cells for Mapleton’s finest. Things okay with your vision?”

  Although Gordon had never mentioned it to him, Colfax had heard about Gordon’s issues with Central Serous Retinopathy last winter. But the man was a detective, a good one, and Gordon wasn’t surprised that he’d found out. “Yeah. Surgery took care of it. Good as new.”

  “Glad to hear it. Would hate to have to be leading you around at crime scenes—not that I don’t do it already.”

  “Are you done?” Gordon asked.

  “Never, but go ahead. What do you need?”

  Assuming Colfax had been following the news, Gordon gave him a sketchy outline of the case, knowing the detective would ask questions if he needed more information. “So, things are leaning toward someone administering a drug that affected the heart rhythms of two people that we’re aware of. One died, one’s in the clinic.”

  “Which would mean you’ve got one homicide, one attempted.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ve been wanting an excuse to get to Mapleton. Brain picking works for me. You still seeing that cute blonde? The one who makes the best damn cinnamon rolls in the county.”

  “Yes, and it’s probably the best damn cinnamon rolls in the state, not just the county.”

  “Well, if she’s taken, I understand you’ve got hot movie people there, too.”

  Gordon realized he’d have to find a way to keep the production in Mapleton long enough to pursue this new line of questioning. Damn.

  “Autopsy is tomorrow, but I’m getting a list of possible drugs that might have caused the symptoms in our living victim, to see if they’ll find traces in our dead woman.”

  “You have any suspects?” Colfax asked.

  “If I did, why would I be calling you?”

  Gordon let Colfax know that he and Solomon were going to go over things the next morning, and the detective—after requesting that cinnamon rolls be included—agreed to join them. Figuring that was as good an excuse as any to call Angie, Gordon picked up the phone.

  “Of course,” she said to his request. “Want me to send over enough for the morning shift at the station? Mr. Dawson’s going to be holding a meeting of everyone here at eight, so I’ll be cooking for them, too.” She paused. “He’s paying me extra—a lot extra—for catering. And that’s on top of what he’s paying to use the diner.”

  “Did he change his mind about filming those scenes?” Gordon asked.

  “He’s left everything according to what he’d previously set up for using the dining room, so I assume everything will move ahead as planned. I get rent, so to speak, plus more to cover the loss of business because I’m closed. We don’t make as much money in a day as he’s paying, but then, he’s ordering a lot more food than we serve in a day, so I guess it’s reasonable. I’ll have to run numbers to be sure, but I can’t see how we’re not going to come out ahead—way ahead.” Another pause. “Will I see you tonight?”

  Staying over at Angie’s would cut out a lot of driving time.

  You’re rationalizing again, Hepler.

  “If it’s all right with you. I know you have to get up early.”

  Angie giggled. “Which I would do whether or not you’re here.”

  “I don’t want to keep you up late tonight, though. I might not get done here for a while yet.”

  “You have a key. If it gets late, I won’t wait up.”

  “If that’s the case, I’ll try not to wake you.”

  “Don’t try too hard. Gotta go. See you later.”

  You are one lucky man, Gordon Hepler.

  Gordon’s email dinged an incoming. Solomon’s list of possible drugs. Would Asel get results faster than the clinic? Or should Gordon wait until they found out which, if any, had been given to Yolanda?

  Let Asel decide which was more efficient. Gordon had no clue how those tests worked, and if one test would search for all the drugs, or if they’d each have to be run separately. He forwarded the list to Asel, and left a message on his voicemail alerting him they were coming. “Ed Solomon will be attending the autopsy, so give him a heads-up as to the time.” He left Solomon’s number, then added “and given this new information, if you can move her up the line, it’ll make things easier for all, since our likeliest suspects are the Seesaw people, and they’ll be leaving soon.”

  He went back to searching through Marianna’s cell phone. This was way out of his comfort zone. He hardly used his for more than phone calls, texts, although if he was away from the office too long, he might check his email. He ha
d an admin—and a damn good one—to keep him up to speed.

  Did Marianna have an assistant? Dawson hadn’t mentioned one, and with Marianna out of the picture, you’d think an assistant would have filled the void. Dawson had said they were working with the equivalent of a skeleton crew for the Mapleton location. But what about back at the studio? Would there be backups of whatever it was Marianna did? And, they still hadn’t confirmed whether or not Marianna had a laptop with her. Surely, if she had one with her, Dawson would know.

  He called the director. “Who’s going to take over Marianna’s role? Does she have an assistant?”

  “Assistant?” Dawson said. “Yeah, I’m sure she had at least one. Let me think for a minute.” After a prolonged silence, Dawson came back on the line. “At a time like this, I think you need to go above her, not beneath her. Ultimately, the studio’s in control, and you should go through channels.”

  Gordon wondered whether Dawson had been in touch with the studio while Gordon had effectively been put on hold. “Can you give me the name and number I need, please? And a direct line. I don’t want to play the telephone tree game.”

  “I’m not sure he’ll like—”

  “Let’s remember, I’m the police, and this is an active investigation into the death of one of his employees. He’ll have to talk to me, so give me the number.”

  Another pause. Did Dawson have the studio on a separate line? Was he conferring? Or looking up the number? Dawson returned. “Ethan Lang is who you want,” and he rattled off a phone number, as if he were daring Gordon to ask him to repeat it.

  Gordon, not stupid enough to be making a phone call of this nature without being ready with pen and paper, wrote it down. “One more question, Mr. Dawson. Did Marianna Spellman have a laptop with her?”

  “I never saw her use it, but who knows what she kept inside that satchel of hers. Although, come to think of it, she must have, because when we went over shooting schedules, and who needed to be where and when, she took notes in longhand, but she gave me hard copies that were typewritten—or keyboarded, or whatever you call it now that typewriters are a thing of the past. They weren’t handwritten, that’s all I can say. How they got that way, I don’t know. She could have used a computer where she was staying and printed them there.”

  Gordon was tired of getting non-answers to his questions. “Thank you. I’ll check with the studio.” Before he called, he made a list of topics to cover.

  He punched in Ethan Lang’s number, and was pleasantly surprised that Lang himself answered. Gordon had figured that the man’s admin would answer, which was still closer than a main studio switchboard. Points to Dawson for that much, at least.

  Gordon identified himself, wishing he could see Lang’s face. Had Dawson prepped him? Was he expecting the call?

  “Chief Hepler, I assume you’re calling about the tragic death of Marianna Spellman. Do you have any news you can share?”

  “I’m sorry, not at this time. We’re still investigating. But it would help us if you’d answer a few questions.” Gordon tapped his pen beside the first item on his list.

  “Of course.” Lang’s voice sounded sincere, but without the benefit of body language, or seeing facial expressions, Gordon took the usual cop position that people lied to cops. “I want to get to the bottom of this as much as anyone. Marianna was a valuable asset to any production she worked on, and she’s worked on three previous pictures for us. She will be missed.”

  “I’m going to record this conversation,” Gordon said. “For everyone’s protection.”

  “I understand.”

  Gordon switched the phone to speaker and set up his recorder. “You said you’ve dealt with Miss Spellman before, that this would have been her fourth film for your studio. Does this mean there are others who are working on the current film who have worked with her in the past?”

  “Yes, she’d worked with a number of people from our studio. In this business, paths cross.”

  “Would any of them have been on location in Mapleton?” Gordon asked. Despite the recording, he made notes as they spoke.

  “I doubt it, although I’d have to have someone pull the records of the other films. In most instances, we have dozens of behind-the-scenes people—technical and support crews—working on a project. More in the studio than on location for budget purposes, and we’ve tried to cut things as close to the bone as possible on this film because of the charity angle, so we have a skeleton crew.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that.” Gordon followed a thought that Lang’s comment triggered. “When you say skeleton crew, are you talking about this location shoot, or the movie itself?”

  “Both,” Lang said. “We’ve sent as few as possible to Colorado. Only those who are indispensable.”

  “Would you have a list of everyone involved on the production? It might help.” Gordon wasn’t sure how, but maybe something would pop. Always better to have things you didn’t need than need things you didn’t have.

  “I can arrange to have it sent,” Lang said.

  Gordon gave Lang his email address, then continued. “We’ve been unable to find a laptop in Miss Spellman’s on-site office or in her lodgings. Do you know whether or not she brought one with her?”

  “I would assume so.”

  “But you can’t be certain?”

  “Did I personally see her pack it up? No. Her assistant might know, but he’s left for the day.”

  “His name?”

  “Neil Ryan,” Lang said.

  Gordon went on. “I’m a little bit confused about how things work. You hire most of your people on a picture-by-picture basis? So they might work for other studios on other projects?”

  “Close enough,” Lang said.

  “So, where does Miss Spellman work?”

  “She has her own office in Santa Monica, but there’s one here she uses when she’s working on one of our productions.”

  “And her assistant?” Gordon referred to his notes. “Mr. Ryan, was it? Does he work at the studio when Miss Spellman is working there?”

  “Yes, she brings him along. Normally, he’d be with her on location, but—”

  “Yes, I understand. Skeleton crew. I’d like his number when we finish. For now, can you tell me of anyone who’d want to harm her in any way?”

  Lang paused, as if collecting his thoughts. “People do strange things for reasons that make sense only to them, but no, I’m not aware of any feuds or rivalries other than what’s the norm for this business. Nobody makes everybody happy, but things tend to balance out. If you’re asking if I heard anyone threaten her, no. Did anyone file a formal complaint? No.”

  “What about the other way around? Did she file any complaints? Threaten anyone?”

  “Nothing I’d consider any more than typical office conversation. Disagreements abound, but she’s not in charge of casting.”

  Gordon jotted more notes. “Did she have any influence on who was cast for what part, even if she didn’t make the final decision?”

  Lang snorted. “Around here, everyone spouts their opinions. Everyone’s got a relative who’d be perfect for a role. But the casting director hires. And fires.”

  Gordon crossed that off his list. “Who’s going to replace Miss Spellman? Would her assistant move up?”

  “Not automatically, no. He’ll cover for her, but the Human Resources Department at the studio has the final say in hiring all production personnel. Everyone’s aware of that.”

  So much for killing one’s way to the top. Gordon finished up with Lang. Nothing particularly helpful, although he’d crossed a couple items off his list.

  He moved on to Neil Ryan. If anyone would know the ins and outs of her life, her assistant should. The phone rang for a good long time before a breathless—and irritated sounding— “hello” greeted him.

  Chapter 16

  “Neil Ryan?” Gordon said.

  “Yes, who is this?”

  Gordon identified himself.

  “Poli
ce? Mapleton. Thank God.” The irritation left Ryan’s tone. “Have you found out anything? I heard rumors, but couldn’t believe it. Then I saw it on the news. Everyone’s been calling me, asking what’s going on. Who would kill her?”

  “Slow down, Mr. Ryan. First, nobody said anything about killing. I hope you’re not giving anyone information that could potentially hamper our investigation.”

  “Of course I’m not. I don’t know anything, so I have nothing to tell them.”

  “Good. It’s still very early in the investigative process, so I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Once again, Gordon gave his preamble to recording the conversation, then moved on with his questions. “When did you last hear from Miss Spellman?”

  “Last night. Seven-thirty. Jeopardy was over, and I gave her the Final Jeopardy answer, like always. When she’s out of town, that’s our usual check-in time, and it’s a game we play. She’s pretty good. Last night, it was a movie theme, so I wasn’t surprised she got it right.” He sucked a breath. “It’s not important, I’m sure, and I don’t know why, but it does make me feel better. That I have a positive memory of her.”

  Gordon stopped him before the conversation turned into a game show recap. “What did you discuss?”

  “Our next project.”

  “Same studio?”

  A pause. “No, but until things are tighter, I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

  “Nothing that might have created animosity toward Miss Spellman?”

  “No. We aren’t—weren’t—far enough along, very few people know about it, and if anything, they’d be bending over backward to get on her good side.”

  “You didn’t discuss what was going on in Mapleton?”

  “Oh, some. They’d wrapped the lake scenes, and she was looking forward to moving on, but she said everything was under control, and we didn’t talk long.”

  “She didn’t mention any friction on the set? Maybe with the crew, not the actors?”

  “No, nothing. But she rarely vented with me. If things weren’t going well, she’d be brusque, but she didn’t share. It’s not an easy job, and she knew it.”