Video Kill

by Joanne Fluke

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Tony lit a cigarette and took a deep puff to stall for time. He knew he was doing a bad job of explaining things to Erik, but it couldn’t be helped. Erik would just have to write the scene over the way it had really happened. It was critical to the Video Killer story.

  “Look, Erik, your way just isn’t realistic enough.”

  “My way isn’t realistic?” Erik’s mouth dropped open. “Jesus, Tony! I read your blocking, and your killer’s straight from central casting in that phony executioner’s hood. And to make it even more hokey, you have him doing Hitchcock’s shower scene. You think that’s realistic?”

  “Calm down, Erik. I see your point.” Tony did his best to pacify Erik. “Look, your way would be perfect under any other circumstances, but I know he wore the hood. And I also know that the first murder was a Psycho remake.”

  The moment the words were out of Tony’s mouth, the expression on Erik’s face changed. “Good God, Tony! Did you actually get a look at that murder video?”

  Tony thought fast. He’d have to talk his way out of this one. “Don’t be an asshole, Erik. Sam’s turned down everyone who asked for a private viewing, and that includes his boss, the chief of police. What makes you think he’d show it to me?”

  “I notice you avoided my question, Tony.” Erik looked suspicious. “Give me a simple yes or no. Did you or did you not see that murder video?”

  Tony sighed. Erik was pinning him down like a lawyer. “Okay, Erik, I’ll give you a solemn Italian oath. I swear on my mother’s grave that I didn’t see it.”

  “Fine, Tony, except your mother doesn’t have a grave. She’s still alive.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Tony looked sheepish. “If my mother were dead, I’d still swear on her grave. Now, can we drop this idiotic cross-examination and get to work?”

  “Not until you’ve answered my questions. If you didn’t see the murder video, where did you get all this inside stuff about the killer?”

  This time Tony had his answer ready. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

  “All right. I promise.”

  “I was sitting here last night staring at the computer screen. I knew I had to block out that scene and nothing was coming. You know the feeling?”

  Erik nodded.

  “So I decided to try to think like the Video Killer. I got out that picture of Sharee Lyons and asked myself what made her special. Why would I choose this particular girl? Then it came to me. She was an actress and she looked just like Janet Leigh. And the press reported she was killed in the shower. That’s when I came up with using Psycho.”

  “You didn’t think the whole thing was far-fetched?”

  “Sure I did. But then I pulled the other file, the one with the picture of Tammara Welles. Don’t you think she looks like Laura Elliott?”

  “Who’s Laura Elliott?”

  “The actress Hitchcock killed off in Strangers on a Train.”

  Erik frowned. “I don’t think I saw it.”

  “Well, I did. And take my word for it, the resemblance is there.”

  “How about Diana Ellington?”

  “The first murder in Frenzy. She’s a dead ringer for Barbara Leigh-Hunt, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

  Erik winced. Tony’s sense of humor had been pretty insensitive lately. “So you want us to write a Video Killer whose motivation is remaking Hitchcock?”

  “Why not? It’s a hell of a gimmick, even if I’m wrong. Now, can we please write the damn thing the way I’ve got it blocked out? As a personal favor to me?”

  Erik looked surprised. Tony never asked for favors. “Well . . . okay. I’ll give in to your superior intuition this time. But get the blocking done ahead of time from now on. I worked for almost a week on that scene, and now we can’t use any of it.”

  “I will. Why don’t you start on it and I’ll see what I can dig up on Diana Ellington’s murder. If I don’t get back before you leave, put what you’ve done on my desk.”

  “You’re leaving now? You just got here, Tony!”

  “I realize that, Erik, but there are a couple of things I’ve got to do. Allison’s mother is worse and I promised to stop by at the convalescent center.”

  The irritated expression on Erik’s face was immediately replaced by one of concern.

  “I’m sorry, Tony. Does it look bad?”

  “It doesn’t look good. I’ll give you a call and fill you in. And Erik? I promise I’ll have the other two scenes blocked out by the time you need them.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Tony. I’ll be fine if you can stay just one scene ahead of me. And tell Allison . . . oh, hell. What can you tell someone at a time like this?”

  “Chin up, keep a stiff upper lip, and things will look better in the morning, I guess. None of them do any good.”

  “Right.” Erik nodded. “Good luck, Tony. Remember that Allison’s mother has rallied lots of times before.”

  As Tony got into the elevator, he realized that he should have been an actor. He’d convinced Erik with that story about Allison’s mother, but he didn’t feel good about it. That was twice he’d lied to his partner in less than five minutes. He really wanted to go back and level with Erik, but he couldn’t. There was his promise to Sam to keep, and he was already ten minutes late to see the third murder disc.

  Allison smiled as she put down the phone. It was her first smile of the morning since she’d heard about the Video Killer’s third victim, Diana Ellington. Allison had met her in an acting workshop once. Thank goodness the call from Doris Stanley had been good news, not bad. Allison didn’t know how much more bad news she could take.

  The head nurse had been cheerful. Allison’s mother was doing very well this morning. She’d even eaten a large breakfast. The chemotherapy seemed to be having a positive effect, and since Dr. Naiman would be running some tests today, could Allison skip her regular visit and come in early tomorrow instead?

  Naturally, Allison had agreed. It was nice of Miss Stanley to call and tell her. But now the day stretched out with nothing to do except crochet or watch television. She supposed she could call one of her old friends and suggest lunch, but she didn’t really feel up to socializing. And Tony was busy. He’d told her he’d probably be home very late tonight. Allison glanced at the kitchen calendar, but there was nothing that she had to do today. Then she noticed the date and gasped. Today was their wedding anniversary.

  Allison grabbed her purse and car keys and ran out the door. She had to shop for a present for Tony. Luckily, she’d seen the perfect gift in a boutique not far from the house. It was a beautiful gold cigarette lighter with a little notch on top. When the end of a cigarette was inserted in the notch, the lighter flamed automatically. Since Tony was always complaining about lighting a cigarette when he was using the computer and then getting his fingers back on the wrong keys, it would be perfect for him. Allison still remembered the time he’d typed a whole scene in Free Fire with his right hand off by one row and they’d spent hours deciphering words like bpdu cpimt and casia; tu and jamd gremade.

  In less than an hour, Allison was back at the house. The boutique had engraved the lighter with the phrase Allison had chosen. YOU LIGHT UP MY LIFE. Tony would groan at her syrupy sentiment, but she knew he’d love it anyway. Now she’d call Erik at the office to see if Tony had mentioned anything about their anniversary.

  The phone rang seven times before Erik answered. He sounded harassed.

  “Hi, Erik. It’s Allison. I hope I didn’t catch you in the middle of something.”

  “You did, but that’s okay. I was just looking for something on Tony’s desk and it took me a while to uncover the phone.”

  Allison laughed as she imagined the mess that Tony’s desk must be in. Both Erik and Tony were lax when it came to filing. Before her mother had gotten so sick, she’d gone every Monday to help them. The papers were probably knee-high by now.

  “Listen carefully, Erik. I’m
about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “I’ll drive in to do all the filing on Monday if you guys will buy me a hot dog. The only people I’ve talked to lately are nurses and doctors, and I’m sick of it all.”

  “I can understand that.” Erik’s voice was warm and reassuring. “But there’s no need to bribe me with the filing, Allison. I’ll buy you lunch anytime.”

  “Then Monday’s okay?”

  “That’s fine with me, but Tony’s tied up on Monday. He’s having lunch with someone at the studio.”

  “You’re free?”

  “I’m free.”

  “Good. I’ll come in anyway, we can go to lunch, and then we’ll meet Tony back at the office later. Is he there, Erik? I need to ask him a question.”

  “He’s left already, Allison.” Erik sounded puzzled. “How’s your mother?”

  “She’s doing much better. I talked to the head nurse this morning and she’s responding well to the chemotherapy. They’re running more tests today, but things look better than they have in a long time.”

  “That’s wonderful, Allison. Tony was all upset about it this morning. So you’re going to see her this afternoon?

  “No. They’ve asked for no visitors. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

  There was a long silence, and Allison could hear the tinny sound of another conversation bleeding into their line. It was so faint she couldn’t make out the words. Finally Erik spoke again.

  “What’s going on, Allison? Tony told me your mother was worse and he had to go visit her.”

  “But that’s not true, Erik! I talked to the head nurse not more than an hour ago. I don’t understand why Tony would tell you . . .” Allison stopped in midsentence and laughed. “Oh, now I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “Today’s our wedding anniversary, Erik.”

  “Your anniversary?” Erik felt his anxiety slide away. He’d blown the surprise Tony had planned for Allison last year by saying the wrong thing over the phone and now it seemed he’d done it again this year. “I’m sorry I said anything, Allison. Now I know why Tony gave me that story.”

  Allison laughed. “He’s probably on his way home right now. I’d better hurry and make myself pretty. Where shall I meet you for lunch on Monday?”

  “We could go somewhere nice.”

  “I’d rather go somewhere not-so-nice. You’re always bragging about your little neighborhood finds. Take me to one that makes a great hamburger.”

  Erik thought for a moment. “Donny’s has great hamburgers if you’re up for grease.”

  Allison laughed. “Grease is one of my favorite foods. Does Donny’s have chili?”

  “Four alarm, maybe five.”

  “That settles it. Tell me where and when, and I’ll meet you.”

  “Okay. One o’clock at Donny’s Bar and Grill at the corner of Fairfax and La Cienega. You can recognize it by all the graffiti on the wall. And, Allison? You’d better wait in the car for me. Donny’s isn’t exactly a restaurant. It’s more like, I’m not sure of the polite way to say it.”

  “A meat rack?”

  “What’s that?”

  Allison giggled. “Sometimes I wonder about you, Erik. You’ve been out here for years, but you’re still a Minnesota farm boy at heart. A meat rack is another name for a pickup joint.”

  “Nice phrase. I like it. Donny’s is definitely a meat rack. Most of the women in there look like streetwalkers, but I can’t tell for sure with the styles right now. For all I know they could be investment bankers. Uh, Allison? Now that I think about it, maybe Donny’s isn’t such a good idea after all. It’s not exactly your kind of place.”

  “Don’t you back out now!” Allison scolded him. “Donny’s sounds exciting, and I promise not to go in until you get there. Just look around the parking lot for the lady with the rose in her teeth.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  A few more minutes of light banter and Allison hung up. It was almost twelve-thirty, and Tony could be home any minute. She was smiling as she raced to the closet to put on her very best outfit. She wanted to look nice for Tony’s surprise. Whatever it might be.

  12

  “Everything looks fine, Erik.” Dr. Trumbull wrote a notation on Erik’s chart and looked up with a smile. “Your lungs are clear . . . this time.”

  Erik smiled back. He liked his new doctor. One of the things that really burned him about going to the V.A. hospital was the way they kept switching his doctors. It was a lottery, but this time he’d lucked out. Dr. Trumbull was young and he didn’t mince around with medical terminology. He called Q fever by its common name, not some multisyllabic medical term that no one but a doctor could pronounce.

  “So how are the headaches?”

  “Worse.” Erik didn’t mince around, either. “The pills you gave me aren’t working.”

  “And the blackout periods?”

  “Just as bad, but the psychiatrist told me not to worry. You’ve got his report there, don’t you?”

  Dr. Trumbull nodded. “He seems to think that the blackouts are your way of dealing with the trauma you experienced in the war. Some of the front-line vets I’ve treated have flashbacks and nightmares that turn them into basket cases for months at a time. You have a bad headache with a blackout, and you’re back on your feet again the next morning. You’re lucky, Erik. It could be much worse.”

  Erik nodded, but he didn’t feel lucky. In fact, he felt another headache coming on. It was a good thing he’d finished up his work at the office.

  “Let’s try something different for the headaches.” Dr. Trumbull pulled a packaged sheet of pills from his desk. “There’s a new drug on the market they want me to test. How do you feel about becoming a statistic?”

  “I’ll try almost anything. Does it have any side effects?”

  “You mean like gaining two hundred pounds?” Dr. Trumbull smiled as he handed Erik a sheaf of papers to sign. “We haven’t found any side effects so far, but the test group has been pretty small.”

  “I’ll try it.” Erik signed his name to the papers and exchanged them for the packet of pills. Then he noticed the name of the drug. “Mezo . . . what?”

  “Mezopropathalomine. I call them zonkers because that’s what they do. Take one every time you feel a headache coming on. It’ll knock you out in about thirty minutes and keep you out for an hour or more. It should block out all the pain and leave you rested. Now, run down to the lab and do the drill for them and come in to see me in two weeks.”

  The lab didn’t take long. Erik rolled up his sleeve for a veteran nurse who looked a little like Louise Fletcher in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and let her take his blood pressure. Then there were the usual blood and urine samples. The nurse was efficient, and within ten minutes Erik was through. He left the building and took a deep breath of the air outside. He hated the smell of a hospital. Then he walked quickly to the parking lot and retrieved his car. He had to hurry if he wanted to beat the traffic on the freeway.

  As Erik pulled out of the lot and drove past the beautifully kept lawns, he tried not to glance toward the psych building on his right. Its locked wards were directly across the quadrangle from the Wadsworth Theater. Erik had seen enough of the Wadsworth to last him a lifetime. He had stared at its entrance for a solid month from a barred window in the psych building.

  The strain of a broken marriage and a son with serious medical problems had taken its predictable toll. Erik had managed to hold himself together until the divorce was final and he’d sent Jamie off to Pine Ridge. Then he had suffered what the doctors at the V.A. hospital had called acute stress syndrome. The memories of those painful months, spent in the confines of a locked room, were something that Erik was determined never to experience again. For months after he’d been released with a clean bill of health, he’d worried that Daniele would find out about his breakdown and wag
e a custody battle, but he’d eventually realized that his ex-wife wasn’t remotely interested in Jamie. In all the years that Jamie had been at Pine Ridge, she’d never even called to ask about his progress.

  The San Diego Freeway was already crowded, but Erik hopped on anyway. At least it was moving. It took him thirty minutes to navigate the six-mile stretch to Culver City, and several times he fought the urge to get off and take Sepulveda, which roughly paralleled the freeway. Whenever he’d taken Sepulveda as an alternate route in the past, he’d always seemed to get behind cars turning left, across traffic. A five-cycle wait at a stoplight was much more frustrating than crawling along on the freeway.

  As he turned in on Sunshine Lane, Erik pulled straight up to the guard kiosk. The residents’ entrance was still blocked off with white-and-orange sawhorses. Norma waved and pressed the button to raise the gate.

  “The gate’s still broken?”

  “Nope.” Norma grinned. “It’s broken again. They fixed it this morning, but some lady in a Cadillac drove right through it.”

  The neighborhood kids were out playing ball on the street, and Erik stopped to let them finish pitching before he drove through. The boy at bat was about Jamie’s age. Perhaps they could become friends when Jamie came home.

  It took Erik less than five minutes to park his car, look through the mail, and feed Al, who’d obviously spent a grueling morning holding down the rug. There was nothing in the refrigerator that looked interesting enough to eat, so he called out for a pizza. Erik had the delivery boy at Chris’s Pizza well trained. He knew that the word tip was an acronym for “To Insure Promptness.” Since Erik had the reputation for tipping generously, his pizzas were always delivered piping hot, just out of the oven.

  Erik poured himself a beer and sat down in front of the television set to wait for his food to arrive. Al padded in and jumped up to nestle on his lap. The afternoon sun streamed into the living room, and the scene was domestic and tranquil. He’d just gotten a new medication for his headaches, Jamie was showing improvement, and the first scene of the screenplay was practically finished. Erik tried to convince himself that everything was fine. There was no reason to sit here feeling like the other shoe was about to drop.