Video Kill

by Joanne Fluke

  It was past ten at night when Sam finished his third bowl of stew and pushed his chair back from the table. Katy had fixed his favorite meal, Irish stew with fresh vegetables and big man-sized hunks of meat. He’d eaten in hundreds of Los Angeles restaurants, but he’d never found one that served stew like Katy’s. And the soda bread. She’s told him her secret was ground cardamom seeds for flavoring.

  She’d been here every night this week, cooking for him and sharing his bed. Sam knew why, and he’d doled out just enough tidbits about the Video Killer to keep her coming back for more. He knew she had an ulterior motive, but so did he. He wanted his wife back for good.

  Katy came out of the kitchen, carrying a steaming cup of fresh coffee and a whole pie. Some of the juice had bubbled up through the crust, and it looked like peach, his favorite.

  “Coffee, Sam?”

  “You bet. It’s Sunday night, Katy. I have to stay alert.”

  “Do you think he’ll do it again tonight?”

  “There’s no reason to think he’ll break his pattern, but let’s not talk about it now. I want to enjoy my dessert.” Sam hooked his arm around her waist as she began to slice the pie. It was definitely peach. “I don’t suppose there’s any . . .”

  “Ice cream to go on top? Of course there is. If you can hold off for a minute, I’ll get it.”

  Sam started down at his slice of pie as Katy dashed back to the kitchen. Then he reached out to lightly touch the crust. It was still warm and the aroma was tantalizing. He took his fork and cut off the very tip. The crust was light and flaky, the way only Katy could make it. An expression of rapture crossed Sam’s face as he popped the forkful in his mouth. Delicious! He’d have just one more bite and then wait for the ice cream.

  “Where’s the ice cream scoop, Sam?”

  Sam chewed quickly and swallowed. The pie looked a little ragged now, and Katy had always complained that he’d finished his dessert before she could dish out the ice cream, so he cut off a little more to even it up. She’d given him a big piece to start with and she’d never know the difference.

  “Uh . . . I don’t know, Katy. I haven’t seen it since I hired the new cleaning woman. She must have put it somewhere.”

  The pie really looked lopsided now. Sam shaved a little more off the left side with his fork.

  “Did you ask her where she put it?”

  Sam frowned down at the pie. Perhaps a little more off the right would make it more wedgeshaped. “I can’t ask her, Katy. I don’t know the word for ice cream scoop in Vietnamese.”

  “Doesn’t she speak English?”

  Sam eyed his slice of pie critically and shaved off a bit more. It still looked lopsided. “Very little, but she’s going to night school. I figure by Christmas she’ll be able to understand me.”

  “It’s okay, Sam. I’ll use a big spoon and buy a new scoop tomorrow.”

  Sam heard Katy pull out the silverware drawer, and he made a last stab to even up the pie. Perfect.

  “Here’s the ice cream.” Katy appeared at his elbow with a big spoonful. Then she looked down at his pie and started to laugh. “Oh, Sam! I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with that pie. You never could wait for the à la mode part.”

  Sam grabbed her and pulled her down in his lap. He kissed her, and neither one of them cared that the spoon was dripping on the tablecloth.

  “I’ve got a great idea.” Sam’s voice was husky with passion. “Why don’t you put the ice cream back in the freezer, Katy? Or better yet, just leave it here.”

  Katy set the ice cream down on the table. It was difficult to believe what she’d just heard. Ice cream was Sam’s favorite thing. Or at least she’d always thought it was. She kissed him on the tip of the nose and cuddled even closer.

  “But, Sam, don’t you want a second piece?”

  “Yes, honey.” Sam got to his feet and carried her to the bedroom. “I definitely want a second piece.”

  Tony stashed his video camera in his carrying bag and slipped on his jacket, covering his orange T-shirt, which proclaimed BEING GOOD IS BETTER THAN BEING NICE in blue letters.

  “That’s it for tonight, gang. Do you girls have a ride? It’s Sunday.”

  “We know.” Ginger shivered a little. “Bobby’s taking us home. Besides, Sunday’s almost over, isn’t it?”

  Tony glanced at his watch and grinned.

  “Nope. It’s only ten-thirty. I thought we’d be here for another couple of hours, but your new scenes go a lot faster and they’re easier to shoot.”

  “Oh, sure.” Tina grumbled. “Easier for you guys maybe, but not for me. I just about died, bending over that chair. And look at my feet! Next time get roller skates that fit me, will you, Tony?”

  Tony couldn’t help it. He started to laugh. Ginger and Bobby joined in, and finally even Tina began to smile.

  “Okay, okay. I guess I shouldn’t complain. But if you decide to do another scene with wheels, put Bobby on ’em. My legs feel like rubber.”

  Ginger looked thoughtful as they started out the door. “Wheels, huh? Maybe one of those exercise bikes, the type that leans way back. We could open with Bobby pedaling away, and then we could—”

  Tony grinned as the rest of Ginger’s sentence was cut off by the closing door. She was bound to come up with something weird by tomorrow night. She had an active imagination, and she was a wizard at finding props they could use. Tonight they’d done a scene in a doctor’s office, a bank, and a bakery. And they’d finished with Tina playing a topless pizza delivery girl on roller skates. Ginger’s talents were being wasted, doing skin flicks like this, but at least she made enough money to support herself. That was more than he could claim.

  Tony took a clean T-shirt from his camera bag and pulled it on. It was black with red letters that said WARNING: LIVING MAY BE DANGEROUS TO YOUR HEALTH. Then he made a final check of the room before letting himself out. The nap he’d taken at home had been worse than no sleep at all. It seemed he had barely closed his eyes when the alarm had sounded, and he’d crawled out of bed to shower and rush off. He’d found a pipe store that was open on Sundays, picked out a duplicate lighter, and paced the floor nervously while it was being inscribed. Then he’d rushed straight here and worked on the porn for five and a half hours.

  As Tony walked quickly down the block to his car, he wondered what would happen if he just stopped, gave up, stretched out on a concrete bench at the bus stop, and took a little snooze like some deadbeat wino. Right now that prospect was immensely appealing. No responsibilities. No deadlines to meet. And plenty of good hot food from the Salvation Army soup kitchen.

  Tony hesitated slightly as he walked past the bench, and then he laughed. If he actually did it, he’d probably end up getting busted by a couple of L.A.’s finest. Then, when Allison came down to bail him out, she’d find out there wasn’t any money in their bank account. It would be one colossal mess. No. He couldn’t give way to his exhaustion now. There simply wasn’t time. At ten-thirty his evening was only beginning. First he had to get something to eat. His body wouldn’t run without fuel. And then he had to drive to the office to work on the script. Maybe, if he really rushed and the traffic was light, he might catch a couple of minutes sleep on the office couch before Erik came in.

  Tony unlocked his car door and got into the driver’s seat. Before he started the engine, he gulped down two dexies with a swallow of cold coffee that was left in his dashboard cup. He had to keep going. There was no end in sight.

  Katy and Sam were watching television. To be more accurate, Sam was watching television. Katy had stretched out on the couch, and she was currently sleeping through a rerun of a talk show. The topic tonight was the oldest profession, and a particularly succulent blonde had just come on to tell of her experiences in Vegas when Sam noticed that Katy was crying in her sleep.

  “Katy? Honey, what’s wrong?”

  Drowsily, Katy said, “Uh . . . nothing. Just a bad dream.”

  “Tell me about it.” Sam pull
ed her into his arms.

  “I don’t exactly remember it, Sam. I was doing something bad. Something terrible. And then you found out about it and . . .”

  “And what?” Sam prompted her.

  “And you didn’t love me anymore!” Before Sam had time to reply, Katy found herself sobbing again.

  “Don’t cry, honey.” Sam stroked her hair. “It was just a dream, and that’s impossible anyway.”

  “What’s impossible?”

  “There’s nothing you could do that would—”

  The phone rang loudly, drowning out the rest of Sam’s sentence, but Katy knew what he had almost said. There’s nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you. His words were sincere. She knew that. But would he change his mind if he knew that she had taken advantage of his loving trust in her to copy the murder discs?

  Sam reached for the phone and answered it before it could ring again. He listened for a moment, and then Katy saw his face harden into that of the professional cop as he barked out orders.

  “Another one? Jesus! Get Jackson and the fingerprint team out right away, but tell them not to touch anything until I get there. I’m ten minutes away.”

  Sam hung up the receiver and jumped up. Then he turned to Katy, and his expression softened.

  “It’s another murder, honey. Do you want to come along? I hate to leave you here alone, and I could sure use your help. Bob said the victim’s roommate is pretty shaken up, and you’ve always been good at calming people down.”

  Katy started to nod, and then she stared at Sam in disbelief. “But, Sam, you forgot. I might pick up some information at the scene and I’m a reporter!”

  “I didn’t forget.” Sam smiled at her. “I just decided to bend procedure for the sake of humanity. I know I can trust you to check your story with me before you file it.”

  “Of course I will, Sam!”

  As Katy climbed into the car and they raced toward the murder scene, she found herself thinking about what Sam had said. He trusted her to check her story with him before she filed it. And she’d promised she would. This time. If only she could do that with her feature on the Video Killer!

  Allison shut off the television and returned the movie she had just watched to its case. It was past one in the morning, and she was exhausted. She wished she could go to bed, but she knew she couldn’t sleep with work left to do. She had just watched the last Hitchcock movie for Tony’s list, and now all that remained was to check the accuracy of her notes against the resource material she’d gathered.

  Her eyes hurt from watching the screen so intently, and Allison took three aspirins before she opened the big cardboard box on the coffee table. She’d called Larry Edmunds Bookshop in Hollywood this afternoon and explained exactly what she’d needed. Within an hour a messenger had delivered seven books. Three were basic synopses of Hitchcock’s plots, two contained stills from various features and a brief critique of his methods, another had a complete cast list with pictures of his stars, and the last was a biography of the man himself. These seven books, along with the notes she’d found from her college class, would prove that her list of Hitchcock’s victims was valid and complete.

  Allison yawned as she arranged the books in a pile. It would be a long night, and she wondered whether she ought to just throw the list in the wastebasket and quit. If what Erik had told her this afternoon was true and there was no UCLA research project, she had wasted her time. She was tempted to go straight to bed, but she couldn’t let Tony down.

  Without being consciously aware of what she was doing, Allison began to make excuses for Tony. She’d worked as a student assistant while she was in college, answering the telephones and taking messages. She remembered making several stupid mistakes. When Erik had called UCLA to ask about the project, he might have talked to a series of student helpers. Or even more likely, the person on the staff who knew about the Hitchcock study might be away on summer vacation.

  Allison checked her first two references and then she sighed deeply. She could explain away the phone call Erik had made to the college, but there was the matter of Tony’s lighter. He’d lied about that. Or had he? That might have been a simple mistake, a case of remembering something inaccurately. How many times had she been willing to swear that she’d left her purse on the ledge in the hallway and found it on the bed instead? Erik had looked for Tony’s lighter on his desk, and it could have been anywhere in the office. She was jumping to conclusions, and that wasn’t fair to Tony.

  But was Tony at the office now? He’d told her he’d be working with Erik all night. If she called the office, and he wasn’t there, she’d have definite proof that he’d lied.

  Allison picked up the phone and dialed the number. Her hands were shaking. She gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles were white. One ring. Two rings. Then Erik’s voice came on the line.

  “Hello, Erik?” Allison had to work to control her breathing. “Is Tony there?”

  “Hold on a second, Allison. I’ll put him on. By the way, he found his lighter about ten minutes ago. He left it in the men’s room. That silver’s beautiful, but your inscription’s something else. At first I thought it was a gift from Debby Boone.”

  “Oh, thank you, Erik!” Allison breathed a big sigh of relief. Tony was at the office. And he’d found his lighter. Erik had been very clever about telling her that it had the proper inscription.

  “Honey? There’s nothing wrong, is there?” Tony came on the line. “It’s past two in the morning.”

  “Is it that late?” For a moment Allison didn’t know what to say. She had to give him some reason for calling. “I just called with a progress report. I watched the last Hitchcock film, and I’m just finishing up my notes. I think I can have it ready for you by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “That’s wonderful, honey!” Tony sounded tired but grateful. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Allison hung up the phone and smiled. Tony was at the office, just like he’d said. And he’d found his lighter. All the tension of the past few weeks began to disappear. She found herself so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. There was no need for her Valium tonight. She’d fall asleep the minute her head touched the pillow.

  Five minutes later Allison was in bed. She’d set the alarm clock for six. It would be easier to finish checking the list when she was rested. It wasn’t until she was dropping off to sleep, a contented smile on her face, that she remembered Erik’s description of the lighter. Silver? The one she’d given Tony for their anniversary had been gold.

  19

  Monday, August 2

  Erik finished proofing the Frenzy scene on the computer screen. “It works, Tony. As a matter of fact, I think it’s the best thing we’ve done so far.”

  “Good.” Tony nodded and rubbed his eyes. “Let’s print the whole thing out and take it over to Alan’s office.”

  “Now?” Erik glanced at Tony’s clock. “I haven’t figured out how to read your clock, but it’s got to be early. It’s still dark outside.”

  “You’re right. It’s only five in the morning. Remember what I told you about the pink oblong thing and the purple rectangles? The orange square is three green dots past . . .”

  “Forget it, Tony.” Erik interrupted what he knew would be another lesson on telling time. “I’m too tired to concentrate on something that complicated.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  Erik glanced at his partner closely. Tony looked as if he hadn’t had any sleep in a week.

  “Why don’t you catch a nap on the couch, Tony? I’ll wake you up after I print out and do the final proof.”

  “That’d be a lifesaver.” Tony gave him a tired grin. Exhaustion was too tame a word for how he was feeling. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “No. Go ahead. You can’t walk into Alan’s office looking like death warmed over.”

  Erik watched as Tony stumbled out into the reception area and stretched out on the couch. By the time he’d gone to his own off
ice to bring back a blanket and pillow, Tony was already asleep. It was no wonder. They’d met at the office around midnight and worked on the scenes for Alan all night. They’d both been in rough shape in the service, but Tony looked even worse now. He’d lost weight and his face was pale and haggard. It was obvious that he was worn down physically from too many cigarettes, too much coffee, and not enough sleep.

  A wave of pity washed over Erik as he stared down at Tony’s sleeping face. When a person drove himself as hard as Tony was doing, the stress was bound to take a serious mental toll. It seemed impossible that Tony was the Video Killer, but Erik had done some research into serial murderers for their movie concept. They were usually tortured individuals under extreme stress. Most had no concept of the hideous crimes they had committed, and one man was quite honestly horrified when he was confronted with the evidence against him. If Tony really was the Video Killer, he might be totally unaware of his actions.

  As he covered Tony with the blanket and slipped the pillow under his head, Erik began to feel guilty over the way his mind was working. Tony looked much more like a tired boy, worn out after a big day at the amusement park, than an insane killer. He had tried and convicted his partner in his mind without a shred of real evidence.

  It wasn’t until Erik had gone into the kitchen to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee that he realized what day it was. Tony had been at his desk when Erik had arrived, shortly after midnight, and they’d been together since then. The thought made Erik cringe, but he found himself hoping that another actress had been killed. If the Video Killer had struck after midnight, he’d have proof that Tony was innocent.

  Erik ran the spelling program on the pages they’d done and started the printout. The swishing sound of the paper emerging from the printer seemed suddenly deafening, so he switched on the radio to mask the noise. The classical music station he found was playing Beethoven’s Fifth, and the booming crashes of the bass notes made his headache worse but at least he couldn’t hear the printer.