Video Kill

by Joanne Fluke

  “Are you sure you have time to drop me off at my place?” Ginger hesitated as Tony opened the car door for her. “I can always take the bus.”

  “It’s no problem, Ginger. Thanks to you, I’m running ahead of schedule today. Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?”

  “No. My car should be out of the shop by then. If it isn’t, I’ll catch a ride with Bobby or Tina.”

  Tony drove along in silence until he pulled up in front of Ginger’s apartment building. He’d been thinking about offering her a job ever since she’d started acting as his unofficial production assistant. She was a hard worker, and no one had to know how they’d met.

  “Wait a second, Ginger.” Tony reached out to take her arm as she made a move to open the door. “Would you be interested in a job on a real movie? One that isn’t X-rated?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I? But I’m not good enough to be an actress, Tony. I’ve not had any training.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of acting, Ginger. What I’m talking about would be a production assistant job. You’d work on the set of a movie as a sort of glorified schlepper. Do you know what that is?”

  “Sure. Somebody asks for something, and I run to get it. Right?”

  “That’s part of it. You’d also take notes, answer phones, and deliver messages. The pay’s not much and the hours are miserable.”

  “It sounds like heaven compared to some of the jobs I’ve had.” Ginger laughed. “Who do I have to screw to get on the payroll?”

  “No one. If you want it, you’ve got it. The only stipulation is that you never mention the porn movies we made. What do you say?”

  “I say yes. And don’t worry, Tony. I’ll never open my mouth,” Ginger gave him an impish grin, “unless I’m in another one of your movies of course.”

  Katy walked down the hallway again and stared out the window at the parking lot. The place marked ROCCA was still empty, but the message on the answering machine had said that he’d be in before two-thirty. She’d been waiting outside the office door for close to forty-five minutes, and she was about to give up and come back later when a dark green Volvo pulled into the lot and backed into the space.

  It seemed to take forever for the elevator to rise to the top floor. When the doors slid open, Katy ducked into an alcove and watched while Rocca unlocked his office door. She didn’t want him to know that she’d camped out on his doorstep. If she appeared too eager, he might be suspicious.

  Katy waited five minutes, long enough she thought. Then she knocked at the door and put on her most innocent expression as he opened it.

  “Mr. Rocca? Or is it Mr. Nielsen?”

  “Tony Rocca.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Rocca.” Katy reached out and shook his hand. “I’m Karen Daniels from the Equitable Management Company, but don’t worry. I’m not here to sell you anything. Equitable had just taken management of this building, and I’m here to find out what improvements are needed. Do you mind if I come in and ask you a few questions?”

  “I’m in a rush. Will it take long?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Rocca. It’s just a quick walk-through and inspection.”

  “Well, all right. Follow me, Miss . . .”

  “Karen Daniels. Now, do you have a kitchenette with this suite?”

  Tony nodded and led her to the kitchenette. Katy tried to look professional as she peered under the sink and inside cupboards. All the while she kept up on a lively chatter, asking questions that had nothing to do with building management. By the time they’d left the kitchenette and gone into Erik Nielsen’s office, he’d told her that they’d been partners for five years, that they’d written the script for Free Fire, and that they were currently in the process of writing a script for Cinescope about the Video Killer.

  “That must be fascinating, Mr. Rocca!” Katy crawled under the desk to check the outlets and pocketed several scraps of paper on the floor. “Will it be fiction or based on fact?”

  “It’s factual.” Tony stopped suddenly, realizing his error, but Katy gave him such a guileless smile that he continued. “We’re writing a parallel of the actual murders.”

  Katy nodded and ran her fingers up and down the window casing, supposedly checking for termite damage. “I read all about the latest murder in the paper. That poor woman! She was strangled, wasn’t she?”

  “No, she was stabbed. Eight times.”

  “Terrible!” Katy checked the edge of the rug by the door and shivered a bit. There was no way Tony Rocca could have known the victim was stabbed precisely eight times. Sam hadn’t released that information to anyone.

  “This rug will have to be retacked, Mr. Rocca. I’ll send someone in just as soon as I can. And now, if I could have a peek at your office?”

  Katy’s eyes went straight to Tony’s desk. There were some papers on top that she wanted to examine, but that was impossible while he was in the room with her.

  “Oh, Mr. Rocca? I know this is an imposition, but do you suppose I could trouble you for a glass of water? I’ll just check your cold air return while you get it.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

  The moment he was out of the room, Katy made a beeline for the desk. There were several copies of what looked like a list, and she grabbed the one on top. She’d barely had time to stuff it in her pocket before he was back.

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Rocca!” Katy drank the water in one long gulp. “Well, that just about does it. Unless you have any specific complaints?”

  Five minutes later Katy was in the parking lot of a strip mall, three blocks away. She’d run down all twelve flights of stairs, afraid that he’d notice the missing papers and come after her while she waited for the elevator. Even now, she didn’t feel completely safe. Her hands were trembling as she drew the papers out of her pocket to examine them.

  It took a moment for the list to make sense. When it did, Katy gasped aloud. It contained the names of Hitchcock’s female victims, along with the movie titles, the methods of murder, and a synopsis of each plot. It was suspicious, but what made it into incriminating evidence was the way that Tony Rocca had marked it. Five movies were crossed off in red ink, the ones the Video Killer had duplicated on the murder DVDs. There was no doubt in Katy’s mind that Tony Rocca was the Video Killer. And she’d just stolen his worksheet to prove it!

  “Tony.” Lon reached out to shake Tony’s hand. “Come up, and we’ll talk in my workroom.”

  “Jesus, Lon! Do you think you have enough equipment?”

  “Now you know my deep dark secret, Tony.” Lon laughed self-consciously. “I’m a pack rat. I can’t stand to throw away anything that still works. Just shove that garnelite voltage booster out of the way and have a seat.”

  Tony handed Lon his copy of the first three scenes, moved the heavy black box with switches and knobs off the couch, and sat down. Then he leaned back and waited impatiently. Most people would have flipped through the pages quickly, but Lon seemed to be reading every word. Tony wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad sign.

  Twenty-five minutes passed with no sound except that turning of pages. Lon asked no questions, and Tony was wise enough not to offer any comments. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, keeping his natural tendency to talk under control. Finally Lon closed the binder and looked up at Tony.

  “What you’ve done is very good, Tony. But you told me you were planning to explore the character and motivation of the Video Killer. There’s nothing here that touches on his personality.”

  “That’s true, Lon. We’ll have to put in those scenes later, when we know his identity. If we wrote anything about his personality now, it would be pure guesswork.”

  “That’s a good point.” Lon nodded. “But why did you choose Hitchcock segments for all of the murder scenes?”

  Tony decided to use the same excuse he’d used with Erik. He still couldn’t admit he’s seen the murder videos.

  “That’s an excellent question, Lon. Let me tell you my reas
oning on this whole thing. The first girl was killed in the shower. Naturally, that suggested Psycho to me. And, maybe, you haven’t noticed the connection, but the victims have all resembled Hitchcock’s stars. To tell you the truth, I was thinking of you when I wrote those scenes. I kept thinking, how would the best guy in the business shoot this? And I came up with the parallel.”

  “Then you’re under the impression that the Video Killer is trying to copy Hitchcock?”

  “Not exactly. My theory would be that he’s trying to improve on Hitchcock.”

  “That’s fascinating, Tony. But you said on the phone that you were stuck. How can I help?”

  “If we carry our Hitchcock theme all the way through, I have to decide which segments should be included. That’s where I’m running into trouble. I figured we’d do Rear Window next. It lends itself to the Christie Jensen killing.”

  Lon nodded. What Tony said made sense. He still felt a curious reluctance to commit to the project, but perhaps he was being too cautious. He really wanted to film it. It would be gratifying to try to improve on Hitchcock.

  “That’s a good idea, Tony.” Lon paused for a moment. “And then what do you think about The 39 Steps?”

  Tony beamed. “That’s exactly what I had in mind. How did you happen to pick that one, Lon?”

  “It’s a natural progression dramatically. Where do you think we should go from there?”

  Tony shrugged. He couldn’t very well tell Lon he’d have to wait to see the next murder scene. “That’s where I’m stuck, Lon. What do you recommend?”

  Lon laughed, and the voice in the back of his mind that told him to wait was suddenly silenced. There was no reason to wait. He wanted to do Video Kill, and he would!

  “I think we better get our jobs straight, Tony. You’re the writer. I’m only the cinematographer.”

  Tony couldn’t help it. A grin spread across his face. “Then you’ve decided to sign on with us?”

  Lon nodded. “It’s just too exciting to pass up. I’m definitely in. Do you have time to listen to a couple of ideas?”

  “Of course.” Tony sneaked a glance at his watch. He knew he had to sit here and listen to every one of Lon’s suggestions, and that could take hours. And then he had to block out the next scene for Erik. The way it was stacking up, it might be morning before he got home. Naturally, Allison was bound to be upset, and he really wanted to be with her. But Erik was there, and she’d just have to understand.

  Erik opened the bedroom door noiselessly and peeked in on Allison. She was sleeping soundly, curled up in a ball in the center of the bed. The tranquilizers Dr. Naiman had given her had worked like magic. Her hair was spread out over the pillow, and she looked so peaceful that Erik felt his own eyelids growing heavy. He tiptoed up and covered her with the quilt that had been folded at the foot of the bed. It was a warm, muggy night in the valley, and the air-conditioning was turned up full blast.

  Allison smiled as he covered her, but she didn’t open her eyes. She mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “thanks” and immediately went back to sleep. Erik shook his head as he left the room. How could Tony treat her this way? Allison had needed Tony this afternoon, and that excuse about a negotiation meeting with Lon Michaels had been an outright lie. Erik just hoped that Allison hadn’t seen Tony coming out of the motel room with that redhead.

  Erik’s hands were clenched into fists as he walked back down the hall to the telephone. He’d given himself over an hour to calm down, but he was still furious over Tony’s duplicity. He just didn’t know what to believe anymore. Had Cinescope really made an offer on Video Kill? If he found out that Tony had lied about that, he was going to dissolve their partnership. There was no way he could work with a man he couldn’t trust.

  It didn’t take long for Erik to get his answer. Alan was delighted to hear from Erik. Had he heard the good news? Tony had managed to sign Lon Michaels. Lon had called Alan to confirm not more than ten minutes ago. Erik was lucky to have such a partner. Tony was a dynamo.

  Erik was having second thoughts when he hung up the phone. Tony had obviously gone to his meeting with Lon, and he’d done a bang-up job. And Cinescope was committed to making Video Kill. Alan had said the contracts were ready, and they could sign them in the morning. That meant Tony hadn’t lied at all, and maybe there might be a reasonable explanation for his appearance at the Traveler Motel.

  After debating the question in his mind for a moment, Erik picked up the phone and dialed the office. Tony wasn’t in, but the answering machine was on.

  “Tony? This is Erik. You were right about your mother-in-law. She pulled through just fine. I’m at your house with Allison, and I’ll stay with her until you get home. The doctor gave her some tranquilizers, and he said she’ll sleep through the night. And Tony? Congratulations in signing Lon. I just talked to Alan, and both of us are really impressed.”

  Erik hung up, feeling much better. He went into the family room and switched on the television, but the commercial channels didn’t have much to offer. The Hitchcock movies Allison had reviewed for Tony were in a box by the couch. The 39 Steps was on top, and Erik shivered as he realized that Daniele had looked enough like Lucie Mannheim to be her twin. Thoughts of Daniele brought on a dull, throbbing sensation near his right temple. He pulled out his packet of pills and took one before it could develop into a full-fledged headache. The zonker would knock him out for a couple of hours, but Allison was sleeping soundly and there was no reason why he had to stay awake. Tony was bound to be home by the time he woke up, and then he could offer his congratulations in person.

  22

  There was no way that Katy could relax. She paced the floor of her apartment, listening to the recording she’d made of her conversation with Tony. There was no doubt that he’d incriminated himself, but what should she do about it? A responsible citizen would notify the police immediately, but she was a reporter first and a responsible citizen second. At least she’d always thought of herself that way.

  She’d already sketched out her story, and she knew she’d win every award in the book. But how would Sam feel, reading her words in the morning edition? He’d be furious at the way she duped him, and it was doubtful he’d ever speak to her again. Everything boiled down to a question of priorities. Which was more important? Her career? Or Sam?

  Suddenly Katy was struck with a sense of déjà vu. She’d faced this same decision right before she’d left Sam. Back then she’d chosen her career. Could she honestly say she was happy with her choice?

  Katy looked around her small, cramped apartment and sighed. She’d have the money for a bigger place when her promotion came through, but that wouldn’t change the way she felt when she came home and there was no one to greet her. Living alone wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and she was willing to bet that the other divorced women in her therapy group felt exactly the same way about it. Oh, they all talked about how nice it was not to have to fix dinner and pick up their husbands’ clothes, but Katy didn’t believe a word of it. After ten solid months of coming home to an empty apartment, she knew she would have welcomed the chance to pick up Sam’s clothes and put the toilet seat down before she used it.

  Why was she so lonely? Katy blinked hard as tears came to her eyes. She had plenty of friends, other single career-minded women, and they went out to dinner at least once a week. Of course they split the tab six ways and drove home by themselves, but they all claimed that they were perfectly content without men. Katy knew better. She still missed Sam’s jokes over dinner, the way he knew which wine to order and just how much to tip the valet parker and the waiter. Going out with the girls wasn’t at all like going out with Sam. Especially afterward.

  Katy glanced at the calendar and frowned. Tonight was her therapy group, but she’d already decided to miss it again. She was tired of the soul-searching they did and all the problems they couldn’t solve. Sex and sexism was all they seemed to discuss. They didn’t get enough of the first and too much of the s
econd. It was a waste of time searching for answers with other women who were as screwed up as she was. The blind couldn’t lead the blind, and that was precisely what they were trying to do.

  Her head hurt, and Katy reached for the aspirin bottle before she remembered that she’d taken three less than an hour ago. This was a tension headache, and the sooner she solved her dilemma, the sooner her headache would leave. So which was more important? Her career? Or Sam? It was time for an honest decision.

  Katy tried to remember all the things that had bugged her about her marriage. Sam’s habit of falling asleep while she was trying to talk to him in bed. The mess he left in the kitchen when he made a snack. The way he left the little twist tie off the bread wrapper so the bread dried out. The wet towels he left on the bathroom floor. The way he always got specks of toothpaste on the mirror when he brushed his teeth. Suddenly all that didn’t seem as serious as it had before.

  To be fair, Katy considered the positive side. Sam’s surprise gifts, things he picked up on a whim because he knew she’d like them. The way he hugged her sometimes, for no reason at all. The umbrella he stored in the trunk of the car so she wouldn’t get wet if it rained. The decorative nail he hung by the front door for the car keys she was always losing. And the warm comfort of cuddling next to him in the dark of the night.

  Katy jumped to her feet and gathered up her notes. She’d let all those bitter women in her therapy group talk her into values that weren’t hers, like the red convertible and the herbal tea. And leaving Sam. Her career was important, she’d never deny that. But no career, no matter how prestigious it might be, was worth the loss of her husband. Katy knew she’d be the biggest fool in the world if she didn’t set things straight while there was still time.

  She found her car keys under the sofa and grabbed her purse. She’d reached a decision, and this time she knew she was right. As she got into her car and started the engine, suddenly she realized that her headache was completely gone.