by Joanne Fluke
“Why?”
“Well, all the Video Killer’s victims have been actresses and—”
Allison sounded exasperated as she interrupted him. “Oh, Erik, not that again! Tony’s not going to hurt me, even if he is the Video Killer. I’d stake my life on it.”
“That’s exactly what you’ll be doing if you tell him.”
There was a long silence, which Allison broke. “I can’t talk about that now, Erik. I have to run out to see Mother. I’ll call you later.”
Erik was frowning when he hung up. Allison hadn’t promised not to tell Tony, and she probably would if the opportunity presented itself. She refused to believe that she was in danger. He had to protect her, and there was only one way to do it. Tony would come in to sign his contract sometime today, and Erik would be waiting. And he’d stick to Tony like a Siamese twin until the night was over.
Tony glanced at his watch and frowned. He’d been waiting for over an hour. The nurse behind the desk looked bored, and Tony gave her his most endearing smile, the one Allison said could charm the birds down out of the trees.
“Do you think it’ll be much longer, Miss . . . uh . . .” Tony glanced at her plastic nametag, “Miss Woods?”
“It shouldn’t be long now. Dr. Trumbull’s almost never late for his Sunday rounds. There must have been a problem in surgery this morning.”
“Why don’t we save Dr. Trumbull some time when he comes in? I’m here to discuss a patient with him. Erik Nielsen. Could you possibly pull his file so it’s ready?”
“It’s already pulled, Mr. Rocca.” The nurse indicated a stack of files on her desk.
Tony eyed the stack of files and nodded. If he could just get his hands on Erik’s file, he wouldn’t have to wait around for Dr. Trumbull.
The telephone on the desk rang before Tony could come up with a plan. Miss Woods answered immediately.
“Yes, Dr. Trumbull. Of course. I’ll tell Mr. Rocca and reschedule.”
“There’s a problem?” Tony stood up. He was sitting no more than three feet away, and he’d heard her end of the conversation.
“I’m afraid so. That was Dr. Trumbull. He’ll be tied up for at least another hour, and he asked if you’d reschedule your appointment.”
“Of course.” Tony flashed his smile again. He waited until she had checked the doctor’s schedule and given him an appointment for next Wednesday at nine. Then he started coughing.
“Are you all right, Mr. Rocca?” The nurse looked concerned.
“Fine. Just fine.” Tony coughed again, a whole series this time, as he sat back down in the chair. “Could I . . . Please . . . ? Water . . . ?”
“I’ll get it. Just sit right there, and I’ll be right back.”
Tony coughed while the nurse left the room. He coughed all the way to the desk and continued to cough while he slipped Erik’s file into his briefcase. He was still coughing when Miss Woods came back with a paper cup of water. He drank it and let his coughing taper off to a stop.
“Thank you!” Tony cleared his throat noisily and stood up. “I’m fine now. It must be the pollen count today. I understand the ragweed is blooming.”
“That was a moderate to severe reaction, Mr. Rocca.” Miss Woods looked concerned. “Are you seeing an allergist?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve got everything under control. Thank you so much, Miss Woods. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me.”
Miss Woods was smiling as Tony left the reception area. What a nice man. He’d been so gracious about thanking her for her help, and all she’d done was bring him a glass of water.
24
Brother checked his equipment carefully and packed it in its carrying case. He was ready to shoot tonight’s scene, and he knew his interpretation would be nothing short of brilliant. Even Tony Rocca, that college acquaintance of Lon’s, would be impressed when he saw it.
There was a frown on Brother’s face as he thought about Lon’s meeting with Tony Rocca. Some might say it was ironic that Lon had signed a contract to film the murders that Brother had already perfected, but Brother found that type of humor impossible to appreciate.
There had been a painful confrontation after Tony Rocca had left. For the first time since their mother had died, Brother had been unable to affect Lon’s behavior. It had taken all of his strength to bend Lon’s will to his, but at last he triumphed.
Today Lon was subdued, just the way Brother wanted him. He was silent as Brother stepped forward to put a movie in the machine. This was Suspicion, the segment they were shooting tonight. When this film had been completed, an RKO executive who believed that it was a mistake to portray Cary Grant as a killer had removed every indication that Grant was the villain. The resulting edit, done on Hitchcock’s final cut, had reduced the running time of the film to less than an hour. At that point the head of the studio had realized the absurdity and had allowed Hitchcock to reinstate many of his scenes. The ending had been revised, however, so that Grant was innocent.
Before they could start their work, the phone rang and Brother permitted Lon to take the call. Lon was smoother and he’d learned more social skills. He always dealt with the phone calls and interviews. Brother stepped back and merely advised as Lon made all the arrangements with the star’s agent. It was no longer necessary to be quite so cautious. The final segment would be finished tonight, and his masterpiece would at last be complete.
Katy got up and stretched. She’d been sitting on the floor, reading synopses of Hitchcock’s plots, but she had gotten nowhere. And Sam was in the kitchen, trying to find someone who could help them. They’d found the segue to the next murder, at least Katy thought they had, but neither one of them could figure out which film it represented. The fifth murder disc had ended with a shot of the mailbox outside Daniele Renee’s window.
The moment they spotted it, Sam had called Tony’s office. He hadn’t been in, and there was nothing on his list about mailboxes. They had to find out which film was next, and they didn’t have much time. Katy walked to the kitchen and found Sam sitting at the table with the phone to his ear. “Any luck?”
“No, I’m on hold. It seems the only man at UCLA who teaches a class about Hitchcock is on vacation somewhere in the Baltic.”
“No one else knows?”
“I called the film institute, and they referred me to a Professor Nash. He’s not home, but his housekeeper’s trying to locate him now.”
“Did you find out anything?”
“Oh, sure. Lots of things. I’ve already spoken to six film buffs and three critics, but they couldn’t answer our question.”
“Don’t worry, Sam.” Katy gave him a hug. She knew he was frustrated. It was already midafternoon, and they had no idea which actresses to warn. “Maybe this Professor Nash will . . .”
She stopped speaking immediately as Sam held up his hand. Someone had to pick up the phone.
“Yes. I understand. No, that’s quite all right. Will you please leave a message for him to call me at home the minute he gets back? It’s very important.”
“She couldn’t find Professor Nash?”
“No. He’s not at any of the places she called. That was my last hope, Katy. We’ll never figure it out in time.”
“Yes, we will.” Katy put on a smile for his benefit. Sam looked haggard and his hands were shaking from too much coffee. Suddenly Katy realized that they hadn’t eaten since dinner last night. All that coffee on an empty stomach wasn’t good. Sam might feel better if he had a hot meal.
“Why don’t you run out and get us some food from that deli across the street? The fresh air will do you good. And I’ll go through the plot book again. Maybe I’ll come up with something while you’re gone.”
Sam hesitated, but Katy was right. He was going crazy cooped up like this. “Okay. But if Professor Nash calls . . .”
“I’ll ask him exactly the right questions. Stop worrying, Sam. I can handle it.”
After Sam left, Katy went through her notes again. The firs
t murder was Psycho, and the segue was a shot of two pairs of shoes, one pair gaudy brown and white, the other ultraconser vative. That clearly pointed the way to the Strangers on a Train segment. The segue in the second murder disc was early, long before Tammara Welles’s murder, when the camera had panned some businesses on a street. Among them was a dating service, a clue to the next film, Frenzy, where the victim had owned a matrimonial agency. Then there was the telephoto lens in the corner of Diana Ellington’s bedroom. They’d already identified that as a segue to Rear Window. And the shot of the train tracks near Christie Jensen’s apartment building was a clue to the next segment, The 39 Steps. And last Sunday’s murder video had concluded with a shot of the mailbox outside Daniele Renee’s window.
Katy held her head and groaned. There was no use going through the plot book again. She’d already skimmed it three times. There had to be someone who knew the significance of the mailbox. Someone who was a real Hitchcock fan, like Tony’s wife.
Katy raced to the phone. Tony had mentioned that Allison helped him research the list. Of course he hadn’t told her why he needed the list because of his promise to Sam. Katy knew she’d have to be very careful how she phrased her questions to Allison. Sam still wanted things under wraps.
“Hello?”
The phone was answered on the first ring.
“Hi.” Katy smiled. Someone had told her you could hear a smile over the phone. “Is this Mrs. Tony Rocca?”
“Yes.”
“This is Katy Brannigan. From the Times.”
“Oh, yes. You write for the health section.” Tony’s wife sounded friendlier now. “What can I do for you, Miss Brannigan?”
“We’re having a subscriber contest this month at the paper, and your name was drawn. It’s a movie trivia quiz.”
“Oh, dear. I haven’t seen a movie in . . . I don’t know how long.”
“Just try it. You may be lucky. In which film did Alfred Hitchcock use a mailbox as an integral part of the plot?”
“An integral part of the plot?”
“That’s right.”
There was a long pause, and Katy began to despair. Then Allison spoke again.
“I thought I knew my Hitchcock, but that’s a tough question. The only film I can think of is Suspicion. With the original ending, I mean.”
“Could you tell me a bit more, Mrs. Rocca?”
“Well, it was made in 1941, and it starred Joan Fontaine and Cary Grant. In the original ending Cary Grant poisons his wife, but he mails the letter she gives him before she dies, not knowing that it contains her suspicions about him. RKO made Hitchcock revise his ending because they didn’t want Cary Grant cast as a villain.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Rocca!” Katy had all she could do to keep from shouting.
Allison laughed. “I can’t believe it! I’ve never won anything before in my life! What did I win?”
Katy thought fast. “You just won dinner for two at . . . Spago! We’ll mail your gift certificate today. Thank you, Mrs. Rocca and, uh . . . congratulations.”
Allison hung up the phone with a smile on her face. Imagine, a Hitchcock trivia question right after she’d watched all those movies! Then her face fell as she realized that, by the time her gift certificate for the free dinners arrived, she’d no longer be here. She was leaving Tony just as soon as she could.
An hour later Allison was seated in front of the television, switching through the channels. There was nothing on but baseball. Pittsburgh was slugging it out against the Braves, but they were down by six runs. The Minnesota Twins were at Boston, losing quite predictably. The L.A. Dodgers were stomping the Cubs in the bottom of the seventh, eleven to three. Allison wasn’t a sports fan, but there was nothing else to watch except reruns of programs she’d already seen. She finally settled for her home team, the Dodgers, even though it wasn’t an exciting game.
When the game ended in a Dodger victory, the announcer came on to do an update on the baseball scores around the country. Allison remembered the joke Tony had told her at their Fourth of July party about the nervous rookie sports announcer: These scores just in . . . five-three, eight-one, three-zip, seven-two, and ten-nine. Everyone had cracked up when Tony had told it. He was a natural-born stand-up comedian.
Allison blinked back tears. She had to stop thinking about Tony. As she switched through the channels to find something, anything to watch, she had an unsettling thought. They didn’t subscribe to the Times. Tony bought it at the newsstand on the way to work, and he brought it home for her to read at night. Since they weren’t subscribers, how had Katy Brannigan happened to pick her name?
Tony put his video camera in the case and gave Ginger a big hug. They were finished. Wrapped up. No more porn and no more sneaking around to cheap motels. His debt was paid off, and now that Video Kill had sold, he sure as hell wouldn’t have to do this again.
“That was just great, gang.” Tony grinned at them all. “And just to show how much I appreciate you . . .”
“Champagne?” Tina actually squealed as Tony brought out the chilled bottle and popped the cork. “That stuff’s expensive, Tony!”
“Yeah, but you guys are worth it. There’s a bottle for each of you, and the room’s yours until eleven o’clock checkout time tomorrow morning. Have a blast.”
“Aren’t you staying to celebrate with us?”
Ginger looked upset, and Tony pulled her over to the side while Bobby and Tina filled their glasses.
“I can’t stay, Ginger. I’ve got tons of things to do on that movie.”
Ginger glanced over her shoulder, but Tina and Bobby were too busy enjoying the champagne to pay attention to what they were saying.
“You mean you were really serious about that job you offered me?”
“I was serious. As a matter of fact, I spoke to the head man on the phone this morning, and he promised to use you. You’re supposed to report to the business office at Cinescope Studios tomorrow morning at ten. But remember what I said, Ginger. Not a word about how you met me.”
“You’ve got it, Tony.” Ginger hugged him, hard. “I just can’t believe it. It’s the first job I ever got where I don’t have to take off my clothes.”
By the time Tony gathered up his things and left the motel room, the party was in full swing. Tina had called her boyfriend to join them, and Bobby was trying to contact a couple of girls he knew. Ginger had finished one glass of champagne, and then asked Tony for a ride to the Beverly Center. Some of the boutiques were open late, and she wanted to pick out a conservative dress for her interview at Cinescope tomorrow.
Tony dropped Ginger off at Anestelle’s, a dress shop on the ground floor, and headed for the office. His stomach growled loudly, and he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. There was a Beefy-Burger ahead of him on the right, and Tony parked the Volvo and went inside. He ordered two triple chili burgers, coffee, and a disgusting-looking chocolate chip sandwich with what looked like fudge between the cookies. Then he paid, took his numbered receipt, and went to sit at a blue plastic table with an attached blue plastic chair under a blue plastic framed picture of a giant chili burger. Beefy-Burger might not have much in the way of ambience, but their food was edible. And while he sat and waited for the counter girl to call his number, he’d have time to read Erik’s medical file.
Allison dressed in a green hostess gown and applied careful makeup. She wanted to look her best tonight. When she was finished, she went back to the family room and stared at the silent phone. Where was Tony? Probably at that room in the Traveler Motel again with his redheaded mistress. If she knew for sure, she’d leave him tonight without a backward glance.
This wasn’t good. She was getting nervous, and that was no way to be when she had a meeting with an important producer. Allison reached for the phone and dialed directory assistance. She still remembered the room number at the Traveler Motel. She’d simply call and ask for Tony. And if Tony answered, she’d know the truth.
Allison gripped the receiver t
ightly as the motel switchboard rang the room. One ring. Two rings. Then a woman answered. There was the sound of a party in the background.
“Hi. Is Tony there? He left his number.”
“Tony? Oh . . . he left about a half hour ago. Ginger went with him.”
“Ginger? Oh . . . she must be the redhead.”
“Right. Ginger Watson.” The woman giggled. “Except she’s not really a redhead and Tony knows for sure.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Allison hung up the phone and went back to the bedroom. The truth didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. As a matter of fact, she was almost relieved to have it all out in the open.
Her leather suitcase was in the back of her closet, and Allison’s hands shook slightly as she pulled it out. How strange. She was completely calm, but her hands were trembling. She packed carefully, with every item she’d need for a few days. She could come back later to get the rest of her things. Then she carried the suitcase out to her car and put it in the trunk. Her mind was curiously cold, and she felt nothing as she came back inside to sit by the window and count the minutes until the producer arrived.
Tony opened his briefcase and took out the file he’d liberated from Dr. Trumbull’s office this morning. He was rather proud of himself for using Katy Brannigan’s trick about the glass of water, and his performance had been convincing enough to make Miss Woods leave the room. Not bad for an amateur. He’d have to thank Sam’s wife for teaching it to him.
The file was thick, and Tony opened it to the first page. It was a list of vital statistics. Height, weight, sex, age, blood type, and so forth. Tony glanced at it and turned the page. Erik’s service record was next.
