Video Kill

by Joanne Fluke

  Tony scanned the information quickly and nodded. That was old hat to him. He’d served with Erik and their service records were practically identical. But the fourth page was more detailed, and Tony began to read with interest. That was more like it.

  Erik had come to the V.A. hospital with severe headaches. Various medications had been tried, but none of them had been successful. Erik still had severe pain and blackouts during what the doctor called his “episodes.” Tony flipped the page and found a psychiatrist’s report. It was hard to believe that Erik had consulted a psychiatrist. He’d always claimed he didn’t believe in head-shrinkers.

  There was a section about Erik’s disastrous marriage to Daniele Renee. Tony’d known about that, but he hadn’t realized the whole thing was so traumatic for Erik. And this was the first he’d heard about Erik’s son, Jamie. According to the file, Jamie lived at Pine Ridge, a full-time care facility for severely disturbed children. That explained why Erik had been so uptight about the sale of Video Kill. Places like Pine Ridge don’t come cheap, and he probably needed every penny to pay for his son’s care.

  Tony began to feel like he was sorting through someone’s personal laundry as he read on. The psychiatrist claimed that after Erik’s divorce, he’d avoided all intimate contact with women. Such an extreme avoidance reaction, the psychiatrist insisted, indicated Erik’s probable tendency toward violence, especially toward women who reminded him of his ex-wife.

  Dimly Tony heard someone at his elbow. He looked up to see the counter girl with his order.

  “Is there something wrong, sir?” She looked concerned. “I called your number six times, but you didn’t answer me.”

  “Sorry, I guess I didn’t hear you.”

  “Two triple chili burgers, coffee, and a fudgey-chipwich. Is that right?”

  “Right. Thank you.”

  Tony slipped her a dollar, and she looked pleasantly surprised.

  “Thank you, sir. If you need anything else, just holler at me.”

  The moment she had gone back to the counter, Tony turned to the file again. He still couldn’t believe what he’d read. He was Erik’s best friend. Why hadn’t Erik confided in him?

  Tony shuddered as he mentally ticked off the salient points. Erik had told his doctor that he’d felt like killing Daniele Renee when he’d come home and found their infant son unattended. By his own admission, he’d barely managed to control his rage. And after Daniele had left for good, Erik had put Jamie in Pine Ridge, filed for divorce, and then suffered a major breakdown. He’d been hospitalized in the locked ward of the V.A. for almost six months. Since then he avoided women entirely, and the psychiatrist thought he was violent. And, as if that weren’t enough, Erik had admitting experiencing episodes in which he blacked out for hours and couldn’t recall where he’d been or what he’d done.

  “Oh, my God!” Tony stared down at his triple chili burgers. The orange grease was beginning to congeal on the plate, and suddenly he wasn’t hungry at all. Everything fit, even something that wasn’t in this file. Erik had a new video camera, and he’d been carrying it around with him lately.

  “Sir? Was there something wrong with the food?”

  The counter girl called out as he rushed for the door, his food left behind untouched. Tony didn’t even hear her. He was in too much of a hurry to get to the office and find out if what he feared was true.

  25

  Erik was asleep on the couch near the office door. His neck was in an extremely awkward position that was sure to result in stiffness when he awoke, but he felt no discomfort now. Late in the afternoon the stress of waiting to confront Tony had taken its toll in the form of the worst headache yet, a blinding, screaming, excruciating migraine that had driven Erik to pacing the floor with his jaws clenched tightly together before he’d finally give in and taken one of Dr. Trumbull’s zonkers. Now, two hours later, the telltale lines of pain had disappeared from his face, but he was still out cold.

  There was the sound of footsteps in the hallway and a key rattled in the lock. Erik didn’t wake. The door opened and a hand reached out to switch on the lights.

  “Erik! What the . . . oh, no!”

  Tony shook his head as he stared down at his partner. Erik was lying there like a corpse. For one heart-stopping moment Tony imagined Erik deliberately committing suicide rather than face the consequences of his crimes. Then he realized that Erik’s chest was moving regularly up and down. He was sleeping. And there was a packet of pills on the table near the couch.

  Tony swore and headed for the kitchenette to make coffee. Just as soon as it was done, he carried out a steaming cup and set in on the table next to Erik’s head. Erik had to wake up. They had some serious talking to do.

  Erik began to stir slightly. His arm moved, and he slid further on the couch to a more comfortable position. Tony held the cup directly under his nose and waited.

  “Na yet. . . .” Erik mumbled.

  “Erik?” Tony waved his hand over the cup of coffee so the aroma would go directly up Erik’s nostrils.

  “Wake up, Erik. Hot coffee. Come and get it.”

  Erik’s eyelids began to twitch.

  “Sit up. Come on, Erik. Just sit up, and you can have coffee.”

  It took a minute, but Erik struggled to a sitting position. His eyes opened, and he started up at Tony with a dazed expression on his face.

  “Tony. I have to talk to you. But I can’t remember . . .”

  “I have to talk to you, too. Just drink this, Erik. And try to wake up. It’s important!”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Sure.” Erik reached out for the cup and took a sip. He winced as the steaming liquid burned his tongue.

  “Okay, Tony. I’m waking up.”

  Erik’s eyes were threatening to close again, and Tony went to open the window. It was stuffy in the office, but the air outside was so muggy, it wasn’t much better.

  “More coffee.” Erik held out his cup with an unsteady hand. He’d managed to finish it with his eyes closed. Tony brought a fresh cup, as Erik obediently drank it down.

  “Sorry, Tony. I’m trying. The pills, you know. One more?”

  “You got it.”

  Tony refilled Erik’s cup and poured one for himself while there was still some left in the pot. He blinked hard as he started a fresh pot. He’d burst into the office angry, ready to confront Erik and haul him off to the police, but he hadn’t found the cold-blooded killer he’d expected. If Erik committed those murders, he’d done it unconsciously, without even knowing he was hurting anyone. Erik deserved his pity, not his anger.

  When he got back to the reception area with the coffee, Tony found Erik struggling to his feet.

  “Hey. Sit down, Erik. You’re still zonked out.”

  “Can’t. The Video Killer! Tony?”

  “Yes, Erik.”

  Tony winced. From his alarmed expression, he was sure Erik was about to confess. Somehow, he must have discovered what he’d been doing in those blackout episodes.

  “Tony, I know!”

  Erik looked so tortured that Tony reached out to grip his shoulder. As he did, Erik pulled back. For a moment Tony was confused. It was almost as if Erik was fearful of his reaction to the confession.

  “Look, Erik. This sounds really corny, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. I’m your buddy, and I’d never hurt you.”

  Erik looked confused, but he nodded. “Tony, I know you’re the Video Killer.”

  Tony was so startled, he was sure he’d heard Erik wrong. It took him a minute to find his voice.

  “Would you repeat that, Erik?”

  “I said I know you’re the Video Killer. But you’re still my friend, Tony. I’m no stranger to what stress can do to a man’s mind. I also know that there’s help for you if you’ll only—”

  “You think I’m the Video Killer?” It took a supreme effort of will to calm down enough to speak in a reasonable tone of voice, and Tony didn’t quite make it. “How did you ever come up with a hare-br
ained idea like that? No. Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that I know what you’ve been doing during your blackout periods. You may not realize it, Erik, but you’re the Video Killer. And the fact that you’re accusing me is a symptom of your disease. Psychiatrists call it projection. I read your medical file, Erik. I know all about Daniele and Jamie and your violent feelings toward actresses.”

  Erik was awake now, and he looked totally astounded. “Now, wait a minute! It’s true about Daniele and Jamie. Maybe I should have told you, but that part of my life is over. I’d rather not talk about it. But if you honestly think that I killed my ex-wife, you’re the one who’s crazy!”

  “Okay.” Tony sighed. “I can see this isn’t going to be easy. Let’s start again. Where were you the night that your ex-wife was killed?”

  “I was here, with you. We worked all night to meet Alan’s deadline. Don’t you remember?”

  Tony stopped cold for a second. Then he remembered what time the murder had taken place. “That’s no alibi, Erik. She was killed at nine, and you didn’t get here until after midnight. Where were you before that?”

  “I was home. In my condo. Why don’t you check it out with the security guard? You’ll find out that I didn’t leave the complex until a quarter to twelve.”

  “Fine. Get the guard on the phone.”

  Erik dialed the number while Tony watched. Suddenly Tony wasn’t as sure as he’d been a moment before. Erik seemed sincere in his denials, but it was always possible that his conscious mind didn’t know what his unconscious was doing.

  “Hi, Norma.” Erik spoke into the receiver. “What are you doing there so late?”

  There was a pause, and Erik spoke again.

  “The flu, huh? I understand there’s a lot of it going around. Listen, Norma. I want you to talk to my partner, Tony Rocca. We’re having an argument over what time I left the complex last Sunday night.”

  Erik handed the phone to Tony. He listened for a moment, and then he hung up with a chagrined expression on his face.

  “You’re right, Erik. You left at eleven forty-three. Look, I’m really sorry about this whole thing.”

  “Not so fast.” Erik looked grim. “Now it’s my turn. Where were you that night?”

  “You still think I’m the Video Killer?”

  “You haven’t provided otherwise. I have.”

  “Okay, okay.” Tony winced. “I was hoping this wouldn’t come out. Hand me the phone. I’ll call someone who can vouch for me.”

  In less than five minutes Tony had his alibi. Bobby and Tina were still at the motel room, and they vouched for him to Erik.

  “A porn flick?” Erik hung up the phone and shook his head.

  “Well, at least it was steady work. And I had to do it to pay off a loan.”

  Erik stared at Tony for a moment, and then he started to laugh. “If you’re not the Video Killer, and I’m not the Video Killer, then we just spouted some of the worst dialogue I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m really sorry I didn’t trust you, Tony.”

  “And I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I should have known better than to believe a medical chart. Why, when Allison’s mother—”

  “Oh, my God!” Erik’s eyes widened. “We’ve got to call Allison right away. I tried to convince her that you were the Video Killer.”

  Tony grabbed the phone and dialed, but the answering machine was on at the house. He left a message for Allison to call right away and hung up.

  “She’s not home.”

  “That’s strange.” Erik frowned. “What time is it?”

  “A quarter after eight.”

  “That explains it. She told me she had a meeting with a producer at the house tonight, and probably switched on the answer phone when he got there.”

  “Which producer?”

  “She didn’t tell me. All I know is that she was really excited this morning about some producer who’s making a movie. He wanted someone who looked just like Joan Fontaine.”

  “Joan Fontaine?” Tony looked amused. “Yeah, I guess she does look a little like . . . Oh, my God!”

  Tony’s face turned white, and Erik reached out to steady him.

  “What’s the matter, Tony?”

  “Suspicion! The original ending. Move out, Erik! I’ll explain in the car. I think the Video Killer’s after Allison.”

  “My agent’s very impressed with your project.” Allison turned to smile at him. “Would you care for a drink while we discuss it?”

  Brother stepped back and let Lon take over. He could afford to wait a few minutes. He’d give Lon time to get the lighting and the angle perfect before he moved in to start his work. Lon was the expert when it came to the camera, but Brother was the creative genius behind the project.

  “Thank you, yes.” Lon smiled. “But only if you join me. And only if you let me mix you my favorite cream drink.”

  “Oh, well, of course.”

  Brother silently congratulated Lon as he went behind the bar. It would be simple to slip the poison in a cream drink. Lon was a master at social graces, while he had never been any good at them at all. Lon had been the one to attend his mother’s tedious teas in the rose garden after Brother had refused to appear.

  Lon smiled at her as he mixed the drinks. “As your agent probably told you, I’m very impressed with your resemblance to Joan Fontaine. You’re practically her twin, Miss Greene.”

  Allison almost looked over her shoulder to see if anyone else was in the room. Miss Greene. That was her. She’d been Mrs. Rocca for so long, it was difficult to respond to her old maiden name.

  “Yes, she mentioned that. Are you doing a remake of a Joan Fontaine film?”

  “Not precisely. I like to think of it as an improvement rather than a remake.”

  Allison smiled, even though she knew that most remakes were doomed to failure. “Which film are you doing?”

  “Her best. Or perhaps I should say, it could have been her best. Suspicion.”

  “That’s very interesting.” Warning bells went off in Allison’s mind. Suspicion. The Hitchcock film Katy Brannigan had asked her about. And in the original ending Joan Fontaine was the victim. Allison’s mouth was dry, and she almost screamed as she realized that she was alone with the Video Killer!

  “Is something wrong, Miss Greene?”

  He was looking at her now, and Allison drew on every acting skill she possessed to maintain her pleasant smile. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just trying to recall the film. That was Alfred Hitchcock, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately.”

  Allison’s mind spun in several directions. She had to keep him talking about the movie, and there had been an expression of distaste on his face when she’d mentioned Hitchcock’s name. She had to capitalize on that.

  “I probably shouldn’t say this, but Suspicion’s never been one of my favorite films. Are you planning on basically changing the plot?”

  “Yes. How perceptive you are! Tell me your impression of Hitchcock as a director.”

  He was leaning on the bar now, watching her intently, and Allison gathered all the poise she could muster. She had to keep him diverted until she could figure out how to get away.

  “Well, I’m certainly no expert. But I can’t help but feel that Hitchcock’s technique is often overly self-indulgent.”

  “In what way?”

  He looked interested, and Allison plunged in. Thank God she knew her Hitchcock!

  “Take Rope for instance. It’s amazing that it was filmed without actual cuts, but I do wish Hitchcock had paid less attention to his gimmick and more attention to basics. James Stewart was terribly miscast as Professor Rupert Cadell.”

  “Yes. Quite right. You’re very observant, Miss Greene. What did you think of Vertigo?”

  “Well, I thought the camera work was superb, but he did tend to repeat that one shot. I’m sorry, I don’t know exactly how to describe it.”

  “Do you mean the shot where he tracked back
ward and zoomed forward?”

  “Yes. That’s the one.” Allison beamed at him. “And I did think the plot line was quite unbelievable, although I’m not sure how it could have been improved.”

  “But I know!”

  He smiled at her, and Allison almost cried in relief as he started to lecture on the film. He certainly wouldn’t kill her while he was in the middle of an explanation. She had to stock up enough questions to keep him occupied until . . . until what? Tony wouldn’t be home until late, if he came home at all. And the police had no way of knowing that the Video Killer was stalking her. There was no one who would come in to save her. She was alone, all alone, and she had to make her move soon or he’d grow bored and tired of talking to his next victim.

  “. . . and so naturally, I would have turned Kim Novak’s suicide attempt into an actual drowning.”

  “Brilliant!” Allison got to her feet as gracefully as she could and inched carefully toward the door. “I’d love to hear your analysis of Notorious right after I slip into my best Joan Fontaine costume. It just happens to be a copy of something she wore in Suspicion . Would you excuse me for just a moment?”

  “But, Miss Greene, you haven’t even tasted the drink I made for you.”

  “It looks delicious.” Allison gave him her most innocent smile. She knew what was in that drink. Joan Fontaine had been poisoned. “Could you put it right there on the table by the couch? I promise to enjoy every drop, the moment I come back.”

  Allison’s legs were shaking as she fled to the bedroom and locked the door behind her. Then she raced to the phone to call the police. No dial tone. She pressed the buttons frantically, but there was only the distant crackling of an open line. And then . . . the sound of someone breathing?

  “Hello? Hello? Who’s there?” Her voice was a terrified whisper.

  “This is Brother, Miss Greene. You tricked Lon, but I know how to deal with reluctant actresses. Now, be a good girl and come out. Or I’ll be forced to come in and get you.”

  The phone fell from Allison’s nerveless fingers and landed with a clatter on the night table. She was trapped! She ran into the bathroom and threw the lock on that door, too. It would take him a while to get through two locked doors. And then . . . Allison’s mind went absolutely blank as she huddled in a corner and let terror wash over in waves.