Purview of Flashbulbs (Alexis Parker Book 15)

by G. K. Parks

  “There’s been an incident,” I repeated, growing frustrated as I struggled to figure out what to wear. Finally, I went with jeans and a t-shirt. It was the middle of the night. I wasn’t in any mood to dress for the office.

  “That could mean craft services ran out of kombucha.”

  “It could mean something much worse.” My thoughts went back to the flowers and Lance’s behavior. An icy chill ran down my spine. “I have to shower. Please, make me some coffee and put it in a to-go cup.”

  He pulled on his boxer briefs and climbed out of bed. “I’ll call you a car. You can’t drive like this.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Sweetheart, you can barely keep your eyes open. It’s not worth risking your life or someone else’s because Lucien expects you to come running when he calls.”

  “I’m fine,” I repeated more forcefully.

  I pushed past him and went into the bathroom. Taking a cold shower was guaranteed to keep me from wasting time and jolt me awake. It was also an absolutely terrible idea and put me in an even fouler mood. When I came out of the bathroom, he had my coffee waiting. We never ate dinner last night since I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until Lucien interrupted my dreamless slumber. Bastard.

  “The doorman has a cab waiting in case you changed your mind,” Martin said. He assessed my appearance and decided that I looked awake and alert. He had an assortment of fruit and protein bars on the counter. “Maybe you should take something with you.”

  “I’m good.” Picking up my nine millimeter, I checked the clip, made sure the safety was on, and shrugged into my shoulder holster. “You should get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. Later. Something.” I picked up the coffee, taking a sip as I reached for my keys.

  I was halfway out the door when Martin stopped me. He kissed me gently. “Be safe.”

  “Always.”

  He stood in the doorway until the elevator arrived and the doors started to close. Then he waved goodbye and shut the door. By the time I reached the lobby, half of the coffee was gone and my brain was in overdrive over what might have happened at the studio.

  The doorman dismissed the cab, and I jogged across the street to the neighboring garage and went to Martin’s reserved space which I had been borrowing. Once I was on my way, I called Lucien to update him on my imminent arrival. Traffic was light at three a.m., and I made it in less than fifteen minutes.

  Security was waiting at the gate. Two men remained on watch while the third pointed me to Cross’s parked Porsche. I pulled to a stop beside his car, surprised when the same member of the security team opened my car door.

  “We need to get you up to speed. Mr. Cross wants to have a handle on this and a game plan before they start filming in the morning. Your input is vital.” He walked at a brisk pace, and I jogged to keep up. Thankfully, I finished my coffee on the ride to work or else it would be splashing everywhere. “What do you know so far?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I was just told to get here ASAP.”

  We entered one of the soundstages. A man was standing beside the director’s chair in a leather jacket, dark jeans, and a black t-shirt. His hair was messy and spiked. It took a full thirty seconds before I realized it was my boss.

  “We’ve been waiting,” Cross said. His gaze went to the security guard. “There’s been a breach. The studio executives have been notified. They believe it’s nothing more than a harmless prank. I imagine you’ll disagree.”

  He stepped to the side, his focus shifting to the set where a life-sized dummy dressed in one of Dinah Allen’s costumes and wearing her makeup was posed in a provocative position. The prop knife through its heart didn’t exactly scream out harmless prank.

  “That’s no prank.”

  “I concur.” Cross’s tone went hard as nails. “Tell her the rest of the story, Mr. Perry,” he commanded. His angry look hardened on the security guard, and the man swallowed.

  “There’s more?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Cross muttered, “considerably more, to which I was also unaware.”

  Nine

  I stared at Cross, one thought obvious on my face; I told you so. Although, it would have been too juvenile to say it. He met my eyes, anger flashing across his features. This wasn’t good, particularly for Cross Security.

  “Why wasn’t I aware?” Cross asked, glaring at Dwight Perry. “Broadway Films expected us to deal with any issues.” He gestured at the dummy six feet away. “This is a big fucking issue. You should have called immediately.”

  Perry uttered an excuse that fell on deaf ears. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cross.”

  Cross wrung his hands together, circling our surroundings. “As soon as your replacement arrives, get back to the office. You will wait for me there.”

  “Yes, sir.” Perry lingered, unsure if he was supposed to leave us alone or stay to answer questions.

  “When did you realize someone broke into the costume and makeup trailers?” I asked.

  Perry was a large man, but the look Cross shot him made him cower. “We realized something was off this morning, but it wasn’t until they shut down production for the night that we learned of the break-in. No one on set notified us.”

  “That isn’t their job. It’s yours. You are supposed to detect and prevent breaches.” Cross rubbed his eyes. “Collect the footage. I want copies of everything brought to the lab. We have to figure out who is responsible.” Perry faltered, and Cross hissed, “Now, Mr. Perry.”

  The man disappeared, and I rubbed a hand over my mouth. “Dinah Allen and Gemma Kramer had to go through a second round of fittings today and another session in the makeup chair. From what I was told, they thought the costumes and makeup palettes were misplaced. I didn’t realize it was more than that.”

  “Why would you?” He spun on his heel. “You told me something was brewing concerning Dinah Allen. Do you still believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Things disappear from sets all the time. Actors walk off with costumes or props. PAs decide they want something to brag to their friends about or sell on the internet, and the other behind the scenes guys may decide to keep a memento or two. However, that happens after production wraps, not before it starts.” He knelt next to the dummy. “What do you see?”

  “A threat. Sexual undertones, possibly misguided romantic feelings.” My gaze swept the rest of the large, cavernous room, but nothing else looked disturbed or out of place. “It’s posed on the main soundstage. That isn’t an accident. It’s meant to attract attention.” The one thing missing was a note.

  “The weapon of choice is a knife.” Cross leaned closer. No one had touched it yet. We were waiting. He wanted everything moved to the office, but that would only occur once he spoke to the powers that be. A police investigation might be more appropriate, but something told me our client would want things handled in-house if possible. “You know what they say about stabbings.”

  “You think whoever did this has a problem getting it up?”

  Cross shrugged. “It depends. The knife might have been the easiest way of making a statement. This is a studio. Theatrics are a given.”

  My gaze fell to one of the million different wires and cords that cluttered the floor. “It would have been just as easy to leave the body hanging. It would also be far more obvious and shocking.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” Something buzzed, and he removed the phone from his pocket. “The studio has reached a decision.” He typed out a quick reply before dialing a number and speaking into his phone. “We need to figure out if the property was penetrated. Call in every one of our techs. No one is going home until we determine what happened. Do I make myself clear?” He blew out a breath. “Set up a meeting with Miss Allen’s personal security team. I need to speak to them as soon as possible.” He listened to the response. “That should be all for now.”

  “I take it the police won’t be getting involved,” I said after he hung up.

  “No. We will han
dle this. I need you on point. Until we know more, we should focus on the obvious. Someone broke into Dinah’s trailer. The following day costumes and makeup were stolen. And now this.” He crossed the room and went down the narrow hallway where the writers’ room was. I waited, unsure if I should follow, but Lucien returned a moment later with some rubber gloves and a box of trash bags. “Help me.”

  While I put on a pair of gloves, he opened the box of bags and took one out. We already photographed the entire area and the dummy, so he didn’t hesitate to pick it up and wrestle it into the bag. I helped get the body inside and tied off the top. We carried it back to his car and slid it into the passenger’s seat.

  “Guess this means you can use the carpool lane.” For some reason, he didn’t find my comment amusing.

  “Meet me back at the office.” Without another word, he climbed into his car and revved the engine.

  He was already through the gate by the time I got into my car. The second security team arrived, and I stopped to speak to them. They looked pretty rough around the edges, but they were professionals.

  “Listen, this is a big lot. I know we have dozens of security cameras, but someone needs to check the cameras to make sure they are working. If you notice a blind spot, put up some sticky cams until something more permanent can be done to fix it, and we need a physical check of the fence and the perimeter,” I said, even though this was above and beyond my position at the firm.

  One of the guys nodded. “It’s being handled.”

  “It sounds like you have your bases covered. Can you let me know what you find?” I scribbled my number on the back of a business card.

  The man turned it over and read my name. “That is standard, Miss Parker. Mr. Cross said you were going to be taking charge.”

  “Did he?” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, offered a nod of encouragement, and drove away.

  My thoughts went to what the scene at the soundstage could mean. Every part of me said this was a direct threat against Dinah. Surely, Cross assumed the same thing since he requested a meeting with her security detail. I didn’t know the specifics concerning Dinah’s alleged stalker back in Los Angeles, but when I spoke to Cross on the phone yesterday afternoon, he had been convinced it was a publicity stunt. I wondered if he still thought that.

  If the dummy was meant to represent Dinah, whoever left it wanted her dead. Or they wanted her off the movie, or they wanted her to pay. A knife through the heart could only be interpreted as betrayal or heartbreak. Lance. He was my prime suspect, and he and his assistant had access to the costumes and makeup trailer.

  By the time I parked my car and took the elevator to my office, I was working on a list of potential suspects. From the limited details I currently possessed, Lance remained number one, but Dinah did have a potential suitor who she had been texting and a possible stalker from L.A. That didn’t take into account the possibility this could all be another elaborate attempt to garner free publicity for the movie. If what Cross said was true and someone faked the stalker story, this could be a second attempt.

  “Dammit,” I muttered. I was spinning. My office was empty. No one had left any intel or notes. Reception was empty, and almost all of the offices were dark. Obviously, Cross hadn’t bothered to call in the other investigators, just the techs. I stepped back into the elevator.

  When I got out on his floor, his assistant was on the phone in the outer office, but he waved me back. I stepped through Lucien’s door, knocking gently on the jamb. At first glance, the room was empty. Then I noticed Cross standing in front of the closet. He had exchanged his jeans for dress pants and shed his shirt. His entire back was covered in an extremely elaborate tattoo. It was a winged creature, maybe a dragon, but before I could get a better look, he slipped his dress shirt on and turned around. Unintentionally, I gave him the quick once-over.

  “See anything you like?” he asked.

  “Nice ink,” I replied, catching sight of another tattoo across the left side of his ribcage. This entire evening was one surprise after another. From the outside, I never would have expected Cross to be anything other than an overcontrolling suit. Obviously, he had a wild streak.

  “Angel of death,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

  “Cheery.”

  He tucked his shirt into his pants and fastened his belt. Then he removed a comb from his pocket and turned to the mirror hanging from the inside of the door. He smoothed his hair down as best he could and reached for his tie. “Dinah’s people will be here in four hours. She isn’t due on set until this afternoon. I’d like you to be here.”

  “Okay.”

  He turned his collar down and tilted his head from side to side. Annoyed by the imperfections in his appearance, he turned away from the mirror and shut the closet door. “The lab is already analyzing the evidence. We should know something shortly.” He took a seat behind his desk and searched through his drawers. “What do we know so far?”

  “I already told you everything. My money’s on Lance.”

  Cross jotted a note. “Based on the call sheet, he was one of the last actors on set tonight.” He grabbed a clipboard and held it out. “That’s the time log. Run through it and see if anyone sticks out. The later someone left the lot, the greater the chances he could be involved or witnessed something peculiar.”

  “I do know how this works.”

  “Then stop wasting time and get to it. I want a plausible list of suspects in two hours.”

  “Are we even considering the possibility the threat came from an outsider?”

  “Don’t worry about that yet. We’ll get to that after the security team completes its analysis and after I have a chance to discuss these matters with Dinah’s personal detail.”

  “Roger.” I took the clipboard and headed for the door, but I stopped, suddenly confused. “When I arrived, you said the set was breached. Now you’re telling me it’s an internal problem. Which is it?”

  “Mr. Perry believes a breach must have occurred since everyone at the studio had a reason to be there, but at this time, we have no proof either way.”

  “Sounds like he was jumping to conclusions.”

  Cross let out an annoyed sound. “One more thing, Alex. Keep a lid on this. I don’t want you mentioning anything to anyone at the studio. If someone approaches you, direct them to me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I took the stairs down to my office, needing to do something besides wait in the deserted hallway for the elevator. On the bright side, I had already gotten a preliminary glimpse into Dinah Allen and Lance Smoke. That would save time now.

  Booting up my computer, I started with the basics. Criminal records were something Hollywood actors collected like trading cards. Lance had several DUIs and a few citations for reckless driving but nothing else. That didn’t mean he was clean. That just meant he hired the right people to bury things. Dinah didn’t have a record. I wasn’t sure what I thought about that, but I wasn’t getting paid to speculate. Cross wanted cold, hard facts.

  Checking the clipboard, I noted a few interesting points. Dinah was one of the first actresses to leave the set. Perhaps the reason whoever posed the dummy used her costume was simply because she wasn’t around. Could it be a prank? Some actors were notorious for pranks, but the macabre depiction looked real. Cross and I both agreed on that, but now that I was back in the office, I felt we shouldn’t discount the possibility so quickly.

  The production assistants were among the last to leave. They were responsible for making certain everyone had updated call sheets, the proper sides, and knew what the final shooting schedule would be in the morning. Things constantly changed on set. I’d already seen dialogue changes and scene adjustments, and we were only two days in. We would need to question them. One of them might have seen something.

  With the exception of Lance and Clay, the rest of the talent left after the last scene shot. That was around one o’clock. Cross called me for the first time at two, so it wasn’t a huge wi
ndow of opportunity. Picking up the phone, I notified the tech department of the timeframe, which could be narrowed even further depending on what time security realized there was a problem.

  The last people off the lot were Neil Larson, the director, Kurt Wen, Travis Kreecher, and Lance Smoke. Most of the PAs and Clay Chaffey left thirty minutes before the bigwigs. The rest of the cast was gone as soon as shooting stopped. It all happened in such a short span of time, I wasn’t positive any of them would have had time to get everything together, sneak onto the main soundstage, and leave the prop dummy without being seen.

  The dummy must have been ready to go, I concluded. It could have been outfitted hours before, possibly after the break-ins at the wardrobe and makeup trailers. I closed my eyes and thought about the section of lot with nothing but trailer after trailer. It would be simple enough to slip inside without being detected or being given a second glance.

  Hours after the thefts, Dinah had taken me back to her trailer. Before that, I was sequestered to one of the smaller buildings where we had conducted the weapons and fight training. Anything could have been going on outside, and I wouldn’t have known about it. Security was busy at the front gate and monitoring the perimeter, so they would have been just as oblivious. But the one problem with my theory was Lance had been with us the entire time, as were Clay, Gemma, and Dinah. Still, I didn’t think that ruled any of them out. The A-listers each had assistants who could have done the deed for them.

  Lifting the receiver, I dialed the security team at the lot. “I need to know when wardrobe first noticed a problem. Do we have cameras covering the trailers? I need to know who came and went and when. I want everything from the first night of shooting until the following afternoon. Send a list of names as soon as you have it.” I hung up, belatedly wondering if Cross’s attitude had already rubbed off on me.