by Dave Daren
“Yes,” The Count said with a nod.
“And from Steele Productions to your address was how long?” Whitaker asked.
It suddenly dawned on me they were fishing for evidence they didn’t have.
“I’m sorry,” I cut in. “If you want to question my client further, you’re going to have to formally arrest him. Otherwise, my client will not answer any more questions.”
The Three W’s looked at each other, and then Whitaker turned to the other guys.
“Let’s step outside, fellas,” he said.
The Three W’s all left the room, and I turned to Alfred.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I can’t believe they would think I would murder someone,” he said indignantly.
“They don’t really believe that,” I corrected him. “They would just like to be able to believe that so they can solve the murder and go home.”
“I suppose,” he allowed with a frown, “but it is infuriating. They should rather spend their time trying to find the real killer, instead of mapping out how far it is from my house to the studio, and how long it would have taken. Is this what my tax dollars go to pay for? It’s unbelievable!
“It is,” I agreed as I remember Harmony’s days on the wrong end of a murder case.
Then the Three W’s re-entered the room.
“You’re free to go,” Whitaker told Alfred.
Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. We left the interrogation room, Bernice had us sign a few papers, and we walked out of the police station.
“Need a ride home?” I asked as I slipped on my shades in the mid-afternoon sun.
“I could use a ride back to the studio, if you could,” he said sheepishly. “My car is still there. Or it should be anyway.”
“They couldn’t have impounded it without an arrest,” I assured him. “So it’s still there.”
We got into my car, and I drove back to the studio.
“Thank you for coming,” Alfred said as he stared out the passenger window. “I can’t believe all of this.”
“I know,” I sighed. “It’s a shame.”
“I don’t know who would do this,” he mused, and then he furrowed his brows sharply. “Jerry was a piece of work, but murder?”
“I’ve got a feeling Jerry’s got a long list of enemies,” I murmured.
Alfred scoffed. “Tell me about it.”
“You have any idea?” I asked.
“I don’t know everyone,” he said with a shake of his head, “but I know there are quite a few people in this town who would love to get their hands on Jerry Steele.”
“Just remember, they are still investigating and can arrest you at any time,” I instructed him. “Don’t talk to them about anything unless I’m with you, even if you’re trying to be helpful. They can twist it and use it against you in court.”
He nodded, but said nothing.
We pulled up to Steele Productions and its now near empty lot. The warehouse was cordoned off with crime scene tape, but no one else was around.
I recognized Jerry’s black Ford truck still sitting in the front lot, and I sighed.
“I wonder what happens to that.” Alfred nodded in the direction of the vehicle.
“The police will notify his next of kin,” I said, “and they will take it from there.”
“I think he has a little boy who lives with his mother somewhere,” Alfred muttered as he opened the door. “It’s so sad for a boy to grow up without his father. It’s not the way the world should be.”
Alfred shook his head at the thought and found his car, and I watched him drive off.
After he left, I sat in the parking lot of Steele Productions for just a moment longer, and I tried to take it all in. This guy was gone, and over the coming months, the city of Sedona would sort through the wreckage of the grisly, cold blooded murder.
There was about to be a storm, and right now I stood on the outskirts of it. But, as my life tends to go, I was sure I would be dragged right into the middle of it.
I shook my head of the thoughts and drove home to Vicki.
Chapter 4
Monday morning, I stopped by Jitters on the way to work. Jitters was our go to coffee shop, a block away from our office. There are only a few things in Sedona I would swear by, but Jitters Coffee was one of them.
Incidentally, it was the first place I’d run into Jerry Steele.
I thought about that as I stood in line. I’d become business associates with Marvin Iakova, the man who owned most of the media in Arizona. He had some questionable political views, which I knew nothing about. But Jerry had accosted me in the middle of the coffee shop and shoved a camera in my face.
Now, I approached the counter, and the owner Rick Mullins was working the register.
“Hey,” I said, “low on baristas, huh?”
Rick shook his head. “What can I say? It’s the Geia Festival, and I employ about half of this town’s college students. You do the math.”
“The what?” I asked in confusion.
He frowned. “Geia Fest? You haven’t heard of that?”
“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “What’s that?”
He laughed. “It’s apparently the new Coachella. Coachella’s old news, and everyone that’s anyone goes to, or plays, the Geia Festival. It’s in Death Valley, and half my staff’s out there.”
“I did not know that,” I admitted.
In my teen years out here, I was definitely the stereotypical music snob, and I knew all the music festivals in the area. This one, however, I hadn’t heard of.
“I’m surprised,” Rick whistled.
“Have we gotten to that age,” I sighed, “where we don’t know what’s cool anymore?”
Rick laughed. “Dude, I’ve been that age. In fact, I think I’ve always been that age. I’m just okay with it now.”
I laughed and gave him my order.
“So, uh, it’s nuts about the film, man,” I said as I handed him my cash.
Rick was cast as Paul Revere, and given his long dark hair and youthful energy, he probably would have been perfect for the part.
Rick shook his head as he gave me my change. “Shit man, have you heard anything from the art league about that?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “I just assumed they were dropping the project. I don’t see them keeping it going, do you?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “There were rumors they could trim it down, and turn it into a stage production.”
“I didn’t hear that,” I said. “I don’t think I’d do it anyway.”
“I wouldn’t either,” he replied. “Things weren’t going well with the film before … I couldn’t imagine going on with it now. Do you know any more about what happened?”
“No,” I lied. “I only know what everyone knows.”
Rick laughed. “You know more than that. You’re just sworn to secrecy. I heard you were representing The Count.”
“Geez,” I said dryly as I sipped my coffee. “Maybe I should work in a coffee shop. You guys hear everything.”
He laughed and gestured behind the near empty counter. “Hey, I’ve got plenty of openings.”
I sipped my coffee and snorted. “You couldn’t handle me. I’m high maintenance.”
“I’ll bet you are, Henry,” he chuckled as the next customer approached the counter. “I’ll bet you are.”
I left Jitters and drove the block to the office. On the corner was the same street musician who was there the day Jerry followed me down the sidewalk. I shook my head and couldn’t believe I was actually grieving this guy.
Vicki and AJ were on the phone when I walked in. They were both working on an incorporation for this new graphic design firm called “420 Design,” which was made up of a bunch of Sedona hipsters.
It had been my experience in life that self taught, self employed hipsters made the best graphic designers. Once they start working for a firm, they lose something. I did advise them
to rethink the name, for the simple purpose of making themselves a target. They looked at me like I’d just insulted their mothers. So, “420 Design” it remained.
I had just set down my bag, when my phone buzzed.
“Henry Irving,” I answered.
“Hello Irving, it’s Chet Levinson,” a voice replied.
Chet Levinson was the county prosecutor. He and I’d run into each other in the courtroom a handful of times.
“Chet,” I said as I sat down in my chair. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” he grunted. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about this Jerry Steele case. You got a minute?”
“Sure do, Chet,” I said. “What’s up?”
He sighed and began slowly. “We’re looking at this case, and we’ve got a prime suspect.”
“Alfred Dumont,” I supplied.
“Yeah,” he said. “So, you’re defending him, is that correct?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
He paused for a moment as if finding the right words. “To put it bluntly, we’ve been around this before, you and I, and I don’t know what the hell is going on with the police force in this town, but I don’t need another false murder charge on my watch.”
I nearly choked on my coffee.
“There have been … a few,” I said diplomatically.
“There have been a few,” he agreed.
Three to be exact. I’d proven the Sedona Police wrong on a homicide charge on three separate occasions.
“So,” he went on, “I’m prepared to make a deal with you.”
I furrowed my brow. Where was this going?
“I’ve talked to the DA,” he said. “We’re going to hold off on charging Dumont. If you can do, whatever it is you do, and find the killer, then we won’t charge Dumont at all. But the DA’s only going to give me a week.”
“You want me to solve the murder?” I clarified. “Isn’t that the police’s job?”
“They think they have the evidence,” he sighed. “So, they’re done looking. They’re going to charge Dumont. But I don’t want another Harmony, Juliana, or Horace.”
He referred to our three clients the police had wrongfully charged with murder.
“I can buy your client a week,” he added, “but that’s all I can do.”
“Why should we care?” I asked as I drummed my fingers on my desk. “To be frank, if the police bring some bogus charge again, I’d be happy to beat it in court again, and formally lodge a civil rights complaint against the city. I should have done that after Harmony’s case, but I definitely will if they pull this.”
“L-look,” Chet stuttered nervously, “it’s in your client’s interest to avoid a jury trial if you have the ability to. You and I both know you bill a lot more hours on a case that goes to court. The ethical thing to do is investigate it yourself now and save your client the trouble long term.
“Somehow I feel like I’m still doing you more of a favor than you’re doing for me,” I replied dryly.
“Might be true,” he laughed, “but favors add up in this town.”
“Okay,” I sighed. “I’d have to run it by my client, but aside from that, I think we’ve got a deal.”
“Good,” he responded, and he sounded relieved. “Let’s get this thing wrapped up.”
“Thanks, Chet,” I said.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I just hope it works.”
We said our goodbyes and ended the call.
“Well,” I drawled as I turned to Vicki and AJ, “that was an interesting call.”
“What did Chet want?” Vicki asked.
“They want to cut us a deal,” I told her. “They’re ready to charge Dumont with the murder. But Chet doesn’t think he did it.”
“If he doesn’t think he did it, then why charge him?” AJ asked.
“Because,” I said with a shrug, “the police think they have enough evidence for a sloppy conviction. And they would charge him, but … ”
“But what?” Vicki asked with a frown.
“But then there’s us,” I said.
Vicki cocked an eyebrow. “What about us?”
I grinned and winked at her. “The prosecution doesn’t want to go against us.”
Vicki and AJ looked at each other, and then they cheered and whistled.
“So,” I chuckled, “they’re prepared to offer us a deal. They’ll hold off on charging Dumont, if we find out who really did it.”
“Isn’t that what we’ve done before?” AJ pointed out.
“Precisely,” I replied and then held up one finger. “But there’s one catch.”
“What’s that?” Vicki asked.
“We’ve only got a week,” I said.
“A week?” AJ gaped. “That’s not enough time.”
“Typically, the prosecution has twenty four hours to formally charge someone after they are arrested,” I said. “Chet worked out a deal with the DA on our behalf, or Alfred’s behalf, whatever way you want to look at it to delay the arrest.”
“That’s huge,” Vicki murmured.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “but we’ve got to get cracking.”
“Absolutely,” AJ said as she pulled out a notebook and shuffled to a blank page. “Where should we start.”
I smiled at her enthusiasm. “Let’s start with the basics--the crime scene.”
“The studio,” AJ jotted down. “Perfect.”
“Vic,” I instructed, “call the client, tell him what’s going on. AJ and I are going over to the studio.”
“Got it,” she said.
“Grab the camera,” I added. “Let’s go.”
We had a Canon Rebel DSLR with a full lens kit we’d used a couple of times. She found it quickly, and we headed out to my car. I stopped off at the police station to get the keys to the studio, and it wasn’t long before we were back at the warehouse I never thought I’d see again.
“It’s so creepy now that we know someone died here,” AJ whispered.
I nodded slowly, and we approached the glass door of the studio. It was all roped off with crime scene tape, but I pushed that aside and unlocked the door.
We stepped into the darkened studio, and I flipped on a bay of light switches. With buzzes and flickers, the room lit up with fluorescent bulbs. The floor was smooth gray concrete, and a half built soundstage sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by intricate looking camera equipment. I stepped into the middle of the set and looked around at the period living room set with a Union Jack flag on the back wall.
“I guess this was supposed to be for Gretchen and John’s opening scene,” AJ mused as she looked around, “but the murder happened in the office.”
I nodded and slowly walked through the set. “We’re looking for anything that might seem out of sorts.”
“The American Revolution set in the 1920’s?” she remarked sarcastically. “How could you tell?”
I cocked my head in agreement and examined the set pieces. Couches, a coffee table, a record player, a bookshelf with a fake book laminate … everything seemed to be in order.
“Take pictures of everything,” I instructed AJ, and she started snapping away.
I didn’t know if any of it was relevant, but we didn’t know exactly what we were looking for, so we didn’t know what we weren’t looking for either.
“Look at this gun,” AJ said as she picked up a World War I era revolver.
“The Count must have brought it in for show and tell,” I mused.
“This thing is badass,” she said and mimed shooting it. “I feel like a mobster just holding it.”
I would have laughed if we weren’t in the middle of a murder scene.
We crossed the massive empty floor to the office wing of the studio.
“I guess all the workers are gone,” AJ said.
“I would guess so,” I agreed. “Without the boss to write the checks, I guess the question of staffing solves itself.”
After a fruitless detour involving a couple of empty offices
, we finally ended at Jerry’s office, the official scene of the crime.
Jerry’s office was everything I would have expected from Jerry. It was a large room, with a cheap L shaped desk with a full credenza. Wires and cords were laid out in the empty spaces where computers must have been.
“I guess the police have already confiscated any computers he had in here,” I remarked.
“I would imagine,” she said. “Calendars, contacts, e-mails whatever.”
The entire rest of the office was completely covered in papers. Stacks upon stacks of papers everywhere. The floor was filled with file boxes full of paper, too.
“You know what this is?” I said to AJ. “This is what purgatory looks like for secretaries.”
She laughed and then clicked away with the camera.
I almost tripped over a box of videotapes under a table and glanced through them to find anything of note. AJ snapped a few photos, and I kept looking.
“So,” I said, “according to the police report, Jerry was found laying here.”
I pointed to a white chalk line on the carpet, and a corresponding bloodstain and photographed from every angle.
“And the method of death was … ” she trailed off as she looked around.
“They said the suspect, Dumont,” I said, “grabbed a marble bust off a shelf and bludgeoned him to death.”
We glanced around the office to see if there was a space where a bust could have recently been removed. It was hard to find anything conclusive, though.
I looked around the office more and sifted through some of the paperwork. Half-written screenplays, drafts of screenplays, film schedules, annotated camera schedules, call sheets, and scrawled blocking diagrams littered the room.
I picked up one screenplay draft and flipped through it. It was about two top of the world rock stars, both in love with this strikingly beautiful Persian woman. It was actually quite an interesting story from the brief skim I gave it.
“Jerry was a bit of a romantic,” I noted as I set the script down. “Who would have thought?”
“I can’t find anything out of order here the police haven’t already found,” AJ said.
At that moment, we heard a noise in the hallway, and we both started. Then we very carefully edged toward the source of the noise.
“Hello?” I called out.
