Dexter's Final Cut (38 page)

Eissen fixed his deadly stare on Jackie, but the quick bark of laughter from nearly everyone else in the room stopped him from optically flogging her, instead forcing him to put on his awful little smile again. “There is that,” he said, and he got his own, slightly smaller laugh this time. “Of course, we all hope it won’t come to that.” Someone near the coffee urn muttered, “Of course.” Eissen ignored that and went on.

“You have all signed a nondisclosure agreement,” he said. “Our lawyers
assure
me”—and he paused for a moment to let us all feel the
weight of that word—“that it applies to this situation. If you speak of this to
anyone
 … Well, take my advice and don’t.” I looked around the room; it looked to me like nobody thought Eissen was kidding.

“Captain Matthews has assured me that his people can supply enough security to minimize the risk. For
all
of us. And I am asking you all to be extra-vigilant. This is a closed set. If you see anybody who doesn’t belong, or notice anything out of the ordinary, tell a policeman. There will be plenty of them around.” He glanced at Matthews, and the captain nodded.

“All right,” Eissen said. “Let’s go make a pilot.” He gave a very slight wave of his hand. “Captain?”

Captain Matthews cleared his throat and stepped forward, frowning solemnly at all of us. “I want to reassure you all,” he said. “We have this situation completely under control, and the investigation is moving forward in a very … ahemp. A satisfying manner.” His frown deepened. “That is, we are quite confident that there is no significant danger that can’t be, ah …” He glanced at Anderson, who just stood there, unsuccessfully trying to look serious and competent. “The investigating officer has
assured
me,” Matthews said, and his tone made Anderson stand a little straighter, “that an arrest is expected very shortly.” Anderson squirmed slightly, and Matthews paused for several powerful throat-clearing noises, a ploy I was quite sure he meant to let Anderson appreciate the fact that it was a threat—and probably to cover his own embarrassment at having to deliver such a dreadful Cop Cliché. “Arrest is expected” is an ancient phrase that means, freely translated, “We don’t have a clue,” and Matthews had used it very publicly to make certain that if an arrest did not, in fact, materialize, it would be Anderson’s fault.

“And so … ahemp,” Matthews said, “I ask you all to hmp. Be watchful, just like Mr. Eissen said.” He smiled down at Eissen, who didn’t appear to notice. “There is really nothing to worry about. With a few precautions. So just tell an officer if you see anything that seems, ah, dangerous.” He frowned, as if he had heard the contradiction in what he had said, which didn’t seem likely to me. Then he turned and stared at Deborah for a moment, before clearing his throat again. “Sergeant Morgan,” he said ominously, and then turned back to face the room, “is familiar with the, ah, appearance. Of the suspect.” He
glared at Debs for a moment before going on. “Hmp. And she
will
be on set,” he said, “for the duration of the filming process. The whole thing.”

Deborah did not move, not even a twitch, but she radiated such angry unhappiness that I could feel it in my seat halfway down the table. Matthews put his stare on her for another long and awkward moment, and then turned back and gave the room a small and spasmodic smile. “So,” he said. “I want to reassure you that we have given this matter our full attention. And I want to say again how happy we are to have you here, in Miami. And I hope you will all get a taste of the real Miami to, ah …” He paused and looked around, as if he had realized what he might be wishing on them, and wondering where he could stack the bodies. “The, uh, South Beach, you know,” he said. “Nightlife. And the beaches.” He nodded at the room, and gave them a manly and confident smile. “Enjoy yourselves,” he said.

And while he was apparently wondering if he had any more to say, Eissen quietly slapped the palms of both hands on the table. “All right,” Eissen said. “Thank you, Captain. And officers.” He nodded once and glanced around the room. “We are all here to do a job. Let’s do it.” He scanned the crowd, possibly to see whether anybody would deny it and go on strike, and when no one did he nodded, stood up, and walked briskly out of the room.

Victor Torrano, the director, stood up from his seat near the head of the table. “All right, people,” he called out, raising his voice over the babble. “We are already two hours behind schedule and we haven’t started shooting yet. Let’s get out there and get busy.” One of the technical people yelled out, “Boo!” Victor shook his head and said, “Keep it up, Harvey. Just remember this is a right-to-work state,” and people laughed and began to move off toward the door.

Victor moved toward the door, too, revealing a tense tableau behind the chair where Eissen had been sitting. Captain Matthews had turned around and was speaking quietly but firmly to Deborah, and she did not look pleased to have his full attention. Anderson stood behind them, head swiveling from one to the other as if he was watching a tennis match. I did not need to read lips to know that Debs was getting a reprimand, and Anderson was loving it.

“Thank God,” Jackie murmured beside me. “Oh, thank God …”

I turned to face her. She was still showing the world a confident, carefree smile, but her voice trembled a bit, and her hand came back and clamped onto mine again under the table. She took a deep and slightly shaky breath, let it out, and then said, “I’m alive.”

“And I’m very glad you are,” I said.

She squeezed my hand, then let it go and stood up. “Let’s find my dressing room,” she said.

I followed her out the door and off along a branching hallway to the right. The first door we passed stood ajar. I glanced in: Both sides of the long room were covered with well-lighted mirrors, and a counter ran the whole length at waist level, a dozen chairs tucked under it. Against the back wall stood a clothing rack filled with cop uniforms, suits, shirts, and pants, with a neat row of shoes on the floor underneath. A piece of tape was stuck on the door at eye level. It said,
MEN
.

“That’s where you’ll get dressed,” Jackie said. “With the other small-part guys.”

“Small part?” I said.

She smiled and patted my shoulder. “Not the part that counts,” she said.

The next door led to a nearly identical room, but it was labeled
WOMEN
this time. “You stay out of there,” Jackie said, with a menacing frown. “It’s filled with hussies.”

“Yes, O Mighty One,” I said.

The next door was closed, but labeled
RENNY BOUDREAUX
. Just past that was
ROBERT CHASE
, and as we came abreast of it, the door opened and Robert stood there in the doorway, blinking. His eyes flicked to Jackie, then to me; he froze, and he just goggled at me for a few seconds. “Oh,” he said with a strange expression of some kind on his face—shock? Guilt? And then he quickly stepped back and closed the door.

Jackie shook her head. “Fucking weirdo,” she muttered, and then we were at last standing in front of the door labeled
JACKIE FOREST
. She paused for a minute, looking at her name, and then shook her head. “At least they almost spelled it right,” she said. She looked back along the hallway. “But they always put me last, farthest away.” She made a face. “And right next to Bob, too.”

“Robert,” I said automatically, and Jackie snorted.

“Come on in,” she said, and opened the door.

In most ways, Jackie’s dressing room was a smaller copy of the men’s and women’s. But there was only one chair, in front of a smaller mirror. A table stood next to it, laden with a huge bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, a fruit basket, and a large and gaudy box of very expensive chocolates. Under the table was a small refrigerator, and along the wall opposite there was a soft-looking sofa. A door at the far end of the room stood half open to reveal a bathroom, complete with shower.

“Well,” I said. “So this is how the one percent lives.”

“Squalid,” she said. “But you get used to it.”

Before I could settle onto the sofa with the box of chocolates, a knock sounded on the door and, a moment later, it swung open and Detective Anderson sidled in. He was carrying a large cardboard box and wearing a truly annoying smirk. “Hey, Miss Forrest,” he said.

Jackie raised an eyebrow and put on her smallest smile. “Yes?” she said.

Anderson put the box down on Jackie’s dressing table and stuck out his hand. “Detective Anderson,” he said, smiling at Jackie as if she was a jar of honey and he was a starving bear.

Jackie hesitated, and then shook his hand. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I think I’ve heard your name.”

“Yeah, listen,” Anderson said, still clutching Jackie’s hand. “I brought some stuff—um, your assistant? Miss Podrowski …”

The tiny smile left Jackie’s face, and she yanked her hand away from Anderson’s grip. “Yes,” she said.

Anderson shifted his weight uncertainly, and then nodded at the cardboard box. “I, uh … I brought you her effects. From her room.” He flicked the box with a finger. “Suitcase, purse, laptop. We been through it, and, uh, I was hoping you might take a look. See if you notice anything that we might miss?”

I said nothing, but I could not help thinking that what Anderson might miss would be a very long list. Jackie frowned and flicked her eyes toward me. “It might help,” I said.

She looked back to Anderson. “All right,” she said. “I’ll take a look.”

“Thank you, Miss Forrest,” Anderson said. “I know how busy you are, but I’d appreciate it if you could, you know. As soon as possible.”

“I’ll take a look,” Jackie repeated.

Anderson licked his lips and shifted his weight again. “And, uh,” he said. A funny little smile flicked on and off his face. “I wanted to give you my
personal
assurance. I’m gonna get this guy, and you got nothin’ to worry about.”

“Thank you, Officer,” Jackie said. She started to turn away from him, a clear dismissal, but Anderson touched her shoulder; she looked back at him, and he went on relentlessly.

“And, uh, you know,” he said. “If you’re feeling at all, you know. Like you’re worried? I want you to think of me like I’m a security blanket. Totally available, twenty-four/seven.” He held out a business card, nodded at her, and smiled as if he had just said something wonderful.

Jackie looked at him with a very serious and thoughtful expression on her face, and gave him a head-to-toe scan before looking him in the eye. For a few long seconds she said nothing, and Anderson got very uncomfortable, shifted his weight from foot to foot, and actually began to blush. “A blanket,” Jackie said at last, deadpan. “Thank you.” She smiled wickedly. “But I already have a nice warm blanket,” she said, and she leaned over toward me and put a hand on the back of my neck, rubbing it lightly.

“I have to get to wardrobe,” she said. “Can you walk me over, Dexter?” And she gave me a smile warm enough to singe Anderson’s eyebrows.

“I’d be delighted,” I said. Jackie touched my cheek, then turned away. I glanced at Anderson. His face was mottled and his mouth hung open, and he watched Jackie saunter away until I moved to follow, forcing him to step back. “Excuse me,” I said. “I have to stay with Miss Forrest.” He looked at me and I smiled. “I’m her blanket.”

Anderson stared back at me with such pure hate that I wanted to stand there for a while and admire it, but after all, the work of a blanket is never done. “Bye now,” I said, and I followed Jackie out of the room.

I
CAUGHT UP WITH
J
ACKIE HALFWAY DOWN THE HALL
,
NOT AS
easily as I should have, since she was practically sprinting away from Anderson. “Shit,” she said when I finally stepped up beside her, “I can’t deal with Kathy’s stuff, not so soon.” She shook her head. “And that odious dumbfuck Anderson,” she said.

“Odious dumbfuck,” I said, and I really was impressed with her colorful but accurate description. “You talk pretty.”

But for some reason, my sincere praise did not lighten her mood. She bit her lip, and then shook her head again. “I can’t— If I look at Kathy’s things right now, I’ll fall apart, and I can’t go in front of the cameras looking like I’ve been crying,” she said. She hesitated, then glanced at me. “Is it … Could there really be something important in her stuff?”

“With Anderson in charge?” I said. “The killer could be hiding in Kathy’s suitcase and he wouldn’t notice.”

Jackie stopped walking. We were at the junction of the hallway, where the main fork led back to the set. “Could I ask … Would you mind looking at her things, Dexter?”

“I didn’t know her at all,” I said.

Jackie sighed. “I know,” she said. “I just … it’s hard enough not to
burst into tears every time I think of Kathy, and I …” She put a hand on my arm, and blinked back a few tears. “Please? Would you?”

The way Jackie looked at me with those wonderful violet eyes starting to fill up, I would have juggled flaming chain saws if it would make her happy. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll take a look.”

Jackie smiled. “Thank you,” she said. She took a deep breath, sniffled, and straightened up. “Right now I really do have to find Sylvia.” She leaned close to me and bumped her forehead against mine gently. “Thank you,” she said. “See you later.” And she strode away down the hall.

I watched her go for a moment. I had never before realized how much fun it can be just to watch somebody walk. Jackie was very good at it—not just because she didn’t fall down or walk into a wall, although that was true, too. There was just something about the way she put one foot in front of the other that made me think of how I felt waking up next to her naked body. It didn’t make any sense, but it was true. So I watched Jackie until she vanished through a doorway opposite the set.

I turned around and headed back toward Jackie’s dressing room. I didn’t see Anderson, which seemed odd. He certainly hadn’t gone past us. He might have gone out the door at the far end of this hall, but a sign on it clearly said that an alarm would sound if the door was opened, and I hadn’t heard any alarm. That seemed to mean that he was still in the dressing room, and that was very odd.