Authors: Carolyn McCray,Elena Gray
WidowMaker (12 page)
Blood.
Amanda wrinkled her nose. Where did all of that come from? And where in the hell was Howie? She held the reels out in front of her as she turned toward the end of the aisle.
“Aman...da! Help!”
Amanda spun around. Blood dripped off the reels onto her Manolos.
“Howie?” Amanda held her breath, listening, but when no answer came, she got angry again. “If you’re down here, quit screwing around.”
The puddle on the floor shifted. A large bubble formed on the surface. It grew larger and larger until it popped, releasing an agonized scream.
Amanda shrieked as she spun on her heel, clutching the reels to her chest.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 9
Derek watched as Mitchell bounced from seat to seat in the limo, munching on a bag of chips and opening and closing compartments. Mitchell was like a kid on a sugar high. Damn. They could power LA for a year with this kid.
Derek glanced at Jill. Slouched in her seat, she stared out the window. For once, he wanted the quick-tongued Jill back. Anything but the deflated woman sitting next to him. She never gave up this easily. He knew that firsthand. Especially when faced with a challenge. She never backed down from a challenge. Well, that was until their rehearsal dinner.
Where was the fire in her eyes? Oh, right. He extinguished that, too. In less than six hours. Shit. He should never have come here.
“Mind if I watch TV?” Mitchell asked, holding up a portable TV. He was oblivious to the crackling tension in the car. “There’s supposed to be a serial-killer special on A&E.”
Did this kid do anything other than watch TV?
“Knock yourself out. But up there,” Derek said, pointing to the front seat. Derek didn’t know which was worse. Sitting in a car with Mitchell, or with Fred. It was a tight race.
Derek’s mouth quirked up in a half smile as the kid tried to climb through the window into the front seat. His too-big pants had him selling crack. Mitchell kicked the driver in the head.
Jill didn’t even wait until Mitchell was completely over before she started raising the glass divider. Either she wanted privacy as much as he did, or she was tired of Mitchell, too. Derek was hoping for the latter, ’cause right now, he didn’t think he could take any more of her tears.
Mitchell tapped on the glass divider, bouncing in the front seat. “Hey, guys! Look at this!” he shouted.
Jill sighed and rolled her eyes as she reluctantly lowered the glass.
A deep baritone voice filled the car as Mitchell cranked the volume.
“What would you risk to have the thrill of your life?”
Bloodied teens running—and mutilated bodies—flashed across the screen.
“Everyone wants to face their darkest nightmare and come out alive ...”
Paramedics push a man on a gurney out of the theater. As they pass a woman and two children crying, they pull a sheet over his head. The woman falls to the ground sobbing.
Jesus.
Derek sat forward in his seat. That was straight out of the case file in Colorado.
“Pray you don't experience the horror behind the hype. Watch this year’s
Widowmaker
!
Terror in the Trees
!”
Derek slashed his hand across his throat, signaling Mitchell to turn off the TV.
Derek spun on Jill. “How could you?”
“I had nothing to do with that ... that …” Jill stammered, her cheeks flushing. “Horrible ad!”
“You're their damn PR—”
“I was,” Jill reminded him. “And I never would have condoned such crap!”
“I've got to Tivo that one!” Mitchell said, turning in his seat and switching the TV back on.
Derek leaned over Jill and pressed the button to raise the glass, cutting off whatever else Mitchell wanted to gush about. His arm brushed her thigh as he leaned back in his seat. Jill flinched at Derek’s touch. Hurt warred with anger in her eyes. Her body was as taut as a bowstring. You know what? He should just keep his foot permanently in his mouth.
“Jill, I was out of line ...” Way out of line. Did he really want to stoop so low as to want to hurt her—like she had hurt him? “I know you’d never authorize an ad like that.”
Not the Jill who volunteered twenty hours per week fund-raising for the Children’s Hospital. Who would come home, eyes red and swollen, because one of the patients had died.
“Thanks. ...” Jill settled her attention out the window. She fidgeted with her skirt. Worrying her lip between her teeth.
She turned to him, her voice soft. “I’m surprised that you’re not in Washington.”
“Was. Humidity and I didn’t get along.”
And the three slugs in my chest didn’t like me too much, either.
Derek fought back the memory of lying on the floor, his blood mingling with the girls next to him. His hand holding her small, cold one.
“I meant running the department,” Jill clarified. “I can’t believe you haven’t been promoted out of the field.”
“I’ve been offered, but this is what I love ...” Liar. He’s right back where he didn’t want to be. In the line of fire. Too bad he wasn’t the one who had broken his ankle. Then, it would be Fred here instead of him. No. He wouldn’t even wish that on the woman who left him at the rehearsal dinner.
Jill still plucked at lint on her skirt. “It was a hard decision, you know ... It tore me apart, too.”
Derek caught himself resting his hand on his pocket—the one that always held the little blue box. But not today.
Jill's cell phone cut the strained silence between them.
Jill glanced at her phone. Her gaze met Derek’s, apologetic as she answered the phone.
“Hi, Margie. What’s up?” Jill's eyes narrowed as she listened to the caller. “How did this happen?” Jill tapped her foot impatiently on the limo’s carpet. “Who last had clearance to be in the vault?”
Based on Jill’s expression and the don’t-mess-with-me tone of her voice, Derek knew that this news couldn’t be good. Honestly, what else could go wrong with this case?
“Thanks, Margie for the heads-up,” Jill said as she finished up. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Jill hung up the phone, tossing it on the seat next to her. She expelled her breath before focusing her attention on Derek.
“That was my secretary ... I mean, my ex-secretary. We need to develop a plan B.”
“Excuse me?”
“The film,” she said. “It’s
missing
.”
“What?” he asked even though he heard Jill just fine. But seriously,
what
? “No, no, no, no, no. Agents were dispatched to impound Temple Studios’ copy.”
Jill nodded. “Yes, but when they got there—”
Derek’s cell phone rang loudly, cutting Jill off. When they got there, what? But it was Fred on the line. “Tell me the film hasn’t gone missing,” Derek said as he answered the phone.
“Well, hello to you too,” his partner responded.
“Fred!”
“Sorry, man. They got there, and all they found was some weird grease on the floor. No film. No reel. No
Terror in the Trees
.”
Derek gripped the phone so hard he feared that he would crack the plastic. Why in the hell had he asked what else could go wrong? Something could always go wrong. And on this case? Why didn’t he just
assume
that everything would go wrong?
“Boulder?” Fred asked as the silence stretched on.
“Yeah,” Derek responded. “Have the local agents investigate the film snatching.”
“Okay …” Fred replied, clearly looking for a longer explanation than that.
Too bad Derek hung up on him.
Derek nodded toward the driver. “Have him take us back to the studio.”
“But I thought you just said the locals were going to handle the theft?” Jill asked clearly as confused as Fred.
“We’ll be going directly to the FBI audio lab from there.”
“Derek, what are you going to test if the reels are missing?
He let a true smile come to his face. Sometimes being completely paranoid had its advantages. “Ah, you forget I have a copy of my very own. In the trunk of my car.”
Jill’s eyes dilated. “You mean, you didn’t turn the recovered reels into the studio?”
“Gosh, with the murder and all,” Derek said with a shrug, “It must’ve slipped my mind.”
* * *
Mitchell gave one longing glance at the black limo. He could get used to that kind of luxury. All the chips and cookies you can eat. Every flavor of soda at your fingertips and four—make that five—TVs loaded with every channel. Including paid.
He hiked his khaki pants up as he walked to Agent Boulder's car. A silver SUV. Miss Connor and Agent Boulder stood staring at something in the trunk. Oh God. Was it a body? Mitchell could not handle another dead body. Sweat began to bead on his upper lip as he peered over Agent Boulder’s shoulder.
Two gleaming silver cases winked back at him.
“Oh. My. God! Is that
Terror in the Trees?
” He shoved Miss Connor and Agent Boulder to the side. He stared at the silver cases. Could something so shiny hold such horror? Real horror?
For his thesis, Mitchell’s interest had been academic. Honestly, he now looked back on his exuberance as childish. But even after Elmore’s death, Mitchell had to admit that just seeing the reels made him all tingly. Or that could have been the fifteen Red Bulls the detective had him drink while interrogating him.
“Easy now, tiger,” Agent Boulder said, as he put an arm across Mitchell’s chest. “We need to take care with these until I can get them to the lab.”
“Can I keep please hold of them in the backseat?” Mitchell asked as he clenched his hands to his chest. “I promise that I won’t open the cases.”
If Derek said no, Mitchell was going to climb into the trunk with them.
Agent Boulder looked to Miss Connor. She shrugged and climbed into the front seat of the SUV. Before Derek handed the film reels to Mitchell he cocked an eyebrow.
“Now, if I let you hold these, will you be quiet until we get to the lab?”
Mitchell eagerly nodded his head, then put his finger to his mouth, made a twisting motion and tossed away an imaginary key. He would be quiet for the rest of the month. He was going to finally see if his theory was correct. And get into a high-tech FBI lab. They could test the film in minutes, where it would have taken him weeks with the equipment he had access to.
They could prove that
Terror
did, in fact, kill his friend.
* * *
Derek stood to the left of Sam Yung in the FBI’s advanced audio lab. A large glass window overlooked agents bustling around the office below. With its stainless steel and whisper- quiet air conditioning, Derek was reminded again why he joined the bureau. Imagine a law enforcement establishment without the reek of old urine.
“Please,” Sam said to Mitchell, again, “don’t touch the equipment.
Sam’s lab was crammed with millions of taxpayers’ dollars in state-of-the-art technology. Mitchell stopped in mid-turn of a knob, clearly busted.
“In the corner,” Derek announced.
Mitchell’s hand flew off the audio console. “But—”
“What did I say before we came in here?”
Frowning and walking slowly, Mitchell went over to the corner and glowered.
As he turned back to Sam, he glimpsed a slight smile at the edge of Jill’s lips. It was the first sign of the real Jill that he’d seen since she was fired. Of course, once she realized that Derek was looking at her, she became suddenly very interested in what Sam was doing to the footage.
“This is it, huh?” Sam ruminated as he put one noise-canceling earphone up to his ear while the film loaded into the computerized projector. “The infamous
Terror in the Trees
? Deadly celluloid. I was gonna catch this at the Mann, but now here it is at my door.”
Sam flashed a glance at Derek. “Dude, you always get the coolest cases.”
Derek’s scar flinched. That was what he used to think, too. Derek couldn’t get angry at Sam, though. If it hadn’t been for his skill at determining location based on ambient sounds … Well, Derek wouldn’t be here at all.
“We’re looking for anything built into the audio track of the film that might explain some of the freak occurrences.”
If Sam was as good as Derek remembered, they could nail down the exact cause, go arrest the Baxter brother freaks, fill out a little paperwork, and be home in time for the first quarter.
“Something subliminal, you mean? What would be the purpose?”
Mitchell squeezed in between Derek and Sam, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Hitchcock did it with the shower scene of
Psycho
. He intercut a few frames of someone stabbing a slab of hanging beef amid frames of Perkins and Leigh. He even recorded the sound of the knife striking flesh. You gotta love ol’ Alfred.”
Granted, he was like a walking IMDb. However, when he said to stay in the corner, he meant it. Derek really didn’t need the kid’s Nacho-Dorito breath in his face. Derek glared at the teen.
“Corner.”
Mitchell’s cheeks flushed red as he backed away. “Okay, okay, just thought I could chime in if I had something helpful.