Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4) (12 page)

And, as Rivers said, “Getting your face in front of the public is always a good thing. Much better when it’s because you’re doing something positive.”

Rivers also said he liked the idea of helping a newcomer get a foothold in the industry. Independent filmmakers were more willing to take risks, step outside the
but it won’t sell
attitude of so many of the big studios.

Gordon handed out his cards, took their numbers, and sent them on their way. It was pushing four o’clock by now, and he had to prepare for the damn press conference.

He checked in with Connie. “Any sightings of our missing people?” He knew the answer, because she’d have made sure he knew as soon as a report had come in, but there was always a chance he’d missed the message.

“Sorry, Chief. Everyone’s looking, even the civilian patrol, but no results.”

“Expand the search,” he said. “Get the county deputies in on it, too.”

“On it.”

He called Asel. “I have to give a statement to the press in an hour. Can I say, ‘Preliminary findings indicate the cause of death was heart failure,’ and then dodge the ensuing barrage of questions with ‘we’re waiting for the coroner’s report for more details.’ Or have you got anything more for me?”

“Yes to the first two, no to the last,” Asel said. “Try telling them we’re working with a real lab, not a television script. These things take time.”

“I think the press and the mayor prefer the television version of reality.”

“Good luck,” Asel said.

Gordon disconnected. Good luck, Asel had said. Gordon could use a heavy dose right now.

Downstairs, he checked in with Jost. “All quiet,” his officer said.

“I think we can let everyone go,” Gordon said. He went over to Dawson and told him he was free to make whatever arrangements they had in place for getting people to their lodgings.

“What about the press conference?” Dawson asked. “Originally, there was to be an autograph session afterward. It might not be appropriate, but I’m sure your townspeople would love the chance to meet our stars, especially if we’re not going to be allowed to finish the shoot.”

“That’s not my call,” Gordon said. “Ask the mayor.” Who would probably give it a bright green light, appropriate or not. Let him find a way to spin it. While Gordon was thinking of it, he gave Connie a heads up to make sure she routed enough officers to the area around the high school to maintain a semblance of order.

“Already on it, Chief. The vultures are descending. County’s sending deputies as well.” She rolled her eyes. “I think they want to see the movie stars, too.”

“Whatever it takes.”

At the station, on his desk, he found Laurie’s draft of the announcement he was to give. He read it over, once again impressed with her ability to understand the job. Then again, she’d worked for Dix, his predecessor and mentor, for a decade before Gordon had come on board as chief.

With a growing sense of confidence, he added the heart failure cop-out, and asked her to revise it and print it in a larger font. Not that he minded wearing his readers, but with or without them, it was easier to keep his place if the type was bigger.

Yeah, right. And you dread the thought of going bald, too
.

Next, he got on his phone and called Cassidy Clarke. The man was totally gracious and agreed to drop by.

“Park in the rear lot and knock on the green door. Unless you want to make this a more public event, I’ll keep this in my office. I know most of my officers would be glad to meet you, but I don’t want to put you out. I’m sure they’ll want pictures, autographs—could be more than you want to deal with.”

“No problem,” Cassidy said. “I have the utmost respect for first responders and would be happy to meet any of them. Damien and Julie have already headed to the B and B, but Lily’s still here. Would you like both of us?”

“Sure. And I’ll make sure to keep it short—for both our sakes.”

“When do you want us?”

Gordon checked the time. “Soon as you can get here. That should give you time to get ready for the press conference.” He realized he hadn’t confirmed with the mayor the autograph session was still a go. “Unless you don’t have to be there,” he added.

“We’ll be there,” Cassidy said. “Trying to deflect the negative vibes, turn them around. Smile, press the flesh, and don’t bring up the death unless someone asks, and then it’s ‘Yes, we’re shocked, but we know Marianna would want it this way.’ Keep it vague, with appropriate somber faces for those folks.”

“You ever need a job as an information officer, give me a call.” Gordon disconnected, then asked the duty officer to round up everyone in the station to the breakroom in fifteen minutes. He buzzed Laurie. “You have my speech fixed?”

“Printing it now.”

“Bring it in, please.”

Gordon had learned his jitters at facing a group could be lessened if he’d rehearsed what he was going to say. When Laurie brought him the revised statement, he got out his readers.

“Sit, please. I need a friendly audience to practice on.” He’d barely gotten through the first few paragraphs when there was a knock at his rear door. “Would you mind getting that?” he said to Laurie.

She jumped up and crossed behind him, opening the door. He swiveled his chair enough to catch her reaction. Open mouth, flushed cheeks. And that almost automatic female response of a quick hand to her hair, not that a single short brunette strand was out of place.

Gordon couldn’t suppress his grin. “Come in. Cassidy, Lily, I’d like you to meet Laurie, the person who’s responsible for keeping things running at the Mapleton Police Department. Laurie, meet Cassidy Clarke and Lily Beckett.”

He treasured Laurie’s speechless moment.

Lily stepped toward Laurie. “Pleased to meet you. I admire the kind of work you do. It’s …
real
. Helps make a difference. Not the play-acting we do.”

“I’ll second that,” Cassidy said.

“Oh, but you
do
make a difference. You bring people pleasure, let them escape to another world,” Laurie said, her voice returning. “Make them laugh, make them think.”

Gordon held up his cell phone. “Laurie, how about a picture?”

Both actors moved in, one on either side of her, and Gordon snapped a couple of shots. “I’ll email them to you,” he said to Laurie. “And, because I know our staff would like a chance to meet these two before they leave town, take them to the breakroom. I think the masses are assembling there.”

“We’d love a short tour,” Cassidy said. “If you have time. I might play a cop someday, and absorbing the ambience here could come in handy.”

Laurie tossed Gordon a look somewhere between
thank you
and
I’ll get you for catching me off guard
as she escorted Cassidy and Lily out of his office and into the station.

He went back to practicing his speech.

By the time he felt as comfortable as he’d ever be—why didn’t they let him read his speech from here and broadcast it so he didn’t have to deal with an audience of all those
people?
—Cassidy and Lily returned, Laurie right behind them, beaming. He saw them off, then made a quick pass through his accumulated messages.

“That was nice of you, Chief.” Laurie sat across the desk from him. “The mayor asked if you would get to the high school by quarter of, so he can brief you.”

“Brief me? On what? He talks, people ask questions. At some point he says I’m going to explain everything, I read my speech and tell everyone I don’t have any answers. Why do I need to be briefed?”

“I don’t know, sir. Maybe he’s upset you haven’t been at his beck and call all day. Asking you to get there early puts him in control again.”

Gordon hoped once this was over, the mayor would get back to his original hands-off policy. He’d had enough micro-managing when Alexander was mayor. But, he reminded himself the mayor could fire him, and playing nice—to a point—was part of his job.

“Will do.”

Maybe Solomon had found something helpful when he’d searched Marianna’s room. Gordon changed into his dress uniform, then reached for his phone to call him.

His desk phone rang. An internal call. He checked the ID. Connie. He put down his cell, picked up the land line receiver. “What do you have?”

“Sir, a report they’ve found Yolanda Orozco, the wardrobe lady. Thought you’d want to know.”

Connie might have the cool, detached voice of an experienced dispatcher, but Gordon heard the
you’re not going to like this
in her tone.

Gordon hurried to Dispatch, wondering if this would be his excuse for getting out of the press conference. No way. As much as he hated being chained to his desk, as much as he wanted to spend more time being the cop he’d trained to be, he knew his job meant delegating responsibility so he could do the dreaded Chief Stuff.

Connie flipped her mic away from her mouth.

“Report,” Gordon said.

“They found her in the alley behind Mr. Johnson’s house,” Connie said.

That was less than a block away from the Village. Johnson was half-blind, and tended to call 911 every time he heard something, but Gordon’s bad-feeling vibes twanged like a badly tuned banjo.

Connie continued. “Nathan Romash was on his routine civilian patrol route. Mr. Johnson had complained there was another prowler in the alley. I was going to send Animal Control, figuring it was another raccoon call, but Romash was in the area, and I directed him to talk to Mr. Johnson.”

Gordon was about to remind her the civilian patrol unit was for visibility, and they were never supposed to be in a potentially dangerous situation, but she went on before he could speak.

“Don’t say it, Chief. I also called Jost for backup.”

He nodded. “And—?”

“Yolanda Orozco is en route to the emergency clinic. Jost and Romash found her, unconscious, and called the medics.”

“Get Solomon to the scene, and call the CSR team. I have to play nice at this press conference, but I’ll bug out as soon as I can, and I’ll want full reports.”

“On it.”

Striding across the high school campus, Gordon forced himself to relax—as if that was going to happen—while he dodged reporters and cameras and sought out the mayor backstage at the auditorium. Mayor McKenna was pacing, muttering, holding sheets of paper in one hand. Every now and then his other hand would rise, either waving, or pointing a finger. Rehearsing his speech, no doubt.

Gordon stepped into the man’s path. “Mayor? You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, yes.” McKenna smiled as though he was already on camera. “Thanks for getting here. I know things have been busy for you today.”

Why did Gordon feel he was being slathered with honey before having a vat of vinegar dumped on his head? And was the mayor wearing
makeup
?

“Yes, they have.” Gordon chose not to mention the latest turn in the case. He had no facts, and there was no point in giving the mayor anything he might mention in front of the media. “But we’re making progress.”

“Good, good.” McKenna peered over his glasses. “I’m going to turn things over to you after my opening remarks. What do you plan to tell the press?”

“Sir, I plan to be honest, but I won’t say anything that can’t be confirmed, or that might impede the investigation. My remarks will be short.” If the mayor was curious about what Gordon’s exact words were going to be, he had the decency not to demand to read—or vet—his speech.

“You do understand we need to make sure we don’t give the impression Mapleton isn’t a safe place to live or visit.” Although the mayor’s tone was neutral, Gordon caught—or thought he caught—a hint of
contract review
in the man’s steely-eyed gaze.

“I do. This is my town, too. And I take my responsibility to all its citizens seriously.”

McKenna’s taut facial muscles seemed to relax. “Right. Of course.”

A woman in black denims and a pale blue sweater approached. “Mayor. We’re ready for you in five.” She gave Gordon a quick assessment. “I want you to stand behind the mayor, to his right, until it’s your turn to speak.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She left, and Gordon shot a questioning look at the mayor.

“Media liaison,” McKenna said. “You gave her the right answer. It’s about the only one she’ll accept. I’m going to find a men’s room before things get started.”

Nice to see the mayor had to dance to someone else’s tune once in a while.

Gordon pulled out his phone and called Solomon. “Two minutes. Talk to me.”

“No signs of a struggle at the scene.”

“You think Yolanda went for a walk and collapsed?” Gordon asked.

“That’s what it looks like. But given we had a similar
nothing looks wrong
scene—not counting the dead body—and that scene happened to be where Yolanda worked, I’m thinking no.”

“Make sure the ER runs a tox screen. Check with Asel to see if he can give them specifics to test for.” The liaison, a frown on her face, was marching toward him. “Gotta run.” Gordon smiled and headed for the stage.

The mayor wasn’t at the podium yet. Waiting to make a grand entrance? Or bathroom issues? Did the mayor have attacks of nerves, too?

Seconds later, McKenna, back straight, head lifted, strode to the podium. He set his pages on its surface and fiddled with the microphone, although Gordon knew they’d already done sound checks and adjusted the mic for the mayor’s height.

Gordon feigned interest while the mayor spoke the way politicians did—lots of words, no content.

As if you’re not going to do the same damn thing
.

He tried not to think about the packed house, the first rows reserved for the press with their recorders, cameras, and a few with notepads and pens. The rest of the auditorium was for the public, and Gordon wondered how many had come to hear about the death of Marianna Spellman and how many were here to get autographs.

And then Gordon heard his name. He slipped his remarks from his jacket pocket and replaced the mayor at the podium. He read Laurie’s words, offering the right amount of sympathetic compassion, emphasizing that although Marianna Spellman’s death was unfortunate, the coroner was the one who would say whether her death was from natural or unnatural causes. “At this time, that is yet to be determined,” Gordon said, pinning his gaze on a reporter he knew liked to go for the sensational. “And, as police officers, it is our job to investigate any unattended death
as if
it were a homicide. However, because we’re investigating it that way does
not
mean it is indeed a homicide. In fact, only a tiny percentage of deaths turn out to be
homicides. It would be premature and inappropriate for me to comment further, as it’s an ongoing investigation.”

He paused, and the expected hands flew into the air, accompanied by shouted questions. “I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but I’m sure you understand it’s vital I return to my office and do what the citizens of Mapleton are paying me for, which is keeping everyone safe. I know Mayor McKenna will be happy to answer all your questions.”

He turned, nodded at the mayor. “They’re all yours,” he said under his breath. And kept walking. In the lobby, tables were ready for the autograph session. Four stations, Gordon noted, so he assumed Damien Rivers and Julie Ames were going to join Cassidy and Lily. His assumption was confirmed as workers set out life-size cutouts of all four of them alongside the tables. Another worker set a stack of photos at each place.

Break a leg.

Tempted to drive straight to Johnson’s house, he trusted Solomon to do the job and went to the station. Back in his office, Gordon loosened his tie and wasted no time getting out of his dress uniform, swapping it out for his normal blues. Normally, he’d be in street clothes at this time of day, but he worried there would still be public appearances, and no matter what words he uttered, the uniform gave them credibility.

Next, a quick trip to Dispatch to find out whether there’d been any updates on Yolanda’s condition.

“Gilman and Reynolds made the run. Her heart rhythm was totally screwed up,” Connie told him.

Okay, that was enough for him. Two people in the wardrobe RV, one dead, one hospitalized. Coincidences happened, but he didn’t believe in them when it came to crimes. Had they missed a clue at the trailer? Or had the techs picked it up, but hadn’t run whatever test that would have sent the rockets soaring? Or they hadn’t connected whatever they had to Marianna’s death, and now, Yolanda’s heart condition?

He called Solomon. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

“Marianna Spellman’s room or the Yolanda Orozco scene?”

“Both. Start with whichever is easier.”

“Spellman’s room is clean. As in housekeeping clean. Fresh sheets, towels, emptied wastebaskets, carpets, vacuumed. The works. However, I did call in the CSR techs, since you want everything by the book. No laptop. She’s got one of those compartmentalized pill containers, jumbo size, with two weeks’ worth of slots. Less hassle than carrying a bunch of bottles around. As far as I could tell, they’re all vitamins and supplements. Lots of pills in each. No prescription vials. The lab geeks have it all for testing.”

“Did she take the ones for today?” Gordon asked.

“Assuming she pays attention to the days of the week, then, yes.”

Given Marianna’s penchant for organization, Gordon assumed she’d be meticulous about the right pills on the right days. “Anything else?”

“No, if she worked here, she didn’t leave any papers lying around. My guess is all she did was sleep here. Everything was in the RV, and if she took work to her room after hours, she brought it all back to the RV the next day.

“What else did you collect?” Gordon asked.

“Not much, although we requested nobody be allowed in or out of the room until we know whether we’ll need a second pass.”

“Moving on to Yolanda’s scene, then.”

“No signs of a struggle. No drag marks like she’d been taken against her will. No convenient footprints or tire tracks. She wasn’t carrying a purse, so we’re going to go to the wardrobe RV and see if we can find one there. However, my hunch is most of these people had nowhere to go and probably didn’t bring much with them to the set. They’d get catered meals, weren’t allowed to have phones—they might have ID and a few bucks in cash, but not finding personal effects doesn’t seem hinky.”

“Did Gilman or Reynolds get anything from her en route to the ER?”

“No, and before you ask, she was unconscious the whole time. I’ve notified the ER staff to give me a call when she’s awake enough to answer questions.”

Solomon had said
when
, not
if
. That sounded like their first promising lead.

“Any luck with our stand-ins?” Gordon asked.

“Funny you should mention that.”

“Don’t toy with me, Ed. It’s been a long day, and we need answers. If we let a potential killer go home, and he or she kills again—let’s say we need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Mayor won’t like seeing Mapleton’s finest in a bad light, you mean?”

“No, I mean
I
don’t want to feel responsible for someone dying because we missed something that could have prevented it. I can’t keep that entire production company here while we go fishing for suspects, and they’re getting restless.” Gordon hadn’t voiced his concerns about his job to Solomon—or anyone else—and this wasn’t the time to bring them up. “So, do you have something for me on the stand-ins or not?”

“Yes. They called Lionel Dawson about fifteen minutes ago. Alive and well, as I heard it.”

Alive was good. “Explain.”

“Don’t have the details. McDermott is on her way to fetch them. Should be at the station in under an hour. You can talk to them yourself. I’m finishing up with the scene. Unless you’d like to switch places so I can question them and you can go through three more garbage cans.”

“You know the CSR techs are in charge of collecting evidence, so why are you messing around in the garbage?”

“Because in Mapleton, I’m the closest thing to a CSR tech you have, and I figured helping them out would hone my technique. Not to mention they’ll think kindly of me the next time we need them.”

Gordon left Solomon to playing detective-crime scene tech. He was right. Most of the crimes in Mapleton weren’t worth calling in the county, and if it kept him happy—and it must, or why else would he have volunteered to go through garbage?—Gordon was all for it.

He set a fresh pot of decaf to brew, made sure he hadn't missed any messages, and reviewed the case notes. When that was done, he went to the war room to update the whiteboard. Still no motive. At least not one anyone was admitting to. Marianna Spellman might not have been loved, but nothing anyone had said gave Gordon a reason to believe anyone would want to kill her.