Video Kill (19 page)

17

 

Brother was scowling as he climbed the stairs to his quarters. He had just come from brunch at the Crestview Hotel, and the experience had been most unpleasant. First there had been some confusion with the name on his reservation. It had taken a discreetly folded bill to the maître d' to secure a table. After he'd been seated, several people he hadn't recognized had stopped by his table to chat. It had obviously been a case of mistaken identity on their part, but the whole thing had been distressing. Even though the food had been excellent and the service exemplary, Brother knew he wouldn't brunch at the Crestview again. Now he needed to put the annoying experience behind him and concentrate on the work to be done.

Brother poured himself a glass of Perrier and settled down in front of the monitor in the screening room. As he searched tonight's movie for the scene he needed, Hitchcock himself appeared on the screen. He was walking down the street in this cameo appearance. Brother snorted slightly as he hit the fast-forward button. The conceit of the Englishman was appalling. He'd taken in everyone with that story of why he'd appeared in
The Lodger
. According to Hitchcock, he'd needed more extras, and he'd stepped into the scene himself rather than wait for them to arrive. From that day on, the audience had expected to see Hitchcock in every film he'd directed, and he had jumped at the prospect, making appearances in thirty-five of his features. His films had suffered because of it. Of course Hitchcock had staunchly maintained that he appeared early in his films so he wouldn't distract the viewers, but that was ridiculous, another case where Hitchcock's colossal vanity had overridden his integrity as a director.

As he continued to fast-forward, Brother thought about Hitchcock's cameo in
Psycho
. The rotund director had been standing outside the realty office, easily recognizable. In
Strangers on a Train
he'd boarded the express carrying a double bass, and in
Frenzy
he had played the part of a spectator at the opening rally. It was impossible to miss him in any of his cameos. There was always an excited murmuring from the audience when he appeared on the screen.

For one brief moment Brother wondered if he wasn't making the same mistake as the British director. It was true that he had appeared in every segment of his own film. But his own appearances were a necessary part of the story. Unlike Hitchcock, he was totally unrecognizable, therefore no one would be distracted by watching for him. It was the primary reason he'd worn the executioner's costume.

Tonight's film was a challenge. Brother considered it one of Hitchcock's best efforts. It had been remade in 1960 by director Ralph Thomas, but that had been wasted effort with the exception of the excellent color cross-country photography. At the time, several critics had spouted that no one could remake Hitchcock, and Brother intended to prove them wrong. Naturally, he admired Hitchcock's concept of sudden switches in the action, but the way he'd jumped from one scene to the next had been so overdone that the film became choppy. Brother intended to correct that error in his segment. He would keep Hitchcock's richness of detail and his undeniable sense of the macabre, but Brother's segment would flow smoothly to its inevitable conclusion.

The sky was beginning to darken when Brother had finished his preparations for the segment he was shooting tonight. He would treat himself to a leisurely dinner. Then it would be time to make personal contact with his star. Her career was fading because of a problem with alcohol, which he intended to use to his advantage. She wouldn't be able to refuse his offer of a drink.

As he switched on the light over his desk and examined the glossy publicity photo that had been distributed by the talent agency, Brother felt an overwhelming excitement. His newest actress fit all his requirements. If Daniele Renee knew how famous she'd be by tomorrow morning, she'd be overcome with gratitude.

 

 

Allison was in the middle of
Marnie
when she heard the front door open. She jotted down the time on the back page of her notebook, a quarter past five, and hit the pause button.

“Tony? Is that you?”

“It's me.” Tony appeared in the doorway. “How are you coming with those Hitchcock movies?”

Allison swallowed hard before she answered. Tony looked so tired her heart went out to him, but she quickly steeled herself. He was tired because he'd been spending time with another woman.

“I have four to go.”

“You're kidding!”

Tony rushed over to kiss her, and Allison had all she could do not to kiss him back. She knew she had to maintain her distance or she'd never get the answers to the questions she'd decided to ask.

“How could you finish so many, Allison? There aren't enough hours in the day.”

“You forget I'm a Hitchcock fan. I know some of these films so well, all I had to do was glance at them to get the information you wanted.”

Tony gave her an affectionate pat on the head and stepped back. He hadn't even noticed the lack of enthusiasm in her kiss.

“I'm beat, honey. Can you make me a sandwich? Then I'm going straight to bed to sleep for a couple of hours. I have to meet Erik at the office at eight. We'll be working all night.”

Allison felt like refusing, but her old nurturing instincts were too strong. She got up and went to the kitchen to make Tony's sandwich as he followed along behind her.

“Aren't you going to ask how my mother is?”

“Sure, honey. I'm so tired I forgot to mention it. How's she doing?”

Allison bit back her angry retort. Tony didn't even care enough to ask.

“She's fine. They think they've got her medication stabilized. Did you send a check for her bill last month? The bookkeeper stopped me this morning and said they hadn't received it.”

“I knew there was something I forgot.” Tony groaned. “Tell them I'm sorry. I'll put it in the mail tomorrow.”

Allison wavered slightly in her resolve. Tony looked genuinely contrite, but this was the perfect opportunity to ask about their finances. She cut a thick slice of roast beef, put it on a plate, and faced him again.

“There's enough money in the bank to cover the check, isn't there, Tony?”

“Sure, honey.” Tony nibbled on a piece of cheese. “Remember when I told you I'd made some investments? Well, they worked out even better than I'd hoped. There's no problem with money. No problem at all.”

Allison wasn't willing to let it go so easily, now that she had him talking. She had to know more about their finances. She put on her most helpful smile and looked up at him innocently.

“I know you're really busy, Tony. Why don't you leave me the checkbook, and I'll send out the payments.”

“No! Thanks anyway, honey, but if I pay the bills myself, it's a lot easier for me at tax time. I'd rather have you concentrate on those Hitchcock films.”

Tony realized his excuse was weak, but he sure as hell didn't want Allison to see the balance in their checkbook. He had to change the subject quick, before she noticed how her suggestion had upset him.

“Oh, that reminds me, honey.” Tony cleared his throat. “I got a call last week about the Hitchcock research. They want me to give them what I've got so far. I'll take your notes with me tonight and print them out at the office.”

“But my notes are a mess.” Allison frowned. “Can't they wait until I'm finished?”

“I guess not. Their deadline's been pushed up, and they need to start compiling the data.”

“Well, okay. Maybe I can finish it tonight, if I really work at it. Will tomorrow afternoon be soon enough?”

Tony winced. He really hated to put pressure on Allison, but Sam really needed that list.

“It'll be super, honey.” Tony reached into his pocket and took out a cigarette. “I know it was wrong to dump all this on you at the last minute.”

Allison turned just as Tony put a cigarette in his mouth. The timing couldn't be better for her next question. She was grateful for the years of acting lessons that enabled her to assume a guileless expression and hide her inner anger.

“Let me light your cigarette, Tony. I want to try your new lighter.”

Tony fumbled in his pocket again and came up empty-handed. He'd been so busy, he'd forgotten to buy a new lighter to replace the one that Allison had given him. He had to think up something in a hurry.

“Sorry, honey. It's at the office. I used it all afternoon while I was working at the computer.”

Allison slapped a slice of tomato on Tony's sandwich with more force than was necessary and handed the plate to him. She knew exactly where Tony had left his lighter, but this wasn't the time for ugly confrontations. She'd thought the whole situation through quite rationally this afternoon. She would give Tony enough rope to hang himself before she made any direct accusations.

Allison was so quiet, Tony began to get nervous. There was no possible way she could know that he'd given Ginger the lighter.

“I've been thinking, honey. I know I haven't been a good husband lately, but this rough time is almost over. Just as soon as we turn in the first part of the script to Alan, I can relax a little and spend more time with you. I've missed you.”

Allison began to waver again, and when Tony held out his arms, she moved close and let him hold her. She wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him.

“Just hang on, honey. Things'll get back to normal soon, I promise. I know I've been a real louse the past couple of weeks, but you still love me anyway, don't you?”

“Yes, Tony. I still love you anyway.”

Allison turned away and blinked back tears as she realized that it was the truth. She'd always love Tony, even if he had a mistress. And she'd still love him even if, as Erik so wrongly suspected, he was the Video Killer. She couldn't turn off her love the way she shut off the kitchen faucet. It just wasn't that easy. She could disapprove of Tony's actions, and even despise the new qualities that had surfaced in his personality, but she couldn't stop loving him.

“Eat your sandwich, Tony.” Allison gave him a little hug before she stepped back. “And then you'd better go straight to bed if you want to get any sleep at all.”

“I wish hugging you could take the place of eating and sleeping.” Tony flashed his old grin at her. “Do you think it'd work?”

“I don't think so.” Allison smiled back. “Go on, Tony. You don't have much time left.”

As soon as Tony had gone into the bedroom and shut the door, Allison went back to her movie. She was about to start watching
Marnie
again when the doubts hit her. Tony's affection was sincere, she was sure of it. But she dialed the office anyway.

“Erik? I'm glad I caught you. Will you look on Tony's desk and see if his lighter is there? It's just like the one you borrowed from the girl at Donny's.”

“Sure, Allison. Hold on a second and I'll go look.”

As she waited, Allison could feel her heart pounding in her chest. If Tony's lighter was at the office, all her fears would be groundless.

“Allison?” Erik's voice came back on the line. “Sorry, but I couldn't find it. There's nothing on Tony's desk except a book of matches from the Traveler Motel on Fairfax.”

Allison was just struggling to find her voice to thank him when Erik spoke again.

“I'm afraid I've got bad news, Allison. I called UCLA about the Hitchcock project Tony has you working on. They referred me to about six different extensions, but nobody knows anything about it.”

“You're sure?”

Erik's voice was full of sympathy when he answered her.

“Yes, Allison. I'm sure. I'm afraid it's another one of Tony's lies.”

18

Daniele Renee studied her face in the wavy mirror over the sink and rummaged in the drawer for her lipstick brush. Her once-beautiful face was puffy from the drinking, but her makeup covered a multitude of sins. Her hands were shaking as she applied color to her lips. Another drink would help, but she'd already had three in the bar, and she didn't want to look like a lush. The man was waiting for her in the living room, so she had to hurry. She'd given him her scrapbook to look at, but she didn't have many screen credits, so there wasn't much in it.

When he'd first approached her in the bar and called her by name, she'd been puzzled. Had she met him before? He'd explained that he'd seen her on the screen, and since he'd been armed with her favorite drink, a Tequila Sunrise, she'd agreed that he could join her. By the second drink she'd been impressed at how he'd followed her career. He'd praised the bit part she'd played two years ago in a low-budget film, and he was probably the one person in the world who'd recognized her in the elf costume she'd worn for a cookie commercial. After the third drink, when he'd asked if they could go somewhere quiet to talk about the movie that he was producing, she'd suggested dinner at the Bistro, just to check his reaction. Everyone knew it was expensive.

In the course of her acting career, Daniele had run into plenty of men who claimed they were producers. It was a standard line they used to pick up an actress. But this man was well dressed, and he appeared to have money. He might just be the exception.

The man had agreed immediately, even though he'd already eaten. There would be no problem getting reservations since he knew the maître d'. The Bistro was one of his favorite restaurants, and he tried to get there at least once a week. Had she tried their
Coquilles Saint-Jacques à la provençal?

Daniele had been a bit nervous when she followed him out to his car. It was Sunday night, she was an actress, and there had been warnings on the news all week about the Video Killer. Then, when he'd unlocked the door to his expensive Mercedes, Daniele had thrown caution to the winds. She prided herself on being a good judge of character, and this man simply couldn't be the Video Killer. He was much too rich and much too nice. She'd suggested they skip dinner and go straight to her place. It was private, and she still had enough liquor in the bottle to mix him a drink. Kirstin, her roommate, had a job demonstrating all-purpose wonder knives at the annual boat show in the L.A. auditorium. The show didn't close until eleven, and since it was only a little after eight, Daniele knew she had at least three uninterrupted hours to convince him that she was the perfect actress for his movie. This could be her big chance, even bigger than the one she'd blown when she'd been married to Erik Nielsen.

A frown crossed Daniele's forehead as she remembered her other chance, the part in the comedy series that Erik had made her turn down. And she'd suffered through all the inconveniences of her pregnancy, watched her beautiful body change into something so bloated and ugly that she'd barely recognized herself in the mirror, all for a baby who had to be shipped off to some fancy sanitarium.

Daniele shuddered a little as she remembered the expression on Erik's face when she'd explained that she couldn't possibly take care of the baby. He'd looked at her like she was some kind of monster. But wasn't that better than ruining her career for a kid who'd never even know his own name?

There were tears in her eyes, and Daniele blinked them away quickly. Fourteen years had passed. Jamie was a teenager now, a child's mind trapped in an adult's body. Several times she'd almost called Erik to ask about Jamie, but she'd always hung up before his phone could ring. Sometimes it was better not to know.

A final pat to her hair, and Daniele was ready. The whole process of redoing her makeup had taken less than five minutes. Now she was glad that she'd brought the man here, to her apartment. The lamp she'd switched on in the living room had a rosy glow in which she knew she'd look beautiful. She put on her best smile, opened the door, and stepped out.

Where was he? Daniele's breath caught in her throat as she saw that the couch was empty. Had he grown tired of waiting and left? Then she heard a noise in the kitchen, and she began to breathe again. He was just freshening his drink.

“I hope I didn't take too long.” Her voice was perfectly modulated, friendly, inviting. It was the voice of the innocent seductress she'd played in her first part.

Daniele stood in the center of the room with her best profile toward the kitchen doorway. As she heard his footsteps cross the floor, she turned, very slowly and very gracefully. Then everything seemed to speed up suddenly as her eyes focused on the camera, red light glowing. And the apparition that approached her. And the knife blade slashing down. And then the action stopped. Permanently. And her scream died stillborn on her perfectly drawn and colored lips.

 

 

It was past ten at night when Sam finished his third bowl of stew and pushed his chair back from the table. Katy had fixed his favorite meal, Irish stew with fresh vegetables and big man-sized hunks of meat. He'd eaten in hundreds of Los Angeles restaurants, but he'd never found one that served stew like Katy's. And the soda bread. She's told him her secret was ground cardamom seeds for flavoring.

She'd been here every night this week, cooking for him and sharing his bed. Sam knew why, and he'd doled out just enough tidbits about the Video Killer to keep her coming back for more. He knew she had an ulterior motive, but so did he. He wanted his wife back for good.

Katy came out of the kitchen, carrying a steaming cup of fresh coffee and a whole pie. Some of the juice had bubbled up through the crust, and it looked like peach, his favorite.

“Coffee, Sam?”

“You bet. It's Sunday night, Katy. I have to stay alert.”

“Do you think he'll do it again tonight?”

“There's no reason to think he'll break his pattern, but let's not talk about it now. I want to enjoy my dessert.” Sam hooked his arm around her waist as she began to slice the pie. It was definitely peach. “I don't suppose there's any . . .”

“Ice cream to go on top? Of course there is. If you can hold off for a minute, I'll get it.”

Sam started down at his slice of pie as Katy dashed back to the kitchen. Then he reached out to lightly touch the crust. It was still warm and the aroma was tantalizing. He took his fork and cut off the very tip. The crust was light and flaky, the way only Katy could make it. An expression of rapture crossed Sam's face as he popped the forkful in his mouth. Delicious! He'd have just one more bite and then wait for the ice cream.

“Where's the ice cream scoop, Sam?”

Sam chewed quickly and swallowed. The pie looked a little ragged now, and Katy had always complained that he'd finished his dessert before she could dish out the ice cream, so he cut off a little more to even it up. She'd given him a big piece to start with and she'd never know the difference.

“Uh . . . I don't know, Katy. I haven't seen it since I hired the new cleaning woman. She must have put it somewhere.”

The pie really looked lopsided now. Sam shaved a little more off the left side with his fork.

“Did you ask her where she put it?”

Sam frowned down at the pie. Perhaps a little more off the right would make it more wedgeshaped. “I can't ask her, Katy. I don't know the word for ice cream scoop in Vietnamese.”

“Doesn't she speak English?”

Sam eyed his slice of pie critically and shaved off a bit more. It still looked lopsided. “Very little, but she's going to night school. I figure by Christmas she'll be able to understand me.”

“It's okay, Sam. I'll use a big spoon and buy a new scoop tomorrow.”

Sam heard Katy pull out the silverware drawer, and he made a last stab to even up the pie. Perfect.

“Here's the ice cream.” Katy appeared at his elbow with a big spoonful. Then she looked down at his pie and started to laugh. “Oh, Sam! I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with that pie. You never could wait for the à la mode part.”

Sam grabbed her and pulled her down in his lap. He kissed her, and neither one of them cared that the spoon was dripping on the tablecloth.

“I've got a great idea.” Sam's voice was husky with passion. “Why don't you put the ice cream back in the freezer, Katy? Or better yet, just leave it here.”

Katy set the ice cream down on the table. It was difficult to believe what she'd just heard. Ice cream was Sam's favorite thing. Or at least she'd always thought it was. She kissed him on the tip of the nose and cuddled even closer.

“But, Sam, don't you want a second piece?”

“Yes, honey.” Sam got to his feet and carried her to the bedroom. “I definitely want a second piece.”

Tony stashed his video camera in his carrying bag and slipped on his jacket, covering his orange T-shirt, which proclaimed
BEING GOOD IS BETTER THAN BEING NICE
in blue letters.

“That's it for tonight, gang. Do you girls have a ride? It's Sunday.”

“We know.” Ginger shivered a little. “Bobby's taking us home. Besides, Sunday's almost over, isn't it?”

Tony glanced at his watch and grinned.

“Nope. It's only ten-thirty. I thought we'd be here for another couple of hours, but your new scenes go a lot faster and they're easier to shoot.”

“Oh, sure.” Tina grumbled. “Easier for you guys maybe, but not for me. I just about died, bending over that chair. And look at my feet! Next time get roller skates that fit me, will you, Tony?”

Tony couldn't help it. He started to laugh. Ginger and Bobby joined in, and finally even Tina began to smile.

“Okay, okay. I guess I shouldn't complain. But if you decide to do another scene with wheels, put Bobby on 'em. My legs feel like rubber.”

Ginger looked thoughtful as they started out the door. “Wheels, huh? Maybe one of those exercise bikes, the type that leans way back. We could open with Bobby pedaling away, and then we could—”

Tony grinned as the rest of Ginger's sentence was cut off by the closing door. She was bound to come up with something weird by tomorrow night. She had an active imagination, and she was a wizard at finding props they could use. Tonight they'd done a scene in a doctor's office, a bank, and a bakery. And they'd finished with Tina playing a topless pizza delivery girl on roller skates. Ginger's talents were being wasted, doing skin flicks like this, but at least she made enough money to support herself. That was more than he could claim.

Tony took a clean T-shirt from his camera bag and pulled it on. It was black with red letters that said
WARNING: LIVING MAY BE DANGEROUS TO YOUR HEALTH.
Then he made a final check of the room before letting himself out. The nap he'd taken at home had been worse than no sleep at all. It seemed he had barely closed his eyes when the alarm had sounded, and he'd crawled out of bed to shower and rush off. He'd found a pipe store that was open on Sundays, picked out a duplicate lighter, and paced the floor nervously while it was being inscribed. Then he'd rushed straight here and worked on the porn for five and a half hours.

As Tony walked quickly down the block to his car, he wondered what would happen if he just stopped, gave up, stretched out on a concrete bench at the bus stop, and took a little snooze like some deadbeat wino. Right now that prospect was immensely appealing. No responsibilities. No deadlines to meet. And plenty of good hot food from the Salvation Army soup kitchen.

Tony hesitated slightly as he walked past the bench, and then he laughed. If he actually did it, he'd probably end up getting busted by a couple of L.A.'s finest. Then, when Allison came down to bail him out, she'd find out there wasn't any money in their bank account. It would be one colossal mess. No. He couldn't give way to his exhaustion now. There simply wasn't time. At ten-thirty his evening was only beginning. First he had to get something to eat. His body wouldn't run without fuel. And then he had to drive to the office to work on the script. Maybe, if he really rushed and the traffic was light, he might catch a couple of minutes sleep on the office couch before Erik came in.

Tony unlocked his car door and got into the driver's seat. Before he started the engine, he gulped down two dexies with a swallow of cold coffee that was left in his dashboard cup. He had to keep going. There was no end in sight.

 

 

Katy and Sam were watching television. To be more accurate, Sam was watching television. Katy had stretched out on the couch, and she was currently sleeping through a rerun of a talk show. The topic tonight was the oldest profession, and a particularly succulent blonde had just come on to tell of her experiences in Vegas when Sam noticed that Katy was crying in her sleep.