Video Kill (23 page)

22

There was no way that Katy could relax. She paced the floor of her apartment, listening to the recording she'd made of her conversation with Tony. There was no doubt that he'd incriminated himself, but what should she do about it? A responsible citizen would notify the police immediately, but she was a reporter first and a responsible citizen second. At least she'd always thought of herself that way.

She'd already sketched out her story, and she knew she'd win every award in the book. But how would Sam feel, reading her words in the morning edition? He'd be furious at the way she duped him, and it was doubtful he'd ever speak to her again. Everything boiled down to a question of priorities. Which was more important? Her career? Or Sam?

Suddenly Katy was struck with a sense of déjà vu. She'd faced this same decision right before she'd left Sam. Back then she'd chosen her career. Could she honestly say she was happy with her choice?

Katy looked around her small, cramped apartment and sighed. She'd have the money for a bigger place when her promotion came through, but that wouldn't change the way she felt when she came home and there was no one to greet her. Living alone wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and she was willing to bet that the other divorced women in her therapy group felt exactly the same way about it. Oh, they all talked about how nice it was not to have to fix dinner and pick up their husbands' clothes, but Katy didn't believe a word of it. After ten solid months of coming home to an empty apartment, she knew she would have welcomed the chance to pick up Sam's clothes and put the toilet seat down before she used it.

Why was she so lonely? Katy blinked hard as tears came to her eyes. She had plenty of friends, other single career-minded women, and they went out to dinner at least once a week. Of course they split the tab six ways and drove home by themselves, but they all claimed that they were perfectly content without men. Katy knew better. She still missed Sam's jokes over dinner, the way he knew which wine to order and just how much to tip the valet parker and the waiter. Going out with the girls wasn't at all like going out with Sam. Especially afterward.

Katy glanced at the calendar and frowned. Tonight was her therapy group, but she'd already decided to miss it again. She was tired of the soul-searching they did and all the problems they couldn't solve. Sex and sexism was all they seemed to discuss. They didn't get enough of the first and too much of the second. It was a waste of time searching for answers with other women who were as screwed up as she was. The blind couldn't lead the blind, and that was precisely what they were trying to do.

Her head hurt, and Katy reached for the aspirin bottle before she remembered that she'd taken three less than an hour ago. This was a tension headache, and the sooner she solved her dilemma, the sooner her headache would leave. So which was more important? Her career? Or Sam? It was time for an honest decision.

Katy tried to remember all the things that had bugged her about her marriage. Sam's habit of falling asleep while she was trying to talk to him in bed. The mess he left in the kitchen when he made a snack. The way he left the little twist tie off the bread wrapper so the bread dried out. The wet towels he left on the bathroom floor. The way he always got specks of toothpaste on the mirror when he brushed his teeth. Suddenly all that didn't seem as serious as it had before.

To be fair, Katy considered the positive side. Sam's surprise gifts, things he picked up on a whim because he knew she'd like them. The way he hugged her sometimes, for no reason at all. The umbrella he stored in the trunk of the car so she wouldn't get wet if it rained. The decorative nail he hung by the front door for the car keys she was always losing. And the warm comfort of cuddling next to him in the dark of the night.

Katy jumped to her feet and gathered up her notes. She'd let all those bitter women in her therapy group talk her into values that weren't hers, like the red convertible and the herbal tea. And leaving Sam. Her career was important, she'd never deny that. But no career, no matter how prestigious it might be, was worth the loss of her husband. Katy knew she'd be the biggest fool in the world if she didn't set things straight while there was still time.

She found her car keys under the sofa and grabbed her purse. She'd reached a decision, and this time she knew she was right. As she got into her car and started the engine, suddenly she realized that her headache was completely gone.

 

 

Sam put down the phone and checked another name off his list. He'd spent the whole afternoon calling actresses, warning them to take precautions. Tony had been right. There were a surprising number of actresses who could double for the remaining Hitchcock victims, and he still had hundreds of calls to make. He was about to go into the kitchen to rummage for something to eat when the telephone he'd just put back in the cradle started to ring. It was Katy.

“Oh, Sam! I've been trying to reach you for fifteen minutes. I've got to see you right away!”

“Okay, Katy. Come on over.”

There was a second's pause, and then Katy spoke again.

“No, Sam. You don't understand at all. I'm here already, at the outside door. Is it all right if I come up?”

“Of course it is.” Sam looked puzzled. “Why didn't you just use your key?”

“Well.” Katy hesitated. “It just didn't seem right, that's all. I mean, you might have had company or something.”

Sam chuckled a little. “You were afraid you'd unlock the door and run into six or seven gorgeous women in various stages of undress?”

“Something like that. I'll be up in a flash, Sam. This is really important.”

No more than two minutes later Sam's doorbell rang. He opened it, and Katy rushed in. She looked as if she'd been crying.

“It took a lot of nerve for me to come here and say what I'm going to say.”

“Katy. What's wrong?” Sam moved to take her into his arms, but she pulled back.

“Don't interrupt me, Sam. And don't touch me, either. If you kiss me or hug me or anything like that, I'll lose my nerve.”

“Okay.” Sam shrugged. “Go ahead, Katy.”

Katy took a deep breath and faced him squarely. Then she rattled off the speech she'd thought out in the car.

“I'm a louse, Sam. I'm working on the Video Killer story, just like you suspected at first. But I'm not going to file my story, ever. I decided my self-respect is more important than my career, but that doesn't change what I've done. I came back into your life under false pretenses. And I lied to you. And I copied your murder discs. You trusted me and I, I let you down. It's that simple. And I came to say I'm really sorry, Sam.”

“Oh, Katy—”

“Not now!” Katy interrupted him. “I'm not finished yet. And I also want you to know that I've decided I made the biggest mistake of my life when I left you and I'd like to come back, but you probably won't want me after what I just—”

“Shut up, Katy. Of course I want you back.”

Sam pulled her into his arms and kissed her so thoroughly she didn't have time to finish her prepared speech. By the time he let her go, she'd forgotten most of it.

“But, Sam, I bootlegged your murder discs.”

“I know. I was hoping you would. I figured you might spot a clue I missed. That's why I left them out in the open where you'd be sure to see them.”

“Sam.” Katy's eyes began to glisten. “You're as big a louse as I am!”

“True. I guess we deserve each other. Did you find any clues on the murder discs, Katy?”

“Not on the discs themselves, but did you know that a Hollywood writing team is doing a screenplay about the Video Killer? And their script exactly parallels the murders! Now, how could they know about the murders in such detail unless . . .”

“. . . one of them was the murderer.” Sam finished the sentence for her.

“Yes! That's exactly what I figured. So I went to their office this afternoon, and one of the guys had a list of Hitchcock victims on his desk!” Katy took out the list and placed it on the coffee table. “And he definitely incriminated himself while we were talking.” She plunked her mini-recorder on top of the list. “See this, Sam? I recorded the entire conversation! I'm almost positive that the Video Killer is . . .”

“. . . Tony Rocca, right?” Sam picked up the recorder and grinned at her.

“How did you know?”

“Because he made the list for me. And because I showed him the murder discs. Tony Rocca's an old friend who's been working on the investigation with me. I gave him permission to use the material on the murder discs as long as he didn't tell anyone where he got it.”

“Damn!” Katy shook her head. “All that work and I wound up with nothing.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Let's go over your notes together. I'll get us a glass of wine.”

Katy sighed as Sam went into the kitchen to pour the wine. Naturally she was disappointed that she hadn't identified the Video Killer, but somehow it didn't matter quite so much as she'd thought it would. She imagined her Pulitzer flying out the window, and she found she really didn't give a damn as long as Sam wanted her back.

 

 

Tony saved his file on the computer and glanced at the clock on his office wall. It was either eleven-twenty at night or five minutes to four in the morning. He checked his watch to be sure. Eleven-twenty. He could finish up
The 39 Steps
segment tonight, if he could just remember whether Daniele Renee had been faceup or facedown on the bed. Sam was probably awake. He'd call just to make sure.

Sam answered on the second ring. He sounded in surprisingly good spirits. “Can you drop by on your way home, Archer? There's someone here I'd like you to meet.”

“This late?”

“I'll be up for a couple more hours. Of course, if you're too tired . . .”

“No, I'm fine. I've got another couple minutes of work here, and then I'll come right over.”

It was a few minutes past midnight as Tony drove through Hollywood. The streets were practically deserted. Since this was a Saturday night and the nightclubs and bars didn't close until late, this area was usually jammed with people.

The Video Killer. The moment Tony thought of it, he knew he was right. Technically, it was Sunday, and everyone was staying in, behind locked doors. Tony couldn't blame them. Most of the girls in this area were struggling young actresses, and they knew they were targets for the Video Killer. Still it was eerier to drive past the clubs and the comedy houses and see no lines of people outside, waiting in line to get in.

Because of the nonexistent traffic, Tony arrived at Sam's high-rise much sooner than he'd expected. Sam buzzed him right up.

“Nice place, Sam.” Tony nodded when Sam answered the door. “Westwood. Very plush. Do you think I'm dressed for it?”

Sam glanced at Tony's T-shirt and grinned. Tony was wearing a bright pink one with Day-Glo green letters that said MY OTHER SHIRT HAS A DESIGNER LABEL.

“You'll do. Come in, Tony.”

Tony stepped into the living room and stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of the woman on the couch.

“Karen Daniels?”

“Not exactly. This is my wife, Katy Brannigan.”

Tony started at Katy. “But, I thought, didn't you say you worked for Equitable Management?”

“I lied.” Katy shrugged. “I'm a reporter, and it was the only way I could get an interview with you.”

It took a while to explain. Tony sat on the couch, sipping the wine that Sam had brought him, and just shook his head in disbelief that Katy told him all about her suspicions, the copy of the partial screenplay she'd received from her friend at Cinescope, the Hitchcock victim list she'd snatched while Tony was getting her a glass of water, and how she'd thought Tony had incriminated himself on her concealed voice tape recorder.

“Wait a minute.” Tony frowned. “You actually thought
I
was the Video Killer!?”

“I was sure of it. It made a lot of sense at the time.”

Sam stepped in. Tony looked really confused.

“When she came here tonight with what she thought was a closed case, I explained why you knew about the murder discs. You can understand why Katy thought you were guilty, can't you? She had a whole pile of circumstantial evidence and everything pointed directly to you.”

“Jesus, Sam! I'm glad
somebody
knows the truth!”

Tony shook his head. “Now, I've only got one question for Katy.”

“Yes?” Katy leaned closer. “What is it, Tony?”

“Now that you're not Karen Daniels anymore, does that mean you won't fix the loose carpeting in my office doorway?”

23

 

Erik swam up from the layers of his disjointed dream to see Allison's face. For a moment he didn't know where he was, and then he recognized the interior of the room. He was at Tony's house. On the family room couch.

“Good morning, Erik. How about some breakfast?”

“Uh, that'd be nice, Allison, but you don't have to put yourself out. Did Tony get home?”

“Yes. He's upstairs, sleeping. It was already getting light when he came in, so it must have been about five in the morning. He mumbled something about a new scene on your desk and passed out like a rock.”

Allison's voice shook a little, and Erik sensed trouble. Perhaps she had seen Tony yesterday at the motel. He wasn't about to open that can of worms first thing in the morning. Tony and Allison would have to work it out themselves.

“So, how about pancakes, Erik? I've already mixed up some batter.”

“That sounds great!” Erik smiled at her. “But, really, Allison, are you sure you feel up to it?”

“I'm fine. I already called the hospital, and they're going to move Mother back to the convalescent center this afternoon. She's much better. And I like to make pancakes, especially when there's someone here to eat them.”

A bitter expression crossed Allison's face, but it was gone in a flash.

“You'll find fresh towels and everything you need in the guest bathroom.” Allison smiled again. “Breakfast's in twenty minutes.”

As soon as Allison had left, Erik got up and headed for the guest bathroom. He could use a shower and a shave. Then he'd have breakfast with Allison, stop off at the condo to feed Al, and go straight to the office.

An hour later, pleasantly stuffed with Allison's blueberry pancakes and plenty of coffee, Erik arrived at his condo. Breakfast with Allison had been a real treat. She'd served his food and poured his coffee, and they'd laughed when the kids from next door had chased their soapy dog, an obvious escapee from an early morning bath, through Allison's backyard. It certainly beat out the breakfasts at the coffee shops he'd been frequenting for the past sixteen years. How could Tony jeopardize it all for a cheap-looking redhead in a sleazy motel room? If Tony didn't realize just how lucky he was, maybe it was up to Erik to set him straight.

 

 

“Play it again, Sam!”

Sam hit the freeze-frame button, and the third murder disc stopped in its tracks. “I don't believe you said that, Katy.”

“I don't, either.” Katy groaned. “Just rewind a little and run it again. And no jokes about Bogey.”

“It's important?”

“It could be. I didn't notice it before, but there's a shot of a telephoto lens in Diana Ellington's house.”

“You mean here?” Sam stopped the video as a black cylindrical object appeared in the frame.

“Yes. That's definitely a telephoto lens. What's it doing in Diana Ellington's bedroom? She was an actress, not a photographer.”

“Maybe she's an amateur shutterbug.”

“No, Sam. That's an expensive lens, and it's strictly professional. There's absolutely no reason for her to have it propped up so prominently right there by her bed.”

“So?”

“So it's out of character, Sam. And completely out of context. I think the Video Killer brought it with him. Check to see if it's still there in the pictures your men took at the scene.”

Sam unsnapped his briefcase and drew out a bulky file. He flipped through several photographs and looked up at Katy with amazement. “You're right. There's no lens.”

“I knew it. Sam. Now why did he put it right there by the bed?”

Sam got up and paced the floor. “A telephoto lens, I just saw one in . . . hold it, Katy! What's the next disc in the sequence?”

“Christie Jensen's murder.
Rear Window
.”

“That's it!” Sam snapped his fingers. “We've got it now, Katy, as long as he's consistent. That shot of the lens is a segue to the next murder! Remember James Stewart looking out the window with his telephoto lens?”

“Oh, Sam, I hope you're right. Let's start from the beginning and go through them. Once we catch on to the kinds of segues he uses, maybe we can predict—”

Sam clamped a hand over her mouth. “Don't say it, Katy, just in case it jinxes us.”

 

 

Allison was quiet as she stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. She didn't want to wake Tony. She wasn't sure she could face him today. After the scare with her mother and the way he'd refused to come to the hospital, she wasn't feeling very friendly toward him. Of course, her mother had rallied and it hadn't turned out to be the emergency she'd thought it was, but Tony'd had no way of knowing that. And there was no possible excuse for what she'd seen at the Traveler Motel. Not only had he been coming out of the room with that redhead, he'd given her his anniversary lighter. That certainly showed what he thought of their marriage.

A tear slid down Allison's check as she stacked the last plate in the rack. She'd leave Tony this second if she had a way of paying for her mother's medical bills. She still loved him. It was useless to deny it. But she just couldn't live with him any longer.

The container of dishwasher soap felt empty. Allison rattled it just to make sure, and tossed it into the trash. Everything was going wrong today. There was a convenience store only three blocks away, and she decided to walk there. The fresh air might clear her head.

Allison had just come out of the tiny little market when she spotted a familiar car rounding the corner. Tony's dark green Volvo. He was obviously in a hurry, and she was glad he was gone. At least she wouldn't have to talk to him now.

There was a note fastened to the refrigerator door when she got home. It said
GOTTA RUN—CALL LATER—LOVE YA.
Allison pulled it down, crumpled it in her fist, and was about to throw it in the wastebasket when the phone rang. “Hello?” Allison's voice was trembling a little. She prayed it wasn't bad news about her mother.

“Allison! I'm so glad I caught you! This is Nina.”

“Hi, Nina.” Allison drew a big breath of relief. It was her agent. “Did you find me a starring role in a major motion picture?”

“Not quite, but I do have a line on something quite interesting. Hold on just a second, Allison.”

As Allison held on she heard papers rattle. Nina's desk was always a disaster area. It was a wonder she was able to do any business at all.

“Here it is. A very, very dear friend of mine called this morning. He's doing a project, and I convinced him that you're just what he needs. He saw that commercial you did eons ago, and he thinks you look like Joan Fontaine. Mind you, his film's experimental. One of these auteur-type things that probably won't ever be shown anywhere, but he's paying scale if you want the job.”

Allison laughed. “I wasn't kidding when I told you I'd take anything. What do I have to do?”

“To tell you the truth, I'm not sure. He wants to set up a meeting tonight to discuss it.”

“Fine with me. Where?”

“I'll try to get him to come to you. That way you'll have more leverage. How about your house, eight o'clock?”

“That'll be fine.”

“Good. I'll call him back right now and tell him you agree. Good luck tonight, kid.”

There was a click and then a dial tone. Nina had hung up. Allison was smiling as she dialed Nina's number again. Nina had been so excited she hadn't even mentioned the name of the filmmaker.

After ten minutes of busy signals, Allison gave up. She really didn't care who the filmmaker was as long as he was willing to pay scale.

 

 

Erik had just picked up the papers on his desk when there was a knock at the door. It was a messenger from the studio with their contracts. Alan wanted them signed today, if possible, and that meant he had to call Tony at home.

When Allison answered the phone, she sounded cheerful. Perhaps she'd patched things up with Tony.

“Hi, Allison. The contracts came in from Alan, and we're supposed to sign them today. Is Tony up yet?”

“Sorry, Erik. He left about a half hour ago, but I'll tell him if he comes back. Guess what?”

“You guys kiss and make up?”

There was a long pause, and he could hear Allison sigh. “Not a chance, Erik. But I just had a great telephone call from my agent.”

“Your agent?”

“That's right. I was an actress before I married Tony. I guess I never mentioned it. Well, there's a part in some kind of experimental film, and it looks like I've got it. The producer thinks I look just like Joan Fontaine. He's coming over to the house to discuss it with me at eight tonight.”

“Congratulations, Allison. That sounds like fun. Have you told Tony?”

“Not yet. I'm going to leave him, Erik. Just as soon as I can. I can't live with a man who lies to me and keeps a mistress on the side in a sleazy motel room.”

Erik swallowed hard. Allison had seen Tony with the redhead.

“Are you sure you're not making a mistake, Allison? Maybe Tony has some sort of reasonable explanation.”

“Forget it, Erik. If I ask him, he'll just lie to me again.”

There was a pause where Erik tried to think of something to say, something that would make everything all right again. For a man who could put great dialogue into other people's mouths, he was as total failure in real life.

“I don't know what to say, Allison, except that I'm here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Erik. That means a lot to me. Wish me luck tonight?”

“Of course. I'm sure you'll do just . . .” Erik stopped in midsentence as the full implications of what Allison had told him sunk in. “Uh . . . Allison? Will you do me a favor and not mention to Tony that you're up for a part in that movie?”

“Why?”

“Well, all the Video Killer's victims have been actresses and—”

Allison sounded exasperated as she interrupted him. “Oh, Erik, not
that
again! Tony's not going to hurt me, even if he
is
the Video Killer. I'd stake my life on it.”

“That's exactly what you'll be doing if you tell him.”

There was a long silence, which Allison broke. “I can't talk about that now, Erik. I have to run out to see Mother. I'll call you later.”

Erik was frowning when he hung up. Allison hadn't promised not to tell Tony, and she probably would if the opportunity presented itself. She refused to believe that she was in danger. He had to protect her, and there was only one way to do it. Tony would come in to sign his contract sometime today, and Erik would be waiting. And he'd stick to Tony like a Siamese twin until the night was over.

 

 

Tony glanced at his watch and frowned. He'd been waiting for over an hour. The nurse behind the desk looked bored, and Tony gave her his most endearing smile, the one Allison said could charm the birds down out of the trees.

“Do you think it'll be much longer, Miss . . . uh . . .” Tony glanced at her plastic nametag, “Miss Woods?”

“It shouldn't be long now. Dr. Trumbull's almost never late for his Sunday rounds. There must have been a problem in surgery this morning.”

“Why don't we save Dr. Trumbull some time when he comes in? I'm here to discuss a patient with him. Erik Nielsen. Could you possibly pull his file so it's ready?”

“It's already pulled, Mr. Rocca.” The nurse indicated a stack of files on her desk.

Tony eyed the stack of files and nodded. If he could just get his hands on Erik's file, he wouldn't have to wait around for Dr. Trumbull.

The telephone on the desk rang before Tony could come up with a plan. Miss Woods answered immediately.

“Yes, Dr. Trumbull. Of course. I'll tell Mr. Rocca and reschedule.”

“There's a problem?” Tony stood up. He was sitting no more than three feet away, and he'd heard her end of the conversation.

“I'm afraid so. That was Dr. Trumbull. He'll be tied up for at least another hour, and he asked if you'd reschedule your appointment.”

“Of course.” Tony flashed his smile again. He waited until she had checked the doctor's schedule and given him an appointment for next Wednesday at nine. Then he started coughing.

“Are you all right, Mr. Rocca?” The nurse looked concerned.

“Fine. Just fine.” Tony coughed again, a whole series this time, as he sat back down in the chair. “Could I . . . Please . . . ? Water . . . ?”

“I'll get it. Just sit right there, and I'll be right back.”

Tony coughed while the nurse left the room. He coughed all the way to the desk and continued to cough while he slipped Erik's file into his briefcase. He was still coughing when Miss Woods came back with a paper cup of water. He drank it and let his coughing taper off to a stop.

“Thank you!” Tony cleared his throat noisily and stood up. “I'm fine now. It must be the pollen count today. I understand the ragweed is blooming.”

“That was a moderate to severe reaction, Mr. Rocca.” Miss Woods looked concerned. “Are you seeing an allergist?”

“Oh, yes. I've got everything under control. Thank you so much, Miss Woods. You have no idea how much you've helped me.”

Miss Woods was smiling as Tony left the reception area. What a nice man. He'd been so gracious about thanking her for her help, and all she'd done was bring him a glass of water.