Jacob felt the guilty little thrill again when Daniel said we and reminded himself that the word was meant generally. “So, what are you going to do, interview the whole con?” He remembered Sam’s joke. “Oh, man, this is going to be impossible.”
“So we’re going to need every pair of eyes,” Daniel said. “You can’t do much on the record — any unusual participation or investigation would jeopardize a conviction if we did find a perp — but run it by me if you have any brilliant ideas. Because yeah, a victim without any real connections in a non-assault death at a convention like this, it’s going to be rough.”
Jacob nodded and tried to look appropriately serious. He really was sorry for Dead-Laura’s death — he had liked her, the little he’d known her — but the excitement of participating in the investigation, even a tiny unofficial bit, was undeniable.
“And not to minimize the significance of her death,” Daniel continued, “but this could end Con Job. I don’t know everything that’s going on, but Vince has let on that the con’s not doing well right now, and refunds or a drop in next year’s attendance would pretty much be the death knell.”
“It’s not the con’s fault,” Jacob said, but he knew as he said it that it didn’t matter. The public looked for something to blame, always, and rationality took a back seat.
Daniel’s phone buzzed, and he drew it and read the screen. “Well, that’s it, then,” he said. “Update on the autopsy, and arsenic was in the stomach contents. Someone put it in her food. No way that’s accidental.”
Jacob looked at the remainder of his breakfast gyro. “Do we know what food?”
“Not for certain. She’d recently had an energy bar, a milkshake or something similar, and an order of fries, but it’s not clear if any of them were the mechanism.” He followed Jacob’s eyes. “Surely someone isn’t randomly poisoning the food court? Nah. There are thousands of people here, so statistically we should have already heard if someone was doing something like that.” He sighed. “Finish your breakfast, and I’m going to go call everyone in. Vince wants to have a meeting about this, get us all on the same page.” He went out, presumably to Con Ops.
Jacob sat for a moment and eyed his breakfast gyro. Only a couple of bites left; if it was going to poison him, he was probably already doomed. He gathered it into a sloppy handful and forced himself to swallow it.
Dead-Laura had eaten a series of snacks, it seemed, and it was impossible to guess where she’d bought them, or even if it had been at the food court or outside the hotel. There wasn’t much around the convention center, but she could have even picked something up en route to the con.
Dead-Laura had been glad to be invited to dinner, and she hadn’t mentioned bringing anyone else. And she’d made room-sharing arrangements online, with someone who said they weren’t close. She’d been at the con alone, meeting people she knew only casually. So who at the con would have reason to kill her?
But if it were somehow a con attendee, rather than someone from Dead-Laura’s personal life, then they needed to find a suspect fast. Because Sam was right, it would be hard to even track down the right people to question, and then tomorrow night the con would end and the attendees would scatter across several states, with only Registration’s troubled hand-entered spreadsheet to identify them. And those who bought badges at the con itself, paying with cash, might have no record at all. And then Con Job would fail forever, and Dead-Laura’s murderer would probably escape for good.
Jacob stared at the gyro’s empty wrapping. This was going to be difficult.
He drew out his phone and typed a message to Lydia. Death last night turns out to be a poisoning homicide. Really freaky. Going to be an interesting investigation, and I’ll help where I can.
This was exactly what he’d wanted to do. He’d wanted to go into Homicide for years, since he’d started thinking a real career was a possibility. He would have to put in his time and earn his way to Detective, of course, but this was his chance to shine going into the Academy. Daniel trusted him to help; he had to use his con knowledge.
His phone buzzed. Coming. Don’t panic, I’ll be good.
“What exactly are we supposed to do?” asked Vince, gesturing in frustration. “We announce there’s a murder, people freak out. And not entirely without reason. We could tell them it was poison, so they should eat only from the food court or a reliable source — but she might have been poisoned at the food court, for all we know. So we don’t know if that will protect people or expose them to some sicko employee who’s poisoning random people for fun.” He shook his head. “Or we could tell everyone to go home, which pretty much kills Con Job forever, not to mention makes a clean getaway for any sicko who’s not a food court employee.”
The assembled department heads shook heads, bit lips, and generally looked bleak.
“We need to know who she was with,” Daniel said, “and where she went. We can open that up, ask people to step forward if they know anything. It’s easy enough to spread the word; we can use the con mobile app or Twitter.”
“Start with her screen name,” Jacob said. “Ask for friends of Cosbright to come forward. That will at least narrow the field to something manageable, and we can always widen it if we need more.”
Daniel nodded. “And a room where we can talk with people in private. Even one of the hotel rooms will—”
The staff suite door swung open. “I’m sorry,” said a short, prematurely-balding man. “I did see the sign about a private staff meeting, but no one in Ops wanted to make the decision.”
Vince sighed with frustration, but his voice remained civil. “What do you need, Mickey?”
“I’m slated to lead a game of Murder tonight. I kind of suspect it would be in bad taste now, you know? But I wanted to check with you guys before my panel in a half-hour, so I know what to tell people there about an official schedule change.”
Vince ran a hand through his hair. “Can you improv something? Stories from behind the scenes, trivia, question and answer?”
Mickey nodded. “I’ll tell Ops, and they can post the schedule change.”
Vince turned to Paul. “You can update the mobile app as soon as we’re done here, right?”
“That’s why we have it.”
“Thanks, Mickey. We’ll take care of it.”
The man closed the door, and Rita pointed a pencil at it. “Who’s that?”
“Mickey Groene, from Star Chase. Played Lieutenant Stafford. Does mostly voice work now.” Vince looked at him. “You don’t know the show?”
Rita shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Well, you can’t know everything at a con like this,” Vince conceded. “Con Job is pretty broad, lots of fandoms, and that’s one of the reasons people like us. Let’s keep it that way, and find out what happened to this poor young woman, and with any luck at all it’ll turn out to be nothing whatsoever to do with the con. But keep stuff calm. We’ve got to find out what happened without panicking anyone. We can’t afford to lose this weekend.”
They adjourned the meeting, and Jacob trailed the others back to Con Ops, testing announcement wordings in his head. Would anyone who knew Cosbright please come forward? The police are seeking information regarding her movements yesterday. Did that sound too scary? Would it put off potential witnesses?
Paul sat down at a laptop and began updating the schedule, replacing the Murder game with Mickey Groene’s alternative programming.
Vince took a deep breath. “Okay, is anything else urgent at the moment? I mean, of course yes, but really, really urgent? Because I haven’t eaten yet today, and I still haven’t seen Valerie Kimberton, and I can only put her off for so long before she flips out and finds some legal way to yank their sponsorship and break us over her knobbly knee.” He sighed again. “And I think I want a drink, I don’t care if it is before noon.” He turned and pointed. “Paul, you have the con.”
“What?”
“What? It’s a pun. You know how whenever the captain le
aves the bridge he passes control to another officer with, You have the conn? Like when Captain Kirk…. Never mind. I’ll be back as soon as I find some protein and a beer, in either order.”
Sirens came distantly through the babble of hallway conversation, and Vince sighed. “I guess that’s going to be how it is.”
Daniel shook his head. “Shouldn’t be any sirens, not for an investigation like this. That’s emergency.”
“Maybe they’re just passing,” Jacob suggested.
But the sirens grew louder, and then they seemed to plateau at moderately loud, and then they shut off abruptly rather than fading away again with distance.
Vince shoved his earpiece into position and spun the volume dial on his radio. “Does anyone know what’s going on outside with the sirens? Are those for us?”
No one answered, and he called again. Finally someone responded, “I don’t know anything, but I see the ambulance team. Got to be something in the hotel. I’m following, will let you know what I learn.”
“Where are you?”
“Mezzanine. Heading toward the central elevator well.”
Vince jerked his head. “We’re on our way.”
As they hurried toward the elevators, the Con Aid member reported further. “EMTs won’t answer questions, I’m not staff. Past the well, toward the bar, still following.”
They took an escalator, skipping steps.
“At the hotel bar. It’s not serving yet, but they’re going in. They — there’s somebody on the floor. Not moving. They’re checking her, but they don’t…. They don’t look like they’re in a big hurry.”
Vince swore.
“I — I think it’s that MEGAN!ME lady. I don’t remember her name. But it looks like her.”
Chapter Nine
Valerie Kimberton had been dead for nearly an hour, they thought, before the EMTs had arrived. It was hard to say for certain just yet, but the gamers who had found her while looking for empty tables for card games had called 911 immediately, and she had not responded to their shaking or well-meaning attempts to check for a pulse.
Vince was leaning over a table in the staff suite, surrounded by department heads again, ignoring the vegetable tray beside him as he rested his temples in his hands. “There was nothing wrong with her yesterday. It’s another death, and that can’t be an accident. It’s going to be murder for her, too. That means some psychopath is randomly picking off con-goers.”
“Why random?” prompted Daniel.
“Because if anyone wanted to murder that woman, I’d be first in line.” Vince blinked. “Oh. Oh, no.”
Jacob pressed his lips together. Daniel cleared his throat. “Just a friendly word of advice, Vince: you might not want to say things like that in front of other people.”
Vince looked at Daniel, his eyes a bit wide. “But — I’m going to be a suspect, aren’t I? I mean, everyone saw us arguing, right in the dealer hall. If they do any probing….”
The staff suite was very quiet, and the enthused laughter and calls from the hallway were loud through the door.
“Given the circumstances, they’ll rush the autopsy,” Daniel said to the room in general, “and unlike the first incident, we have a pretty good idea of where Valerie went and who she was talking to. So yes, everyone will be questioned — but don’t panic, because questioning is a long way from detaining or charging, right?”
“Right,” said Rita slowly. “I guess they have to talk to everyone. Just to be sure.”
“Exactly. So don’t panic, and be forthcoming. Don’t try to hide things. We all know, for example, that she was making Vince’s life difficult — but if you whitewash that, pretend there was nothing to that when there obviously was, it just makes things look suspicious. But, of course, you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”
Vince sighed. “What do we do about the convention?”
Paul shook his head. “I don’t know that there’s anything we can do. I mean, a moment of silence across the con, maybe? But it’s not like we have any idea of what happened. And there’s still a chance that they’re not connected, or that Valerie wasn’t even murdered.” He sounded more hopeful than he looked.
Vince sat up. “Okay. We announce to the con that two people have died, but we make it clear that there’s no established connection yet. We’re going to get more Con Aid calls for certain as people worry, so I’m sorry, but you guys are probably going to have to extend shifts — and Daniel, I assume you’re going to be putting on your other hat, but I’d appreciate any liaison work or guidance you can give as we go.”
“Of course.”
“Now, are those two reporters still around?”
“They went for lunch,” Rita reported, “but they have media badges.”
“I think we should have someone showing them around,” Vince said. “Explaining the con, so they don’t write us up as a bunch of maladjusted basement-dwellers, and keeping them from hyping some attendee into a sensational interview about panic at the con.” He looked around the room. “I know we’ve all got full plates, but just, if you see them, check in on them, okay? Just show them around, bore them to death with lack of panic and criminal drama, and get rid of them.”
“The one seemed pretty easy-going,” Rita said. “And Daniel gave the other one the stink-eye. I think it’ll probably be okay.”
Vince continued, “And we need someone managing things in Ops, handling questions and keeping rumors down. Rita, you’ll be in there anyway, and Reg should be slowing down soon; think you can handle that?”
She shrugged. “I’ll try.”
“Good enough. That’s all we’re doing at this point. Nobody plans for this.”
Jacob raised a finger. “I was supposed to do escort for Greg Hammer and his autograph session….” Please don’t make me give that up. I know this is all crazy, but I want that.
“When?” Vince glanced at the schedule on the mobile app and sighed. “Yeah, we need someone on that. Hammer’s too big to leave on his own.”
“Right.”
“I’m going to post a new schedule,” Daniel said, “of times for each of us to talk individually to the officers in the investigation. Let me know when you absolutely cannot make it, but we need everyone and it’ll be easier if we have a plan. It’ll be on the wall there as soon as I can make it happen.”
Daniel’s phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. His mouth thinned. “Autopsy’s not done,” he said, “but preliminary findings are arsenic in the stomach contents. Same poisoning as the other one. We’re looking at a multiple homicide.”
Chapter Ten
Jacob stopped in the Con Ops room to log himself out for Greg Hammer duty. A knocking sound caught his attention, and he turned, scanning for its origin. It was coming from the pass-through, where a woman was smiling and knocking on the wall. “Hello?” she called.
“Sorry,” Jacob said, starting toward her. “Not used to polite knocking, not in this racket. People usually just yell if they want something.”
She continued to smile, a little apologetically, and pushed a tablet toward him. He took it, confused, and bent his head to read the screen.
I am hearing impaired, so writing is easier for me in a noisy environment like a con. Sorry for the inconvenience!
“Oh, it’s no inconvenience!” Jacob said, and then he felt himself blush. The woman laughed. “Sorry,” Jacob said, wondering if he were compounding the problem.
She laughed again and scrolled. I was coming to the con with a friend who was going to interpret at panels and events for me, but she closed her hand in a car door yesterday—
“Ow!” said Jacob.
—and can’t do it today. I know the con probably didn’t plan for an interpreter on site, but is there a way you can put out the word for anyone here to interpret? I’m happy to compensate someone for the events I’m most interested in. Thanks for any help you can give.
Jacob gave her a smile and brought up the tablet’s keyboard. We can c
ertainly put out the word via the mobile app, and let me ask a friend who might be able to help out. He’s either certified or testing soon, he’ll probably be happy to help. And sorry again!
She gave him a friendly smile.
Jacob took out his phone and texted Zach. You available? Got an attendee here who lost her sign interpreter.
When does she want someone?
Sounds like she’s willing to negotiate.
Are you at Ops? I’ll be right over.
“He’s coming,” said Jacob before catching himself, and then he smiled apologetically. He reached for the tablet, but she caught it and shook her head, laughing again.
Sometimes cons had interpreters for Main Programming and other big rooms that pulled thousands for the primary events, but it wasn’t consistent. It was a shame her friend had been injured. Jacob wondered briefly if the friend were a professional interpreter and therefore was out of work until her hand healed.
Zach arrived in a surprisingly short time and signed a greeting. Jacob stifled a laugh at Hellboy signing with the petite attendee, but it seemed they were getting on well, and he had a guest to escort.
Greg Hammer was a tall man, lean with a bushy mustache and a buckskin jacket, which was completely at odds with his lime green running shoes. He held open the door of his hotel room and gave Jacob a friendly smile. “Are you my shadow for today?”
“For the next few hours, anyway. I’m Jacob.” Jacob hesitated, debating, and then held out his hand. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”
Greg’s smile broke into a grin. “Hey, thank you, Jacob! That’s great to hear. Thank you.” He reached down and picked up a cardboard box. “Shall we?”
The elevator was empty when they boarded on the executive floor, but they picked up a few passengers as they descended. The first two didn’t seem to pay any particular attention, and Jacob guessed they didn’t know or didn’t care who Greg was. The next pair of young women, however, recognized him. “Ohmigawd, Greg Hammer! We’re so glad you’re here. Except, I really wish you weren’t here so you could be working on the next volume of Madhouse. Can I just say that you got me through grad school without completely losing my sanity?”
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