“Daniel.”
Daniel stopped and looked at him. “What is it?”
Jacob took a breath. “It’s….”
“What? You’re not doing this. Putting these videos—”
“No! No, I’m not doing it. I would never. But….”
Daniel sat down and leaned back, deliberately casual. “I’m listening.”
Jacob exhaled and shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Fine. I sometimes forget what I’m going to say, too.” Daniel gave him a sidelong look.
Jacob was saved by Detective Martin’s entrance. She was clutching a tall paper cup of coffee. “This stuff is getting rare. The barristas say they’ve been hammered this afternoon.”
Sam leaned over the pass-through. “Hey, Jacob, what’d you need?”
“Come on in here.” He turned and looked at the police officers. “And I’m glad you guys are here, too. ‘Cuz this is kind of weird.”
Sam came in and gave him an odd look. “What’s up?”
“Do you know Ryan Brazil?”
“Of course. Voice actor. Judged the voice contest today, and actually complimented me afterward.”
“He did?”
“You don’t have to sound surprised,” she told him. “He said he wanted to pick me to win but was outvoted, but he thought he could talk me up to some casting people and directors and maybe get my name in. Which I thought was pretty cool of him.” She stopped. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Did you give him your contact info?”
“Of course. How else could we do business-type talk?”
“So you had a business card or something?”
“No, we friended each other.”
“On Facebook.”
“That’s how some people do business. Less formal, more friendly.”
Jacob bit at his lip. “Okay, here’s where it gets weird.” He paused, trying to put his unease into words, and the silence stretched.
Detective Martin cleared her throat. “If it helps,” she said, “I spent two years going after human traffickers before I got into Homicide, so whatever you’re going to say isn’t going to sound stupid to me.”
That lent a more sinister tone to what Jacob had to ask. “Ryan was looking at photos when I took him a bottle of water,” he said, “and he kind of tried to hide the pictures from me. They were just photos, nothing porno, but he was kind of, I dunno, weird about them. I asked, and he told me they were of his nieces.”
Sam’s eyes had changed, but she spoke as if she didn’t understand. “Maybe they were.”
Jacob tapped the touchpad and the screen flickered to life, showing her in the white gown before the trees. “This photo. He called you his niece and said I couldn’t look at your picture.”
Sam started to speak and then stopped.
Detective Martin looked at Sam. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Not illegal, then, just creepy.”
“Not the other girl I saw,” Jacob said. “She was maybe fifteen, I’d guess. He even said she was younger, said I shouldn’t get any ideas about her.”
“And that’s both creepy and a potential legal issue,” Detective Martin returned. “Not a lot to work on, but that’s a definite blip on my admittedly-sensitized radar.”
“Can I unfriend him right now or will that blow any potential investigation?” Sam asked, taking out her phone. “Because I’ve got beach pictures on there, too. And, ew.”
“I hear you, but first let’s find out what we’re dealing with,” Detective Martin said. “Who else was at this contest he judged today?”
“Oh, a lot of people. There’s a potential voice role at the end of it, so lots of hopefuls like me were there. Ryan judged, so did Mickey Groene and Sandra Shark.”
“Oh, I remember Mickey Groene. Let’s ask him how it went today. Any other females about your age?”
“Definitely, but I couldn’t tell you who.”
Jacob checked the schedule. “Mickey’s free right now. Should I try to get him here?”
“No hurry, but sure.”
Daniel hadn’t spoken yet, but his posture had shifted slightly. Jacob had the impression that didn’t bode well for Ryan Brazil.
Jacob turned on the radio. “If anyone sees Mickey Groene, please send him to Con Ops. Alternately, if Guest Relations could give me a way to contact him, we’d appreciate it.”
Sam dropped into a chair. “So basically, he lied to me about my voice acting so he could ogle my photos. I don’t even know which one I’m more upset about right now.”
“Why choose?” Detective Martin asked.
The radio came to life. “I’ve got Mickey Groene over here at Main. He says he’s happy to come by, heading that way now.”
Mickey had clearly expected something else. “About the voice acting contest?” he repeated, perplexed.
“Yes. Did anything stand out to you?”
“Well, a few things.” He pointed at Sam. “Her, for one thing. She did a great job.”
Sam smiled. “Thanks.”
Detective Martin frowned. “You and Ryan Brazil, both?”
“Hm? Well, I guess so. He said she was good, too, but he liked the guy with the goat impression more. It was really down to three people, and — plug your ears and hum, Sam, you’re not supposed to hear this — and Sandra and I were pulling for the first guy up and Sam here, but Ryan pushed really hard for the goat-guy and swung the other two.”
“Ryan voted against her?” Detective Martin repeated.
Sam’s eyes were wide, her expression growing in slow outrage.
“Yeah. Don’t take it personally. It’s a tough call, and that’s why there are multiple judges.”
“Oh, it’s personal,” Sam said, “but not because he didn’t like my lines.”
Mickey looked from her to the police officers. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“Mr. Groene, you’ve been very helpful,” Detective Martin said. “Thank you very much for your time. Can we count on you to keep this conversation private for the time being?”
“Certainly. I don’t even know what we talked about.”
When he had gone, Detective Martin and Daniel exchanged glances. “How do you want to play this?” she asked.
Daniel frowned for a long moment. Finally he interlaced his fingers and stretched, so that a couple of knuckles popped. “None of that was illegal,” he said, with obvious reluctance. “Just sleazy.”
“Would it be more than sleazy if he’s friending minors?” asked Sam.
“Depends on what he’s doing once he’s friended them.” Detective Martin frowned. “And that’s where the computer guys have to get involved, see if he’s just looking at pics or soliciting pics or what.”
“Sam, don’t hold your breath waiting for a call from a director based on Brazil’s recommendation,” Daniel said. “I’m sorry. But you can maybe take some comfort in the fact that we’re going to make his life really uncomfortable if he so much as sticks a toe across the legal line.”
“He deliberately sunk me so he could get photos,” Sam said. “Holy — I just — there aren’t even words.” She shook her head. “I’m so un-friending him.”
A chorus of shrieks and shrieking laughter drew their attention, and Detective Martin rose and started toward the door. Before she could reach it, however, Zach appeared at the pass-through. “Hey, guys!” He beckoned them with a wave of his arm. “Have you seen this? The zombie crawl is starting, and it’s awesome.”
Chapter Twenty Three
They rose and joined Zach and Jessica outside in the corridor leading to the lobby. At the far end, a slow mob of groaning, ragged figures were shambling together.
“They’re coming this way,” Zach said with glee. “They look great.”
“Zombies,” said Detective Martin flatly. “I’m pretty sure that’s my cue to actually go off duty, like I was supposed to six hours ago. See you guys tomorrow.”
“Freaking zombies,” muttered Daniel. “Cluttering up survival horror. Nobody does Silent Hill anymore, it’s all Walking Dead. Goodnight, Anne.”
“Are the zombies coming?” Rita came toward them, munching from a bag of M&Ms. “Oh, there they are! I was afraid I’d miss it.”
“Not likely,” Zach assured her. “There’s too many to miss. It’ll be a full-scale apocalypse in here.”
“As exciting as that sounds,” Daniel said, “I’m exhausted, too. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” He gave them a tired wave and headed to the escalators.
Dozens of zombies, from The Walking Dead and 28 Days Later and The Last of Us and World War Z and more, Jacob supposed, and even some Reavers from Firefly had sneaked in. All were staggering down the hall, moaning and reaching out at the other attendees who leapt back, laughing. Most were moving slowly, but a few quick zombies zigged among them, making poorly-aimed grabs.
“It’s an impressive bunch of zombies,” Sam said. She frowned. “What do we call a group of zombies? You know, like a herd of deer, a murder of crows, a crash of rhinos — is it a shuffle of zombies? What are they?”
“A horde,” said Zach.
“I kind of like ‘shuffle,’” said Jessica.
“Shouldn’t it be a plague of zombies?” suggested Jacob.
“I saw ‘a thriller of zombies’ once online,” said Rita.
Several of the zombies showed off stunning special effects makeup. One appeared to be leaking intestines as she moved, while another’s face seemed to peel back at the mouth, revealing teeth and a bit of bloody skull. “Ew,” said Rita. “I hope nobody leaves anything messy that the hotel can fine us for.”
Jacob cupped his hands about his mouth. “Take only victims, leave only terror! No body parts or blood left behind!”
A handful of zombies bobbed agreement or snarled, and the spectators laughed. Cameras and cell phones were flashing all along the hall.
A group shuffled together as a variety pack from Plants vs Zombies, wearing traffic cones and snorkeling gear. One even straddled an inflatable dolphin pool toy, bobbing along the hallway in little porpoising leaps.
“Look! Look at that!” Jessica bounced and pointed.
Two zombies lurched down the hallway, placards on their chests reading Enormous hair and Nice kilt you’re wearing. Beside them crept a man in a grey suit, wearing an old game console as a backpack and a QWERTY keyboard slung from his shoulders, ready for action.
“It’s Typing of the Dead!” Jessica laughed. “That’s brilliant. Really brilliant.”
A zombie pushed through the line and grabbed at a Left 4 Dead Boomer, who snarled and shoved him away with a flap of meaty arms. The zombie clutched at its artfully-torn throat and reached for the Witch beside the Boomer, leaving a streak of faux blood on her arm. The Witch recoiled and then slashed with her claws, and the Boomer shoved him again.
“I guess there’s still tribalism even after death,” Jessica observed. “Zombies of a feather shuffle together.”
“Technically, the Left 4 Dead infected aren’t really dead,” Zach said.
The zombie with the cut throat reeled to the side of the hall, making several onlookers scatter with little laughing shrieks. A photographer crouched and snapped several quick shots of its outstretched arm. It turned with a little gurgling moan.
“Ooh, that’s kind of gruesome,” Jessica said approvingly. “Well done.”
The zombie turned and lunged at them, moaning and bubbling, and they jumped away, laughing. It snatched at Sam but she pulled free. Its groan rose in pitch.
“Seriously?” Rita was annoyed. “Fake blood all down her arm. He’s just lucky he missed her costume. What’s wrong with people?”
The zombie flailed and looked around and upward, wailing wordlessly.
“Jacob.” Sam’s voice was cold and taut. He turned to her, seeing her roll the syrup blood on her fingers. “Jacob, this blood’s warm.”
Jacob stared at her a second, and then he turned back to the stumbling zombie. “Hey!” He started forward, reaching for its arm. “Are you okay?”
For the first time he looked at the zombie’s eyes, and they were wide, the pupils dilated. Beneath the special effects makeup, he was terrified. He held one hand to his throat, and now Jacob could see the thick red blood was seeping from the wound, which was deeper than a special effects prosthetic could manage.
Jacob called over his shoulder, “Call 911! We need an ambulance!” and drew the zombie to the side of the hall. Beside them, the rest of the zombies shuffled onward, moaning and snarling.
“I need a bandage.” Jacob glanced around and then pulled his Con Aid shirt over his head, pressing it into the zombie’s neck. It stuck immediately. He pressed the zombie gently to the floor, so that he sat against the wall. “Who’s on the phone? Do we have someone?”
Sam crouched beside him. “Severe throat wound, bleeding pretty hard,” she reported into her phone. “Also bleeding from the mouth, maybe the nose. Hard to see through the special effects makeup.”
The zombie gestured to his neck, and Jacob caught his hand. “You sit still. You’ve been moving too much for that kind of injury. Stay still.”
The zombie’s wide eyes met his, and Jacob’s stomach twisted.
“Eight minutes,” he said, picking a number he hoped wasn’t too far from the truth. “That’s all we need. You just sit here, very still, and we’ll take care of you until they get here.” He half-turned his head, speaking to the others but keeping his eyes on the frightened zombie. “We need some blankets.”
Rita was gone, probably to the front desk. Jessica drew off her heavy cloak and laid it over the zombie. “Here.”
The zombie’s mouth worked, but the slipping facial prostheses confused the movement of his lips. “Shh,” Jacob said. “Be still. Try to relax.” It was a silly thing to say, but he could feel the zombie’s racing pulse through the saturated t-shirt as the heart tried to compensate for the lost blood.
Rita came back, accompanied by two hotel security guards. One knelt with a first aid kit as the other spread blankets across the zombie’s lap and torso.
“Don’t remove the shirt,” cautioned Jacob as the first drew bandages from the kit.
“I know.” She tore open sterile packaging and began to press gauze over the dark shirt.
The zombie’s breath was slowing now, too, and his head leaned heavily against the wall. Jacob looked at him. Would the ambulance be in time?
This hadn’t been an accident. Jacob leaned to face the zombie directly. “Who did this?” he asked. “Do you know who did this to you?”
The zombie’s eyes fluttered, and his mouth worked. Jacob could make out nothing. If he didn’t make it…. Getting a dying statement was unpleasant for all involved, but this might be their only chance to interview the victim.
He concentrated on choosing his words. “Do you understand that this is a very serious injury? That you’re dying?”
The wide, frightened eyes stared at him and the torn face bobbed slightly.
“Can you tell us who it was?”
The mouth moved again, but with his severed throat, he could not speak, and his bloodied lips and slipping prosthetics blurred his weak whisper.
“Shove over,” Zach said, appearing and kneeling on the other side.
The zombie spoke again, his stiff multi-layered lips and extra teeth slick with blood, and then he blinked at Zach.
“I got part of that,” Zach said, more gently than Jacob had ever heard him speak. “Can you say it again?”
The zombie’s eyes closed, but his mouth repeated the movements, and a little gurgle came from beneath the bloody shirt.
Zach glanced at Jacob, worried, and then the wail of sirens broke over the sounds of the zombie gathering. “There, you hear that?” Jacob said to the zombie. “They’re here. Now just hold on.”
The zombie’s eyes closed and his fingers tightened on Jacob’s wrist.
Chapter Twenty Four
The wounded zombie, despite the EMTs’ epinephrine and blood, did not survive the ambulance ride to the hospital.
The police were frustrated and their tempers were short. “How can no one have seen where he came from?” a uniformed man asked. He’d arrived shortly after the EMTs. “Nobody just appears in the middle of a hotel convention center with his throat cut. Where did it happen, and how did he get here?”
“The whole place was full of zombies,” Jacob said. “It was a big event. I’ll bet there were hundreds of zombies in the halls.”
“And lots of them were bloody and disfigured, and one more just blended right in,” Daniel said grimly. His escape to his room hadn’t lasted long. Now he wore jeans and a Darth Vader t-shirt. Jacob’s shirt had gone in the ambulance with the zombie, and he had gotten another Con Aid shirt from the Con Ops office, which hung too loose and too long on him.
“It was freaking ingenious,” Lydia put in, “if the killer wanted to cut the guy and buy himself time to get away. Everyone just thought he was part of the show until it was too late. Really sick, but ingenious.”
She’d come to join them as word spread through the con. This wasn’t like a rumor of a death by poisoning; this had been public and bloody, and hundreds of people had seen the gory zombie rushed through the lobby and into the ambulance. People were afraid, she’d reported.
“He lasted a long time, they said,” Detective Martin offered, coming into the staff suite. “He’d been bleeding for a while, and he stayed up longer than most would with that kind of wound. It might be that the killer didn’t think he’d even make it that far, and maybe he was supposed to be found hours later in some other place. No wallet or ID on him, so either it was robbery or it was supposed to look like it.”
“What do we think happened?”
“Too early to say for sure, but preliminary is that he was hit in the face at least once, with an object or fist or something blunt, and then his throat was cut. Could have been from front or behind, we won’t know until the ME has a chance to get a better look.”
“And that blow or blows loosened or moved the facial prosthetics, which is what made it so hard to understand him whispering.” Daniel nodded. “That makes sense. That, and that his larynx was cut.” He turned to Zach. “But you say you got something.”
Con Job Page 14