Con Job
Page 17
“And you’re worried that it won’t happen.”
“Now that everyone knows who I am? Who I was?”
“Not everyone,” Daniel corrected gently. “Some people, at one event.”
Jacob tried to smile and couldn’t manage it. “You say that like Twitter and Facebook and Tumblr don’t exist. Little Jakey Tarston appears at a geek convention with multiple murders? You think no one’s going to grab on to that detail in a news story? I guess I can hope for a nuclear strike or something to draw off attention, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
Daniel sighed. “Unfortunately, I think you’re right. It’s not news unless it has a celebrity name in it.” He folded his hands. “But — I know my perspective on this is different than yours, but that’s an advantage right now. I know this seems like the biggest thing in the world, like it’s your whole life. Because it is your whole life, so that only makes sense. But it’s not everyone else’s life, and I don’t think they’re going to look at it the same way.”
Jacob eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”
“I mean people are selfish, egotistical little entertainment-seeking missiles, and if it’s not about them or amusing them, they forget about it like absent-minded goldfish on meth.” He shrugged. “So even if the story breaks, you sit tight and keep your head down, and don’t give them any drama. Don’t fight, don’t argue about what they’ve done, don’t talk about your new plans. Just, don’t. And with no news about what you’re doing, no hype about what you’ve done, not even any controversy over whether they should be focusing on you, they’re going to get bored and go watch the next Kardashian wedding or Hollywood rehab failure.”
Jacob stared at him. “I don’t think you get it. We’re talking the exposure of my life’s biggest horror, the secret I’ve tried to hide for years. The thing that could keep me out of the Academy.”
“And that’s a legitimate concern,” conceded Daniel. “It’s like taking one of the Toddlers and Tiaras brats and giving her a patrol car, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon. But remember, they’re evaluating you, not your television history. And if you’re calm and stable while this explodes around you, and you roll through it like a boss, that’s going to say a lot more.” He tipped his head in the direction of the Con Ops room. “Your friend did you a favor in there, but you can’t count on her to save you again.”
Jacob looked away. “I don’t know that I can just stand there while everyone’s watching old clips of me pulling my pants down.”
“Well, that might be a challenge.” Daniel sighed. “I’m not pretending it’ll be easy. I’m just saying that’s your best bet, if you want to ride this thing out and look good on the other side.”
Jacob propped his head in his hands.
“You and your aunt kept a tight lid on this thing for a long while,” Daniel said. “How’d it come out now? Where did all those episodes in the panel rooms come from?”
“I have no idea. But they didn’t connect to me, not directly. Not like this.” He clenched his fists. “That was Ryan Brazil.”
“What?”
“He got wind of the Facebook thing with Sam. Figured I was the one who had reported him, probably since I’d asked him about the pictures. So he checked in my wallet when I had it out on the table, looking for dirt. All he found was the driver’s license, but that was enough. And that was his revenge, blowing it up for the entire freaking convention. He gets caught creeping on girls, so I get to lose everything I’ve worked for over the majority of my life.” Jacob shook his head. “Figures he’s the kind of low-life who would even watch something like Cougars and Cold Ones.”
Daniel snorted. “He’s a classy fellow, all right. If it helps, just think of him as paying for your college education.”
Jacob smiled weakly. “Yeah. Kinda hard to think of him putting me through school.”
“You should thank him for it.”
Jacob turned to look at Daniel, incredulous.
“No, you should. Right to his face. Let him know that because of him and people like him, you’re finishing your degree with no overhanging student loans.” Daniel’s teeth flashed. “Be very sincere.”
Jacob snorted. “Okay, yeah, that might be funny. Right after I get done punching him repeatedly in the face.”
Daniel leaned back in his chair. “Sounds like you’re going to have to work a bit on that ‘ride it out’ thing.”
They were silent a moment. Jacob sighed and dropped his head into his hands again. His head hurt, and the movement pulled at taut muscles across his neck and shoulders.
“So your aunt Lydia made it,” Daniel mused. “She got away from the family sphere and made it into law school. How’d she do it?”
“She worked her freakin’ butt off,” Jake said.
Daniel raised his eyebrows. “Good for her.”
“Yeah. There’s a reason she collects superhero figurines. It’s like her real family album.” Jake grinned tiredly.
“She say that?”
“Nope. Just me. It’s true, though. Nobody’s tougher than my Aunt Lydia.” He tipped his head to one side, stretching his neck.
“What would she do if her connection with the family was exposed?”
Jacob turned an exhausted glare on him. “Now you’re cheating.” He exhaled. “There isn’t a psychological interview for practicing law. It’s a lot more academic than profiling.”
“Not for clients.” Daniel shifted in his chair. “It’s personal for clients. Really personal. They need to connect with their attorney, they have to trust her. Right? So what would she do if suddenly that got around, and all her clients and potential clients learned she was part of the Cougars and Cold Ones family?”
Jacob picked up an energy drink, turning the can to occupy his hands, and tried to seriously consider it. “She… She would own it. Use it to point out how far she’s come, and how it can help her relate to them. We’ve all got stuff we need to get past, and she’s gotten past hers, and let her help you past yours.” He paused. “I hadn’t thought about it, but yeah, that’s what she’d do. Own it.”
“Hm.” Daniel nodded once. “Smart lady, your aunt.”
Jacob didn’t answer.
A moment passed, and then Daniel stood. “Okay, let’s get back to Ops and see what else is on fire now. And oh, how I hope that’s not literal.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
Daniel’s encouragement made Jacob feel a little better, until they reached the lobby and he saw a hotel screen and the rotating Happy Birthday Little Jakey Tarston message.
His steps slowed, and Daniel gave him an understanding look. “I’ll go ask the front desk to take it down,” he said.
Jacob nodded, and the officer walked away.
This was it. Everything he’d tried to leave behind, to bury, had come to threaten what he had and nearly had. If Daniel was right, if there was some chance he could survive this thing, he could afford no misstep at this moment. Stay focused, move forward, ride it out.
Someone who wanted to get into police work for the right reasons, who wouldn’t endanger or embarrass the department? That façade of normality was pretty much blown out of the water now. He wanted to do the work — but now he would have to prove he was capable.
And he had a chance to do so right now. He was in the center of a multiple-homicide investigation which had stymied the force thus far. If he found the killer now, they would have to recognize his potential. No, not potential, not after that — his skill.
He’d worked toward this for years, taken specialized classes and trained physically all with the goal of entering the Academy and eventually making Detective. He wasn’t going to lose that, wasn’t going to let it be taken from him by a single cruel prank at a gathering of what was supposed to be like-minded enthusiasts and friends.
“It’s gone,” Daniel said, returning. “I’m going to bed. Again. You going to be okay?”
Jacob nodded. “Nothing rash, I promise.”
Jacob took the folded sheet with his mind map from his pocket and spread it flat. He had notes, he had local insight. One of Jessica’s classic mystery sleuths would have said he had everything he needed to uncover the killer. Now he just had to do it.
And it would be a helluva lot easier on his mind than thinking of everyone staring up at the Cougars and Cold Ones screen.
He threw himself into a chair and stared at the mind map. The scarcity of lines connecting events and facts mocked him. He knew nothing.
A man in hotel livery was fumbling with the pass-through’s security grate; the staff was tired, too. Jacob saw Paul leaving the Con Ops room. “Are we locking up?”
“Yeah,” Paul said. “Vince wanted someone here all night, but I’m done. It’s been a long and crazy day, as if you didn’t know, and I’m toast.”
Jacob nodded. “I hear ya.” He glanced at the energy drink in his hand and then held it up. “I’m not going to bed anytime soon. You want me to cover the graveyard shift?”
“Would you?” Paul looked grateful. “I can’t imagine there would be much, just if the overnight panels or viewing rooms had a problem. Anything major, drunks at the dance or something, you can call hotel security. Thanks, thanks a lot. I know you’ve gone way beyond the call of duty this weekend.”
“Not a problem.” Jacob gave him a little salute. “I’m not exactly in a sleeping mood.” And staying overnight would let him browse the computer and the submitted photos.
The hotel employee put the grate back up. “If you decide to close up,” he said, “have the front desk call maintenance, and they’ll get someone here with a key.”
“Got it.” Jacob settled himself again into the chair and took a drink. It had been a long day, but maybe the caffeine would kick his brain into a higher gear. Surely there would be a clue in the photos, something to suggest the killer or even just the motive.
He turned to the computer and alt-tabbed to the Twitter feed. Time to scan.
Several hundred con-goers had tweeted pictures of the conservatory and lobby, and Jacob downloaded each of the hashtagged photos into a folder. The police would be gathering the photos submitted through Flickr, and those probably wouldn’t be shared, but he could browse the Twitter photos with the #ConJobPhotoReq hashtag.
For any clues. He felt like such an idiot, working outside the official investigation and not even as a proper investigator. Despite the pink- and green-clad costumed characters with their plush Great Dane in the hall, meddling kids didn’t solve real crimes while the police bumbled through comedy. But Jacob’s secret was out, and he was never going to be a proper investigator in an official investigation if he didn’t somehow prove that he was capable despite his humiliating background.
There were hundreds of pictures of group photoshoots in the conservatory, often a dozen or more of nearly the identical shot. Star Trek, My Little Ponies, Naruto, Doctor Who, Batman and assorted villains and colleagues, Supernatural, Game of Thrones, Sherlock, Avengers and friends….
Jacob sighed. The photos were mostly obligatory line-ups, group hugs, mock battles, shipping of paired characters or the occasional threesome, and other pictures which seemed to have nothing at all to do with any of the three murders. This was a waste of time and computer memory.
Others had tweeted photos they’d taken of individual cosplayers or small groups. Here was a complete crew of the Serenity, here were just Wash and Zoë with their arms comfortably about one another, and then another picture of Wash crouching wide-eyed behind Zoë as she brandished an enormous gun. Here was a picture of Darth Vader force-choking a Mandalorian. Here was Pyramid Head threatening a Nurse. Here was one of Sailor Moon with Sailors Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune, and Uranus, with Sailor Pluto off a few steps sobbing into her hands. Jacob smiled at that one.
There were photos of the zombie apocalypse now, too, even though no request had actually gone out yet. It was good to know that people wanted to be helpful, but it meant several hundred more photos to sort through, most of which didn’t include the zombie victim. Jacob decided to skip them for the moment and concentrate on what Laser might have inadvertently captured in the conservatory.
He found more photos of Supernatural and Once Upon A Time characters, Sherlock, John Watson, and Mycroft all facing down a defiant Moriarty, a large gold ballgown resembling a Dalek and a large blue one clearly meant to represent the TARDIS. And then there was a photo of the CLUTCH cosplayer, all white and flowing silks, before her grey-green encounter with the Mole. She was kneeling, one arm outstretched to display the embroidery. The photo’s edge showed a shoulder and arm which probably belonged to Laser, so the photo had been shot alongside her as she was working. It was a different angle than Laser’s, as she would not have set up a shot to include the service door which broke up the beautiful conservatory background, even half-hidden behind a potted topiary.
The user had tweeted several photos, taken in sequence, of the gorgeous costume. The second showed the service door half open, with a figure coming through. The figure’s face and torso were shielded by the door. More of Laser was visible in this photo as well, looking down at the settings on her camera.
The third photo was blurred, and Jacob couldn’t see much more than Laser holding her camera with one hand and pointing across the frame, probably at someone holding an off-camera flash. Jacob had seen enough of her shoots, some of Sam, to imagine that she was calling instructions to change the angle of the flash or adjust the speed.
The fourth photo showed Laser slightly out of focus, still calling instructions to her flash assistant. The cosplayer was also out of focus, not selected by the camera’s auto-focus. The service door was more fully open, showing a second man entering behind the first, not really visible. The second was in some sort of sentai costume. The first could now be seen more clearly, dressed in the red and orange uniform of the Fierce Burger franchise. He was in front of the door, captured mid-stride past the topiary, and he was looking straight at Laser.
Jacob stopped and looked at the photo, just staring. It meant nothing, really. Anyone might have stopped to look at the photographer crouching in the middle of the floor and calling instructions. The fact that a fast food worker was curious about the photographer meant nothing.
Why was a fast food worker coming out of the service corridor? The conservatory didn’t link to the food court, where the Fierce Burger counter was. Again, it meant nothing on its own, but he was curious.
Jacob looked at the second man, but the door obscured too much. It might have been the Terra Vista Ranger, but there was no shortage of sentai sources, and even if it were it could have been either Christopher Adams or someone doing a version in homage of the Big Name Fan, which happened occasionally.
He moused down to the zoom selection and blew up the picture, but it didn’t help much. The first man was clearly looking right at Laser, pixelated eyes right on her.
Jacob made a note of the file name. The police would see them all eventually, but it would be good to point this one out first. Laser hadn’t been a murder victim, but it would be good to find her assailant as well.
He moved back to the filtered tweets with hashtags and found the next photo. And he realized his efforts on the previous one had been superfluous, because this was the photo they needed.
The photo was another of the CLUTCH cosplayer, who filled most of the frame. But the inexpert photographer had caught Laser at the side of the photo, still looking at her off-camera assistant. Her camera was pointing off as she gestured elsewhere, and Jacob knew from watching Sam’s shoots that she was firing disposable photos as she tested the flashes. The camera was angled toward the service door, and while Laser wasn’t even looking in that direction, it was likely she had captured a couple of photos of it.
At the door, the Fierce Burger employee had turned back in apparent protest. The second man’s
eyes were fixed on Laser, dark and hard. And his face, caught in the camera’s auto-focus, was sharp enough to identify as Christopher Adams.
Chapter Twenty Nine
It probably meant nothing. It certainly proved nothing. Laser, and at least one other con attendee, had photographed Christopher Adams in the background during the photoshoot of Achenar from Crooked Running Water by CLUTCH, the Heavenly Wedding arc, artbook version.
There were a hundred reasons why Christopher might be looking directly at Laser, ranging from the fact that she was crouching on the open floor and making noise to the fact that she was calling instructions to the fact that she was a pretty girl who might draw a man’s eyes. None of that suggested any acts of violence.
There were probably perfectly good reasons why Christopher might be emerging from a service corridor as well. Laser herself had said that she liked to shoot some costumes in such places for the claustrophobic atmosphere. And Christopher was wearing his trademark Terra Vista Ranger costume, so he might have been working with another photographer. Jacob could ask him. It seemed unlikely, anyway, that he would have been doing a photoshoot with the Fierce Burger employee.
Maybe the Fierce Burger guy wasn’t really a Fierce Burger employee, or at least wasn’t from the conference food court. Jacob might have missed an advertising campaign which had become a sort of meme or gained an underground following. Stranger things had happened, and Jacob had seen cosplayers of insurance spokespeople, fast food mascots, and even retail products themselves.
The Fierce Burger guy didn’t seem to be simply holding the door for Christopher but was looking directly at him. Jacob squinted. Was he gesturing at Laser? It was hard to say. But he had been looking at her in the previous photo, so perhaps he was.