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by Lee Goldberg

  She stiffly and self-consciously re-enacted her look of surprise. The camera whip-panned down the aisle for a glimpse of what looked like a small dog, then cut to an extreme close-up of Boo Boo from an episode of Boo Boo's Dilemma. "It was Boo Boo," Gladys narrated. "Right there in Wal-Mart. The dog saw me and ran away."

  The action cut back to the Command Center, where Sabrina now sat with Gladys at one of the computer consoles. "I was terrified," Gladys confided to Sabrina. "I was afraid whoever stole Boo Boo would come after me."

  Sabrina gave Gladys a reassuring squeeze and a glance full of concern, then turned to the camera.

  "Our team of investigators is in Sacramento at this moment, looking for clues," Sabrina said. "If you saw Boo Boo, call the nine hundred number on your screen. Each call costs $2.50 a minute, a portion of which will be used to continue our nationwide search for Boo Boo. In a moment, we'll visit a New Jersey front yard where Boo Boo may have left his mark only hours after his disappearance ..."

  Charlie didn't get the chance to see the famous soiled shrub, because Ratliff arrived with his release papers. The guard reluctantly tore himself away from Where's Boo Boo? to unlock Charlie's cuffs.

  Ratliff quickly led Charlie through the jail house, self-assuredly taking him through back corridors and secluded stairwells as if he'd designed the building himself. Finally, they emerged in an alley behind the building, where Charlie found a rented Chevy Lumina waiting for him.

  Ratliff gave him a firm handshake and handed him the keys. "Stay away from the press. If they happen to find you, don't say a word and, whatever you do, don't hit any of them."

  "I haven't heard the news," Charlie said. "What are they saying about me?"

  "You don't want to know," Ratliff replied. "But we've leaked the section of the police report regarding your motive. When the truth comes out about Esther, and what she did to you, this is gonna look like justifiable homicide."

  "I didn't do it."

  "Whatever." Ratliff waved the thought aside. "If I do my job right, by the time this is over, your TVQ will be higher than ever."

  "Of course, I may be on death row at the time."

  "But think of the TV movie and publishing action we can get," he replied. "It could be enough to finance your appeals."

  "What a reassuring thought." Charlie walked around the car to the driver's side.

  "We always look at the bright side." Ratliff gave Charlie the thumbs-up. "I want to see you in my office the day after tomorrow. We have to start preparing your defence."

  Charlie nodded and got in the car. Ratliff suddenly remembered something. As Charlie pulled out, Ratliff yelled after him.

  "Don't forget my T-shirt!"

  Charlie waved to him to show he'd heard, and steered the car onto a side street to avoid the reporters out front. He knew where he had to begin if he was going to find out the truth. With Flint Westwood.

  It took him twenty minutes to get to Flint's place. He parked across the street and studied the house. There were no lights on, and Flint's car wasn't out front. Not that Charlie worried about running into Flint, but he wanted to know more before forcing an encounter.

  Charlie got out of the car, crossed the street, and went straight for Flint's fuse box. He carefully lifted the panel to reveal the tiny tape recorder that he'd attached to the wiring several days ago. The miniature tape contained all the messages that had been sent from the voice-activated bug he'd planted in Flint's phone.

  He pocketed the recorder, got in his car, and drove off, listening to the tape as he headed down Wilshire Boulevard toward Santa Monica, for lack of a better place.

  There were several calls to Pinnacle Studios and to the set of Frankencop looking for either Eddie Planet or Delbert Skaggs. Charlie was familiar with Eddie Planet but had never heard of Delbert Skaggs, who, he gathered from the calls, was also a producer on the show.

  The desperation in Flint's voice increased with each failure to reach Eddie or Delbert. Flint called their cars, their homes, and finally placed a call to the Mirage Hotel in Las Vegas, where he asked for Daddy Crofoot's suite.

  Charlie pulled over at Bundy and clicked off the recorder so he could think where he had heard Crofoot's name before. It must have been ten years ago. There had been a shooting outside of a Beverly Hills restaurant, and he was assigned to traffic control. A bunch of guys had opened fire on the diners, gunning down a group of insurance salesmen they'd mistaken for an East Coast mobster and his cronies. The mobster they were after was Daddy Crofoot. The suspected shooters were later found floating in the Los Angeles River with their throats slit.

  Why would Flint Westwood be calling a mobster?

  Charlie switched on the recorder again and eased the Lumina back into traffic. Flint's call was put through to Crofoot's suite and someone, presumably Crofoot, answered.

  "Yes?"

  "Where's Skaggs?" Flint demanded desperately. "I've been looking all over the fucking planet for him."

  "Calm down, Flint. He's right here with me. Now what's the problem?"

  "Charlie Willis." Flint replied. "He's an ex-cop."

  "I know who he is," Crofoot said.

  That remark surprised Charlie, until he remembered the media attention the My Gun Has Bullets shooting attracted.

  "Is it safe to talk on this line?"

  "If it wasn't, we wouldn't be talking."

  "Right," Flint said. "Okay, here's the thing, Willis broke into my place, knocked me around, and found my home entertainment system."

  "What do you mean, your 'home entertainment system'?"

  There was a moment of silence on the line. "You know what I need to get it up. I had a babe with me, I was taking pictures, and he stormed in, kicked the shit out of me and took my film."

  "Delbert, there's an extension by the couch, get in on this," Crofoot said.

  There was a click, and then a new voice entered the conversation. Charlie presumed it was Delbert Skaggs, who asked to be filled in on the details. Crofoot quickly summarized things for him.

  "So you were filming your fuck with hidden cameras?" Delbert asked.

  "Yeah."

  "Who was the woman you were with?"

  "Sabrina Bishop," Flint said. "She's on Miss Agatha."

  "Willis took the film of Flint doing her," Crofoot said. "So what?"

  Flint cleared his throat. "Actually, he stole the film of me and someone else."

  "Who?" Delbert asked.

  Flint hesitated for a moment. "Esther Radcliffe."

  Crofoot exploded, yelling into the phone. "Why the hell were you fucking that withered old bag?"

  "For fifty grand a pop," Flint said.

  "Are you out of your goddamn mind?" Crofoot yelled. "Do you realize the position you've placed the show in?"

  "I was doing it to help the show," Flint said. "It was gonna be a surprise."

  "Believe me, it is."

  "You don't understand," Flint said. "I was gonna bleed her for every cent she had, and then send out the pictures anyway. You know, cropped real tight so all you saw was her and my big dick. It would have ruined her show."

  "Miss Agatha was on Sundays," Delbert said. "They just moved opposite us."

  "I was looking ahead," Flint said.

  "Can we do something about this, Delbert?" Crofoot asked calmly.

  "I think I can take care of it," Delbert said. "It could even work out to our advantage."

  "I don't see how," Crofoot said, "but do what you have to do. Flint, I'll talk to you later. "

  Crofoot abruptly hung up.

  Charlie twisted the steering wheel, forcing the car into a tight, screeching U-turn across Wilshire Boulevard. He slammed down on the gas, the tires smoking, and roared back toward the San Diego Freeway.

  There was more to Esther's killing than covering up Flint's stupid blackmail scheme. Somehow the mob was involved in Frankencop, and Charlie had stumbled into it.

  Who was Delbert Skaggs? Was he the one who planted the money on Charlie? Could he
have killed Esther Radcliffe? And was she killed to frame Charlie or for some other reason?

  Charlie weaved through the cars in front of him, then cut across Wilshire Boulevard traffic onto the freeway on-ramp, roaring up the shoulder and into the northbound lanes. His speedometer edged past 90 as he sped through the Sepulveda pass, using the shoulder as his own private lane, leaning on his horn to force cars out of his path.

  He began to think back on the events of the last few weeks, and a disturbing trend began to emerge. All the tragedies that had befallen the industry had benefited Frankencop. The shooting death on My Gun Has Bullets. The electrocution of the Two Dicks. The disappearance of Boo Boo. And now, the murder of Esther Radcliffe.

  Was it a coincidence, or something more? Charlie knew his own future could depend on the answer to that question ... and finding the proof to back it up. And he knew exactly where to start.

  Pinnacle Studios.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The mistake most crazed fans made trying to break into the studio was that they went through the front gate. There were at least a hundred ways onto the lot. You could get in through the tour, the office tower, the two dozen buildings that ringed the perimeter, the employee parking structure, and the various service tunnels.

  Or you could do what Charlie did, and just climb the fence where the security camera is blocked by a billboard advertising Pinnacle's latest, high-concept, over-budget, flop movie. Which, at the time, was another remake of King Kong, starring Shannen Doherty.

  Charlie dropped over the other side of the fence somewhere in Spain. The famed Spanish street was part of Pinnacle Studios' "little Europe" section of the backlot, which gave so many of Pinnacle's 1960s espionage series their international production value.

  He crept through villages in Italy, Germany, and France, then trudged through the jungles of Africa, which at times had also been the jungles of Vietnam, South America, and the planet Umgluck, among others.

  Finally, after traversing half of the earth and some alien worlds, he found himself outside Eddie Planet's bungalow.

  Because producers had such faith in the security of the lot itself, they didn't take many precautions with their own offices beyond a decent dead-bolt. Besides, what was there to steal, story ideas? No one would notice, or care.

  Charlie didn't bother with the lock; instead he found an unlocked window, slid it open, and climbed in.

  He found himself in the outer office, where the walls were adorned with publicity posters from Eddie Planet's shows.

  He's the best deputy ever to wear the badge. And this town wants him, dead or alive. DEPUTY GHOST. Taming the West from beyond the grave.

  What do you get when you take the best of a dozen dead cops? One incredible cop. FRANKENCOP. Coming this fall!

  Charlie studied the Frankencop poster. In small print, he saw the words Eddie Planet Films in association with Pinstripe Productions. Perhaps that was where Daddy Crofoot and Delbert Skaggs fit in.

  He continued on, passing a door that had Executive Bathroom written on it in Magic Marker, and stopped when he saw Delbert Skaggs's nameplate on a set of closed double doors.

  Charlie opened the doors, expecting an opulent office. Instead, he saw the same basic furniture that Pinnacle provided in most of their offices and that almost all the high-profile producers tossed out in favor of something more stylish.

  The corner office was dominated, however, by a giant schedule board. Already the magnetic placard for Miss Agatha had been removed, leaving two empty spaces opposite Frankencop where series should be.

  The placards for The Two Dicks, My Gun Has Bullets, Boo Boo's Dilemma, Johnny Wildlife and Miss Agatha were being used as paperweights on Delbert's neatly organized desk.

  Charlie sat down at Delbert's desk and examined the board for a moment. He remembered seeing one in Jackson Burley's office, too. It was almost as if the things were altars, symbolizing the religion this strange sect of people lived by. But what they did in front of it after genuflecting wasn't clear to him.

  Burley had likened it to the chalkboard a football coach might use to illustrate plays to his team. This, Burley had told Charlie, is the playing field. The only thing you don't see is the ball or the goalposts, but they are there.

  Charlie tried to understand the game that was in play on the board now, feeling that if he did, things might suddenly make sense. But the board seemed lifeless to him, hardly the strategy in motion.

  He turned in his seat and scanned the desktop. In front of him he saw a yellow legal pad on which a very different schedule had been drawn. It was the original three-network line-up for Thursday night as it stood at the beginning of the season. The ratings of each show had been jolted down beside their listings.

  Lifting the page revealed another sketch, this time of a schedule with The Two Dicks and Boo Boo's Dilemma X'd out. Beside each show that followed Boo Boo's Dilemma on UBC Delbert had written a "current rating" and a "probable rating." In each case, the probable ratings dived. Except for Frankencop, which dramatically increased. Obviously, Delbert was guessing what would happen to the performance of those shows if they lost Boo Boo's lead-in. Which Charlie knew couldn't conceivably happen, since Boo Boo's Dilemma was the highest-rated show in America, and there was no way Don DeBono was going to move it.

  Unless someone else did.

  It was a chilling thought. Charlie quickly flipped through the pad—on each page was another hypothetical schedule, each one anticipating what effect the loss of a particular competitor would have on Frankencop's ratings.

  Now they're are dead, Charlie thought, just like Delbert imagined. Lucky Delbert.

  Finally, there was a page in which Miss Agatha was slotted against Frankencop. The "current rating" for Frankencop was far below the rating for Miss Agatha. On the next page, Miss Agatha had been X'd out, and the "probable rating" for Frankencop doubled.

  Now it all made sense to Charlie. The accidents, the frame-up, Esther's murder.

  The mob owned Frankencop, and they were killing anybody who got in the show's way. As long as it was on the air, people would die.

  With the pictures of Flint taking Esther's money, and the secret recording of Flint's call to Las Vegas, Charlie figured he had enough evidence to clear himself and, possibly, stop Delbert Skaggs before anyone else got hurt. Especially Sabrina.

  He took the notepad and left in a hurry.

  Eddie Planet eased open the Executive Bathroom door and peeked out in time to see Charlie Willis slip out the window.

  Earlier in the evening, Eddie had been in his office, punching up a particularly awful Frankencop script, when Where's Boo Boo? came on the air.

  He watched it mesmerized, knowing deep in his gut that he was witnessing television history. Where's Boo Boo? was an inspired, brilliant conception on every commercial and creative level. His immediate gut reaction was the show would grab a minimum 30 share. His immediate gut reaction also sent him running to his Executive Bathroom.

  If Where's Boo Boo? could knock out a 30 share or more, it could make hits out of whatever stupid sitcoms or lame action shows followed in its wake. Which translated into doom for Frankencop, and a lot more killing. And with Delbert Skaggs's imminent demise, the responsibility for murdering the competition would fall to Eddie.

  That prospect was enough to send anyone scurrying to the nearest toilet, especially a man with as sensitive a digestive system as Eddie Planet.

  So there he was, sitting on the toilet, pants around his ankles and Watchman on his lap, when he heard someone crawling through the window in the outer office.He turned off the mini-TV and listened to the footsteps move down the hall.

  At first he was afraid it was someone coming to kill him,maybe Delbert, maybe someone else. But the intruder went straight for Delbert's office, spent a few minutes inside, and then hurried down the hall.

  Eddie took a chance and opened the door a crack, enough to see that the intruder was Charlie Willis.

  What wa
s he doing here, in Eddie's bungalow, only a day after being arrested for murdering Esther Radcliffe?

  Of course, Eddie knew Delbert had done it, but how could Charlie Willis possibly know?

  Oh God, did he know?

  Suddenly, Eddie's stomach was seized by the memory of Charlie Willis, the morning after the shooting on his show, staring out from Eddie's TV set, his gun aimed at his unknown adversary.

  I don't know who set me up, but I got a message for you. My gun has bullets and I'm coming for you.

  What if Charlie thought it was Eddie who had set him up? What if Charlie came gunning for him?

  Eddie grabbed his cramping stomach and tried to think. Breaking into a studio had to be a violation of Charlie's release. If Eddie could get him thrown into jail, maybe Crofoot knew some people who could jam a shiv into Charlie or something. At least if Charlie was in jail, Eddie would be safe from him.

  Eddie picked up his cellular phone and dialled.

  "Hello, security? This is Eddie Planet. Somebody just broke into my bungalow. I don't know for sure, but I think he had a knife, maybe even a gun."

  # # #

  Charlie was walking down a snow-capped street in Copenhagen when he was caught in the glare of headlights. He whirled around to see a Pinnacle Studios security cart humming up behind him.

  "Stop right there," the security guard ordered from his souped-up golf cart.

  Charlie dashed into the nearest storefront, came out of a saloon in Dodge City on the other side, ran across the dusty street, through the Silver Dollar Hotel facade and emerged from the courthouse that dominated the square of Anytown, USA. The main street led off into a painted backdrop of a country road that seemed to meander off into the horizon.

  For a moment, he stood in the town square, a bit disoriented, feeling like a hapless, time-traveling protagonist in a bad Twilight Zone episode. Then he heard the buzz of an approaching security cart and the crackle of a walkie-talkie. He crawled underneath the bandstand just as the high-powered floodlights around the square flashed on. Suddenly, the entire town was awash in light.