by Terry Odell
Maybe the lab techs with their fancy equipment—and a whole lot more expertise than Gordon claimed—could decipher the label. The date it had been refilled was in April, but whether it was this year or five years ago was another question. The prescription number was indecipherable, although it might have included a 6 or a 5. Or was it an S? Did prescriptions use letters?
He called Solomon. “Any news?”
“Only that Marianna Spellman seemed to be an extraordinarily healthy woman who had no business dying. I’m about ready to head for the station. Nothing I can do to speed things along. Everything’s going to the lab.”
“Hang on a sec.” Gordon told Ed about the prescription. “Do you think Asel would know what the pills are if I sent him a picture?”
“You can check yourself. If it’s a prescription drug, there will be a code imprinted in the pill. Make sure you look at both sides.” He gave Gordon the website to check.
A break? “Got it. Call you right back.”
Gordon found the website Solomon had given him, plugged in the numbers on the pills, and read the results. He checked the list of drugs Yolanda’s doctor had given them. It gave the unpronounceable ten-dollar generic names. He revisited the website results to see if they included those along with the brand names. Yes! There it was. With an internal fist-pump, he reached for the phone, then stopped and picked up the round pill case, scrutinizing the contents to see whether he’d missed any of the prescription drug hidden amongst the vitamins.
Excitement rising, he called Solomon. “The pills in the vial are Celexa, an anti-depressant. Forty-milligram tablets. The drug itself is citalopram hydrobromide.” He spelled it out. “Ask Asel if they can screen for that. Oh, and I found a pocket-size container of pills in Marianna’s purse. None of them had any markings.”
“Then they weren’t prescriptions. What did they look like?”
Gordon described them.
“Yep, those sound like the ones I found. Fits the supposition she kept the ones she’d take for the rest of that day with her if she wasn’t going to be in her room,” Solomon said. “I should have examined the whole container more closely, but at the time, I was thinking of analysis, and that falls into geek territory, so I turned it over to them.”
“Which goes against an overdose—assuming the tox screen proves it—being suicide. If you’re planning to kill yourself, why go to the trouble of packing your daily vitamins in your purse?”
“Unless she’d done that beforehand and forgot about them,” Solomon said. “As I recall, all the compartments in her case had the same assortments of pills, but I didn’t stop and count them. Or take them out to search for intruders. Too bad she didn’t have the super-deluxe model with different slots for morning, noon, and night instead of just the day of the week.”
“Not sure it would have mattered. Let’s get things moving on the tox screen, and checking the contents of the containers. Meanwhile, I’ve got a prescription vial label that needs to be enhanced to find out who it’s for, and what’s supposed to be in it, which might give us the best lead we’ve had so far. And we need to see if the same drug was found in Yolanda Orozco’s system.”
“I’ll let Asel know, and work out connecting with the private lab.”
Gordon thanked him and disconnected. Focused on the computer monitor again, he zoomed in on the image of the prescription vial for the name of the drug. It was possible the pills in the vial didn’t match the prescription, that Marianna was simply using it as a convenient container. He didn’t buy it, since none of her colleagues and acquaintances thought she took any medications at all. Didn’t mean she couldn’t have kept them secret, though, and it was one more piece of evidence that had to be dealt with. However, his gut said if she was taking secret meds, she’d have put them in a container like the red one she kept her vitamins in.
He made a note to follow up with the private lab testing the blood work from Yolanda if Asel or Solomon couldn’t get a speedy answer.
Gordon packed all the evidence, making sure to keep the pills and prescription vial in their own envelopes. Most of the rest was purse detritus, and he figured he could get away with putting it into one large envelope. The techs would be free to single out anything, should it turn out they needed it.
He’d finished sealing the box when the strains of “C is for Cookie” played from his cell phone. Smiling involuntarily, he answered. “Hey, Angie. What’s up?”
“I can’t talk now, but can you sneak away for a couple of minutes? Like right now?” When the call ended immediately, he stared at the box. Should he spend the couple of minutes it would take to assign an officer to drive it to the lab? Angie’s voice had been hushed, as if she didn’t want anyone to know she was making a call, but Gordon hadn’t discerned any stress. She hadn’t said he needed to drop everything and run. Sneaking away sounded more like something private, not police-related.
He grabbed the evidence box, rushed to the duty officer’s desk. Titch straightened, but didn’t leap to attention. Could he be mellowing? Gordon set the box on his desk. “I need this to get to the county geeks ASAP. Do we have enough manpower to spare an officer?”
Titch consulted a clipboard. “We’ve got enough deputies supplementing our force because of the shoot, so yes.”
“Then do it. I don’t need to mention the importance of chain of custody. No need for lights or sirens, but tell the officer he needs to get it to the lab without passing Go.”
Titch’s mouth twitched. “So, there’s no two-hundred dollar bonus?”
Titch was definitely mellowing. “You’ve got it. Let me know as soon as it changes hands.”
“Roger that, Chief.” Titch reached for his radio, and Gordon headed for Daily Bread at a good clip. One of the deputies was stationed at a barricade a block away, with about ten people craning their necks to try to see what was happening beyond their boundary. The deputy paused at Gordon’s approach, as if uncertain whether his orders to keep everyone out included the Chief of Police.
“Everything all right?” Gordon asked.
“Yes, sir,” the deputy said. “They’re shooting the street exteriors.”
Gordon stepped to the side of the barricade, caught a glimpse of cameras, lights, and the director yelling “Action”. He had a brief so it really does happen that way moment, and even an unexpected thrill as he watched half a dozen Mapleton extras walk along the sidewalk while Mai Phan carried two bulging plastic grocery bags—generic white—and Ian Patrick joined her, popped the trunk, then closed it after Mai put the bags inside.
“Cut,” Dawson shouted. “Let’s do it again.”
So why hadn’t Ian Patrick returned his call? And why hadn’t Dawson updated him that the actor had surfaced? Ian appeared hale and hearty enough. Gordon would make sure he spoke to the man once there was a break in the shooting. He nodded to the deputy, then went around the block, verified the Village was guarded before displaying his badge to another deputy, and then slipped to the rear entrance of Daily Bread. He tapped on the door.
Angie opened it and tugged him inside toward the office. Standing on tiptoe, she gave him an air kiss, then twirled around, arms outstretched.
“Do you like it?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.
Gordon knew better than to ask what she was talking about, and took a moment to study her. Jeans, sneakers, pale blue tee. Same hair. Ah, but a closer look showed she was wearing a layer of foundation and her lashes were long and black. Her lids shimmered, and her lips glistened. “You’re going to be an extra?” Solomon wasn’t the only one on the force with detection skills.
“Yes. Mr. Dawson said I could be sitting in one of the booths when they film the scene in the dining room. I think it was because he liked our food, but it’s so exciting I thought about waiting until after the movie came out before I told you—so you could be surprised, but that will be ages from now, and you know what they say. I might end up on the cutting room floor. So I thought if you had a chance, you might lik
e to watch my first—and probably last—job in the movies.”
“I’ll try,” he said. “When are they working on whatever scene you’ll be in?”
“From the way things are going, most of the afternoon. They should be finishing the outside stuff soon. Mai and Ian have been opening and closing that trunk all morning.”
“Speaking of Ian. When did he get here? Did you hear anything about why he hadn’t shown up?”
Angie shook her head. “I was in here most of the morning. When I had a chance to watch the shooting, Ian was there, and as far as I could tell, nothing unusual had been going on.”
Aside from one of their own being dead.
“What about Yolanda Orozco?” Gordon asked. “She was in charge of wardrobe. Did you have to check in anywhere to make sure your clothes were appropriate?” Gordon knew the shirt was Angie’s, and assumed the jeans and sneakers were as well.
“We went to Finnegan’s, which is where they’re staging everything. I thought your people were done in the Village already, but—” She flipped a hand into the air. “Anyway, they were using the back dining room for makeup and wardrobe. Someone checked out our clothes, and since I knew to wear a solid color shirt, I passed. There were three people doing makeup. I came here and called you when I was done.”
“Who approved your clothes?” He noticed she was wearing the lapis earrings he’d given her, and for some reason, it pleased him they’d be in the film.
Angie’s eyes narrowed, her head tilted. “I have no idea. It was a quick once-over, she signed a clipboard and sent me to makeup. But given it was an Asian woman, I don’t think it was Yolanda.”
“Did you talk to Isabella? She was in charge of the makeup trailer, according to Lionel Dawson.”
Angie scrunched her face. “You’re going all cop on me. Did I do something wrong? I thought you’d be excited, not give me the third degree.”
He gripped her hands. As always, her touch brought his world into alignment. Cop stuff was important, but it wasn’t as if he were the only one watching out for Mapleton. “I am excited. And I think this is fantastic for you. It’s … well, normally things are quiet here, so between the movie and having an unexplained dead body, I guess I am in full cop mode. So, I’m always searching for answers.”
“Point taken,” Angie said. “And, I did tend to … overhear stuff while I was waiting my turn. But it was all speculation, and did you hear about? stuff, and—” she gave him a broad grin. “And I did listen.”
Gordon kept his mouth shut. No point in admitting he knew of Angie’s love of gossip, and no need to mention he was crossing the line by accepting her help with a case. He’d have a foot in his mouth up to his knee no matter what he said.
Angie glanced toward the clock on the office wall. “I’ve got a couple of minutes. They’re going to be rehearsing in the diner. But I can tell you nobody thought much of Yolanda.”
Chapter 22
Nobody liked Yolanda? This was the first hint of negativity Gordon had heard. “Can you tell me more? Any particulars? Why people didn’t think much of her?”
“Nothing specific,” Angie said. “You know, furtive glances, lowered voices. I sort of got the impression she was prone to partying.” Angie mimed tossing back a drink. “But it was more like the feeling I got from the way the other movie people were talking. Nobody came right out and said anything.”
“An example?” Gordon said.
Angie tilted her head. “While we were waiting for our clothes to be approved, the makeup people were talking, saying they were glad wardrobe would run smoothly—no—faster. They said things would be faster than they usually were, and they wouldn’t be behind schedule.”
“Because Yolanda wasn’t there?”
“They didn’t exactly say it, but that’s the impression I got.”
“You don’t think they meant it was because people were wearing their own clothes?” Gordon asked.
Angie shrugged. “It could have. I told you, these were feelings.”
At least these were the normal kinds of feelings—not the ones Angie used to claim let her see things that hadn’t happened yet.
“And how many movie people did you come in contact with?” he said. “The makeup people, the wardrobe person, and who else? I thought there were only the two actors—Mai and Ian—and the rest were extras from Mapleton.” He thought for a moment. “Or did you overhear things when Lionel Dawson was working in the dining room yesterday? Maybe you got the vibes there, and they carried over to what you heard this morning.”
“Maybe. Yeah. I think that’s where I got the impression Yolanda might drink too much.” The front door opened. Angie checked the clock. “It’s almost time to start rehearsals in here. We can talk later, unless you want to watch.”
“Much as I’d love to, I’ve got to get to work.” He left through the back door, but not before watching one of the production crew herd a group of extras into the diner. Angie bounced on her toes and scampered out to join them.
Was Ian Patrick in the scene they were shooting? Could Gordon catch him before things got underway? The phone call Ian had made to Marianna Spellman the morning of her death had yet to be explained. Gordon hustled around to the street, where the technical crew was packing and moving equipment, but there were no actors of any variety. He asked one of the crew where they’d gone.
“Try Finnegan’s,” the man said. “Lunch is there, but we’re taking staggered meal breaks to keep things moving. Dawson probably would rather we skipped lunch, but the union would come down on him.”
Gordon strode to Finnegan’s, where Clarice, one of the wait staff, greeted him. “You come for lunch, Chief, or do you want to gawk at the movie people? If it’s lunch, it’s a buffet.” She pointed to a spread against the far wall.
Before answering, Gordon scanned the room. He spotted Ian Patrick and Mai Phan, along with two of the extras he’d seen on the street this morning. “I’ll let you know. I need to have a chat with one of the movie people first.” He left her and ambled over to Ian’s table.
“Hello, Mr. Patrick,” Gordon said. “I have another question or two for you.”
Ian set down the sandwich he was eating. “Is there a problem?”
“I hope not. Can we go somewhere and talk, please?”
Ian took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with a sip of soda. “Sure.”
Gordon led Ian to a bench outside the pub and recited the usual information into his recorder.
“Why didn’t you return my call?” he asked.
Ian frowned. “Your call?”
“I left you a voicemail yesterday.”
“Must have missed it. I was out hiking, taking pictures. No cell reception. The only people who’d have mattered were Lionel Dawson, or my agent. Most of the time, all I do is check my missed call log, and if there’s one from someone important, I call them back. Sorry.”
And the Chief of Police wasn’t important? Since he had the man in front of him, he let it slide. “When we interviewed you previously, you said you hadn’t seen Marianna Spellman on the day she died.”
“Correct. And, as I recall, I told you we didn’t have much reason to interact, and I’d never met her before this shoot.”
“Then why did you call her before six that morning?”
Ian’s eyebrows bunched. “Call her? I—wait. I was trying to call Mai, see if she wanted to meet up before our scene, and I hit the wrong number. I got Marianna instead. Apologized for the misdial, and that was that.”
“Can I see your phone?” Gordon asked. Ian’s contact list would confirm he had both Mai and Marianna’s numbers programmed in. He had to admit, it was a plausible explanation. He’d made similar errors himself.
“It’s at the hotel. I shouldn’t have had it yesterday, but I figured as long as it was off and in my pocket, Dawson wouldn’t be the wiser. Not that he doesn’t have his with him all the time. We were all notified that because the Village was off limits f
or an indefinite amount of time today, we should not bring anything with us, and he stressed the cell phone part. I was already on his shit list for ducking out the day before, so I’m playing the good little boy today.”
Gordon waited, and Ian went on. “It’s not like we’re in grade school. If there was a call back, I’d have been here. But sitting around and waiting … there’s enough of that when we’re working.” He glanced at his watch. “Are we done? I’d like to finish my lunch before I have to be on the set again.”
“One more question,” Gordon said. “Had you noticed anything that would lead you to believe Yolanda Orozco has a drinking problem? Heard any rumors she likes to party a little too much?”
“Yolanda? A party animal?” He snorted. “I suppose anything’s possible, but no, I hadn’t heard any buzz about that, and she seemed sober enough the times I met with her.”
“Thanks.” Gordon dismissed him. Ian returned to Finnegan’s. Gordon stayed on the bench and called Colfax. “You got anything for me?”
Colfax huffed. “What do you think this is? Television? Even the private labs take time. On the other hand, I caught three more cases. What’s new on your end?”
Gordon filled Colfax in on the discovery of the purse and the pills. “I sent pictures of the pill vial to the techs to see if they can enhance it and figure out who the prescription was for. And the lab is going to run tox screens on Yolanda and Marianna to test for citalopram.” He paused allowing for Colfax to ask him what it was, but the man didn’t say anything. Either he knew or was looking it up. “If it’s in both of them, I’m thinking we’ve got more than a coincidence.”
“What you think doesn’t matter. Asel’s got the final word on that.”
“I know, I know. But damn, my gut’s screaming this is a homicide.”
“Cut back on the chili,” Colfax said. “Hang on a sec. Got an email from the lab geeks.”
While Gordon waited for Colfax to read the lab’s email and get back to him, he wandered over to see how things were going at Daily Bread—or as it was called for the movie—The Mountain Café. They’d covered the picture window at the entrance with an opaque shade. Angie had explained it was not to avoid catching people who might be trying to peek in, or get themselves into a shot, but so they could control the lighting. He figured if he really wanted to watch, he could sneak in via Angie’s apartment, but the sooner these film people finished and left, the sooner his life could return to normal.