10 Movie

by Parnell Hall

  “What was?”

  “The dialogue part. When Wickem has Rick pinned against the rail.”

  “Against the rail?” Clark said.

  Sidney’s eyes widened. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Is that right?” Clark said. “Was it that rail?”

  “Christ, I think it was,” Sidney said.

  “Wickem pins who against the rail?”

  “Wickem pins Rick.”

  “And Rick is ...?”

  In what can only be described as a movie moment, Jason Clairemont, nerdy twerp superstar, stuck his head in the door and cheerfully announced, “Here I am.”

  19.

  JASON CLAIREMONT SEEMED RATHER CONFUSED.

  “Where I was? Why do you want to know where I was?”

  “Did I mention this was a homicide?” Sergeant Clark said.

  He had indeed, about the same time he’d booted Sidney Garfellow’s ass out of there, a fact the gentleman did not take kindly to, particularly since I got to stay.

  “Yes, of course,” Jason Clairemont said. “But I can’t see that. You say this man fell, then he fell.”

  “He fell because the rail was sawed through.”

  “That couldn’t be a mistake? A stupid workman builds the rail with a bad board? Didn’t notice someone started sawing it in half?”

  “Not just in half,” Sergeant Clark said. “The board was deliberately weakened in two places so the middle section would snap out.”

  Jason Clairemont smiled what I had come to realize was his trademark smile, the endearing one that made the moviegoing public forget he was a nerdy twerp. “Now then, Sergeant, if I were playing a lawyer I think I would have to object to that on the grounds that it was purely a conclusion on the part of the witness. How do you know that’s why the board was sawed like that?”

  “One indication is the way it was sawed.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Both cuts were made from the bottom outer edge. In other words, the board was sawed in half diagonally. The only cuts were on the bottom and outside, where they wouldn’t be seen. The top and inside were untouched. So to anyone standing on the catwalk, the rail would appear perfectly sound.”

  Jason pursed his lips. “I see.”

  “So,” Clark said. “There’s a strong possibility this was done deliberately. If so, I have to consider who it was intended for. In which case, there’s a good chance it was you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because according to the script, you lean on that rail.”

  Jason Clairemont frowned. “I do?”

  “Yes, you do. And according to the shooting schedule, you leaning on the rail was the first scene to be shot.”

  Jason blinked. His frown deepened. He put up his hands. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. What are you saying here? Are you trying to imply someone was trying to kill me?”

  “I’m not trying to imply anything. I’m sorting out the facts. The facts are that rail was weakened in the middle, the scene of you pinned against the rail was the first scene scheduled to be shot up there, and if that scene had been shot first, it’s entirely likely you’d have gone through that rail.” Clark shrugged. “What do you think? Does that sound like someone’s trying to kill you?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Jason said. “Who would want to kill me?”

  “I have no idea,” Clark said. “I was wondering if you did.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Jason said irritably. “The whole thing’s absurd.”

  “Maybe so, but a man is dead.”

  “I can’t understand that.”

  “I can’t either,” Clark said. “That’s why I’m asking questions. Now, in terms of you, why are you here so late?”

  “I have an eleven o’clock call.”

  “Who gave it to you?”

  Jason frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Who told you you had an eleven o’clock call?”

  “I think it was Phil.”

  “Who?”

  “My driver. Phil. He keeps track of stuff like that.”

  “Your driver? Would that be a teamster?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Why of course not?”

  “They don’t do anything, they just drive. Phil, he does what I ask. You know, like keep track of the paperwork. A pain in the ass, all the pages they hand you. Script revisions. Schedule changes. I’m an actor, I’m busy, I don’t have time for that stuff. I’d lose ’em. Phil doesn’t.”

  “I see,” Sergeant Clark said. “And Phil was the one who told you you had an eleven-o’clock call?”

  “I think so.”

  “Did he just tell you, or did he show you the schedule?”

  “Why would he show me the schedule? I’m sure he gave it to me with everything else. But he wouldn’t point it out to me, he’d just tell me that call.”

  “Are you saying he did?”

  “I think he did.” Jason shrugged. “He usually does.”

  “You understand, I’m not concerned with usually. I need to pin this down.”

  “I’m giving it to you the best I can. You can check with Phil.”

  “Thanks for the suggestion. Anyway, if Phil told you you had an eleven-o’clock call, that would be yesterday when he drove you home?”

  “More or less.”

  Sergeant Clark frowned. “What do you mean, more or less?”

  “That would be when he told me, but he didn’t drive me home.”

  “Oh?”

  “I went out to dinner. The Russian Tea Room. He dropped me off there.”

  “He didn’t wait and drive you home after?”

  “No. That would be ridiculous. After shooting, his day’s done. He takes me where I want to go and he’s through.”

  “How’d you get home after dinner?”

  “I took a cab.”

  “Where to?”

  “My hotel.”

  “What hotel?”

  “The Plaza.”

  “So what time did you get back there?”

  “Why?”

  “A man’s dead.”

  “Yeah, but what has this got to do with it?”

  “I have no idea. I ask my questions and try to figure things out. Right now I’m trying to figure out if the person who killed this boom man was actually trying to kill you. I’d appreciate your cooperation.”

  “You got it. I’d say I got back to the hotel around eleven.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “When you got back to the hotel—were you alone?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “What about it?”

  “Who did you have dinner with?”

  “Who said I had dinner with anyone?”

  “Well, did you dine alone?”

  Jason Clairemont frowned. “Actually, I had dinner with a young lady.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “I see no reason to bring her into this.”

  “I’d like to confirm your story.”

  For the first time, Jason appeared angry. “Story? What story? What the hell difference does it make what I did last night?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to determine,” Clark said evenly.

  “Well,” Jason said, “in point of fact, I dined with a young woman who’s got nothing to do with this, and that’s all I have to say on the subject. If that’s not satisfactory, talk to my agent. Also my publicist.” He held up his finger. “But I would be very unhappy if you happened to mess me up with the tabloid press.”

  “That’s not my intention,” Sergeant Clark said. “But the fact is, you got home around eleven last night, you knew you had an eleven-o’clock call this morning, so you slept late, rolled out of bed, and got here just now.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who brought you here? Your driver, Phil?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’d like to talk to
him.”

  Jason frowned. “Why him?”

  “Didn’t you say he was the one who gave you your call?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then I need to know who gave it to him. When I’m finished with you, I’d like to see this Phil. You say he brought you here, so he must be here now.”

  Jason frowned again. “Yeah, he’s here.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll talk to him next. Getting back to you, when did you come on the picture?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “When did you start work?”

  “Oh. Well, this is the first week of shooting. I was here for rehearsals, of course.”

  “How long was that?”

  “Just last week.”

  “I see. Are you from New York?”

  “No, of course not. California.”

  “I see. So you’re just here to do the picture?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You flew in when? The weekend before rehearsal?”

  “Actually, the week before that. I came in with my agent, put the final touches on the contract. Firmed up the deal. I’ve been here since then.”

  “I see,” Sergeant Clark said. “And had you ever been here before? At this location? Did you rehearse up there, for instance? Or scout it out?”

  Jason shook his head. “No.”

  “You’ve never been up there at all?”

  “No.”

  “So any fingerprints we found up there could not be yours?”

  “Say, what is this?” Jason said.

  “I believe it’s called the process of elimination,” Sergeant Clark said. “If you’ve never been up there, it makes my job a little easier.”

  “I’ve never been up there.”

  “So how’d you know you could do it? Suppose you got off the construction elevator and said, Oh, my god, I’m not going out there?”

  “I don’t have fear of heights,” Jason said.

  “Even so. Suppose you took one look and said, I’m not doing this. What would happen then?”

  “I assume they’d shoot somewhere else,” Jason said.

  I gritted my teeth. Arrogant schmuck. Yet, it occurred to me Jason was absolutely right—if he couldn’t shoot up there they would simply cater to his whim and shoot somewhere else. Even if it meant me rewriting the whole fucking sequence.

  There came a knock on the door and Perkins stuck his head in.

  “Found it, sir,” he said.

  He held up a large plastic evidence bag. In it was a huge chunk of wood, obviously part of the rail. Even through the bag it was easy to see that the ends had been sawed halfway through and then split.

  “Where was it?” Clark said.

  “Under a parked car. Must have bounced and skidded. That’s why nobody found it.”

  “Come in here,” Clark said.

  Perkins came up the steps into the Winnebago.

  Clark pointed. “Show it to him.”

  Perkins held the plastic bag out in front of Jason Clairemont.

  When Jason put out his hand, Clark said, “No, don’t touch it. Just look. See there, how it’s sawed in two, so that it would give way? Do you see that?”

  “Yes, of course,” Jason said.

  “And do you see how both cuts are the same, on the diagonal, so that from above they wouldn’t show?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Fine. Thanks, Perkins. That will do.”

  Perkins went out with the evidence bag, closing the door behind him.

  Sergeant Clark was looking at Jason Clairemont. “I wanted you to see that,” he said. “Do you know what that is?”

  “Sure,” Jason said. “A piece of the rail.”

  “Right,” Clark said. “A piece of the rail. And do you know what that piece of the rail is?”

  Jason frowned. “No. What?”

  “It’s a murder weapon,” Clark said. “That is the murder weapon used to kill the boom man, Charles Masterson. I wanted you to see it because, the way things look right now, there are two possibilities. One, the boom man is dead because someone wanted to kill the boom man. And two, the boom man’s death was an accident, and someone was actually trying to kill you.”

  “I understand,” Jason said.

  “Do you?” Clark said. “Good. Then I hope you understand this. If it’s the second-case scenario, if someone was actually trying to kill you ...”

  “Yes?”

  “They might try again.”

  20.

  THEY DESCENDED ON US LIKE LOCUSTS.

  No, not the TV crews that had arrived en masse as soon as they found out someone was dead—the police had set up barricades and were doing an excellent job of keeping them back. But the cast and crew swarmed around us. There were two police officers supposedly riding herd over them, but the poor men never had a chance. When MacAullif and I emerged from Jason Clairemont’s trailer, the movie crew pushed right by them and met us in the middle of the street.

  “What’s the story?” Sidney Garfellow demanded. “Is he letting us go?”

  “Not just yet,” MacAullif said.

  “What do you mean, not just yet? You came out of there, he must be done.”

  “Can we move it out of the street, please?” one of the officers said. To MacAullif he added, “Sergeant, could you help me in getting them out of the street?”

  “You heard the man. Back on the sidewalk,” MacAullif bellowed. He moved forward, flapping his arms, moving the crowd ahead of him.

  “Fine, look, here we are on the sidewalk,” Sidney said, hopping up onto it. “Now what the fuck’s the story? Is the questioning over?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you out here?”

  MacAullif frowned. We were out here because Sergeant Clark had decided he didn’t need us anymore. From my point of view, on the one hand I was miffed, but on the other I had no right to be there anyway. But MacAullif was a cop. Sergeant Clark telling him to get lost had to be a kick in the face.

  “He’s doing individual interrogations now,” MacAullif said. “One on one. Simple, straightforward, you don’t have to read anything into it.”

  “What?” Sidney said. “What shouldn’t I read into it?”

  Everyone laughed. After the tension they’d been under, they needed to laugh. I’m sure Sidney hadn’t expected it, but he covered well. Instead of acting embarrassed that they were laughing at him, he smiled and took credit as if he’d just made a joke.

  The attractive first AD spoke up. “Is Jason still in there?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Why? Is he a suspect?”

  MacAullif shrugged. “No more than anyone else.”

  “But he wasn’t even here when it happened. What does the sergeant want with him?”

  “Maybe he just wants his autograph.”

  “It’s not funny,” Murky chimed in. “Charlie’s dead.”

  “Right,” Sidney said. “It’s not funny. It’s fucking tragic. Meanwhile, we’re all trapped here like bugs in amber with nothing the fuck to do.” He turned back on MacAullif. “How much longer is this going to go on?”

  “You can judge for yourself. He’s got to question everyone here.”

  “Everyone?” the art director said. “I wasn’t even up there. I mean, why would he have to question me?”

  I looked at him, wondered if it was true. About him not being up there, I mean. If he had been, surely I would have noticed him; after all, he was black.

  Isn’t that a hell of a thing. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but when I thought that, I realized Lancelot Xavier was the only black man on the crew. For a crew that size, that seemed hopelessly out of proportion. It also occurred to me that, poor as I am with names, I knew his. And I had to wonder, did I remember it because it was an exotic-sounding name, or did I remember it because he was black? If so, was the bleeding-heart liberal guilty of yet another form of unintentional discrimination?

  Not that I had much time to dwell on it at the mom
ent. Actually, what impressed me more was the fact that Mr. Agreeable-this-will-do-nicely was actually taking exception to something.

  MacAullif didn’t give him any satisfaction. “Of course, you’ll be questioned,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if you were up there or not. The point is, someone weakened the rail. Didn’t have to be done today. So naturally the cops have to ask.”

  “Ask what?” the gaffer said irritably. “If we sawed the damn rail? I mean, is that what’s happening here? The guy’s gonna ask us if we did it? Thinkin’ if we did we’ll say, Oh, sure, you got me?”

  I had to suppress a smile. The gaffer—whose name I couldn’t remember and wondered if it was because he was white—was not the swiftest of individuals, but he happened to have voiced a sentiment I secretly sometimes shared. I wondered what MacAullif would say to that.

  I was not to find out. Because at that moment Jake Decker came pushing through the crowd.

  “Okay, I called the union,” he said.

  Sidney frowned. “The union? Why?”

  “To hire a new boom man.”

  Son of a bitch.

  Life goes on.

  Yeah, of course you have to hire a new boom man. A simple, obvious consequence. But I, like Sidney Garfellow, hadn’t even thought of it till Jake brought it up.

  “What did they say?” Sidney asked.

  “They’ll have someone by tomorrow morning. I figure today’s a wash. They’re not gonna round him up in time, and it doesn’t look like the cops are gonna let us shoot anyway.” He spotted MacAullif. “Oh, you’re out here. What’s the story? They windin’ this up?”

  “’Fraid not,” MacAullif said. “He’s still taking statements. And there’s a lot to go.”

  “Can you do anything about it?” Sidney said. He seemed to have forgotten his outburst at MacAullif, and treated him as his ally and conspirator again. “Can you hurry him along?”

  “I’ve done all I can. The man works at his own pace. I agree with Jake. Today’s a washout. The best I can do is try to insure you can shoot tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Sidney said. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “This is a murder investigation. It’s not going to go away. Assuming no one breaks down and confesses, it’s not likely to be solved this afternoon. That means Clark will be around tomorrow. The best I can do for you—and what I’ll try to do—is let you go ahead and film, and have him just grabbin’ people off the shoot.”