10 Movie

by Parnell Hall

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “What?”

  “Well, that’s significant.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s Jason Clairemont’s double. If Jason were to die, he could do the part.”

  Sergeant Clark didn’t seem impressed. “How could that be? Hasn’t Jason already been filmed? I mean up close? Haven’t we seen his face?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “So there you are. How could this actor step in? Unless you filmed those scenes over. And on a picture with this budget, how could that be done?

  “Besides, Jason Clairemont is a star. This fellow isn’t. How could you do a picture with him? I imagine some of the funding is even tied up with Jason Clairemont’s name.”

  “Maybe so,” I said. “But this guy could think he’d get Jason Clairemont’s part.”

  “Just because you think so?” Clark said. “From talking to the fellow, it seems the furthest thing from his mind. Though you needn’t point out that the killer would necessarily lie. I’m taking that into consideration. So your idea is noted. It’s been a long day. If we could move on.”

  Clark referred to the paper. “Most of the department heads are present and accounted for. That includes the more obvious, like the DP, who was operating the camera, and Murky Doyle, who was running sound. As well as both their assistants, the boom operator and the first assistant cameraman, who was pulling focus on the shot. The second assistant cameraman, who was supposedly loading film magazines, was not seen, by the way.

  “Anyway, the key grip and his best boy were operating the dolly. The gaffer had nothing to do at the time, but was spotted by several people watching the shot.” Clark raised his head. “The art director wasn’t.”

  “Why is that significant?” I said.

  “Well, you would think someone would have noticed.”

  “Why? Because he’s black?”

  “Exactly,” Clark said.

  “Why?” I said. “The guy’s been working on the crew all week. You think people still notice the guy’s black?”

  “Absolutely,” Clark said. “And particularly then.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Because a white woman was nude.”

  I looked at Clark. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake,” Clark said. “You’re entirely too sensitive, you know it?”

  “Sensitive, hell. That’s an incredibly racist statement.”

  “Yes, of course,” Clark said. “And one we must consider.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m sorry to offend your sensibilities, but racism does exist. Ignoring it doesn’t make it any better. Out of a hundred-odd people, there are going to be some who are offended by the idea of a black man watching a white woman undress. It may be racist, but it’s a fact of life. I would expect someone to be offended and mention the fact. When no one does, it’s worthy of notice. If observing that makes me a racist in your eyes, I’m sorry, but I’m trying to solve a murder here.”

  “Could we move on?” MacAullif said. “I’d like to get home before dawn.”

  “Fine,” Clark said. “I have another serious omission.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Jake Decker.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. No one saw him. Which is somewhat extraordinary when you consider his size.” Clark turned to me. “I suppose you’d care to take offense on behalf of large people?”

  I took a breath. “It’s been a long day for me too,” I said. “Are you seriously considering Jake Decker?”

  “He’s certainly a suspect,” Clark said. “After all, he scouted the construction site. And originally arranged for the warehouse.”

  “Good lord,” I said.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You still think that?” I said. “About the bum in the warehouse? Even after what happened today?”

  “Of course,” Clark said. “Why does this change anything?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? This trap was specifically for Jason Clairemont.”

  “So?”

  “I think that would confirm the suspicion. The trap the boom man fell into was also intended for Jason Clairemont.”

  “There’s a strong possibility,” Clark said. “But I don’t see why that makes any difference.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No,” Clark said. “And I don’t want to debate it now. I want to wrap this up and get home.”

  “Here, here,” MacAullif said. “What else have you got?”

  “Just a bit more,” Clark said. “Now, she’s not really a suspect, but the most important witness of all turns out to be the secretary, Grace.”

  “What?” I said in dismay.

  Clark nodded. “Not one person saw her on the set. And for good reason. She wasn’t there. She was downstairs typing in the office when the incident occurred. She heard the crash, jumped up, and ran upstairs. She was standing near the top of the stairs when I sent MacAullif to guard them. Is that right?”

  “Absolutely,” MacAullif said.

  “Why is she important?” I said.

  “Because the office is right next to the stairs. She heard the crash, got up, and went to the stairs. And no one came down them. A significant fact. That she is sure of. From the time the incident occurred, no one went down the stairs. By the time she got to the top of the stairs I had taken charge and was sending MacAullif over. He and she overlap. Between the two of them, we can prove no one went down those stairs. So whoever dropped the rope, they did not escape, they were there on the floor ...” Clark pointed. “And they are here on this list.”

  “Unless they went up,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Unless they went upstairs. The killer dropped the rope, went up to a higher floor, and he’s hiding there now, laughing at us.”

  “It’s a possibility,” Clark said. “And I’m not going to reject it out of hand. But I’m not going to consider it, either. For the purpose of the present investigation, I am acting on the assumption I have the killer here. Should that prove not to be true, I’ll be happy to admit that I’m wrong. But that’s my present assumption. To move on.”

  “There’s more?” I said.

  “There’s the murder weapon. Or attempted-murder weapon. The sandbag.”

  “Ah,” I said. My interest picked up again. “What about it?”

  “It was apparently from the grip truck. I say apparently because the key grip is somewhat less than helpful. His personal opinion is that a sandbag is a sandbag. It’s just like the type they use—that he admits. And there’s nothing about it to distinguish it from any of the other sandbags used on the set. On the other hand, he refuses to identify it or concede that it’s his.”

  “Isn’t that perfectly natural?”

  “Absolutely. No one wants to claim a murder weapon. But in this case it’s not like anyone’s trying to blame the grips. During shooting, the trucks are parked on the floor. They’re open and unlocked, and the teamsters are somewhat less than vigilant. Anyone could hop in the back and take a sandbag at almost any time.”

  “He’d risk being seen.”

  “That goes without saying. But the point is, it could be done. Now, I understand that aside from today it also rained Monday and Tuesday. Both days you shot here on the set. So the sandbag could have been taken either day.”

  “Why not today?”

  “We went over that. Because the trap had to be rigged in advance.”

  “Right.”

  “Now then, as to the earliest it could have been rigged. This particular set was built last week. It was finished on Friday, a week ago today. That’s everything including the shower. All set, ready to go. Except for one thing.”

  “What’s that.”

  “The platform. The one Jason Clairemont stood on. That wasn’t built till Tuesday afternoon.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. The way I understand it, when it rained Monday yo
u came inside. There was the initial incident where the boom man got a shock. After that everything settled down, filming was smooth. At some point during the afternoon, in between takes, Sidney Garfellow and Jason Clairemont checked out the set. The shower set, I mean. It was at that time that they decided to build the platform.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “No reason why you should. But that’s what happened.”

  “How’d they come to that conclusion? I don’t recall seeing the actress there.”

  “She wasn’t.”

  “Then how’d they know they needed the platform?”

  “Clarity Gray.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. The woman’s sharp. She had it in her script notes. The fact the woman was tall. When they checked out the shower, she brought it up.”

  “In front of Jason?”

  “No. Discreetly, to Sidney Garfellow. He in turn discussed it with the DP. Who confirms the conversation. At least I think he does—I never understand half of what that man says. Anyway, they worked it out that Jason should stand on a platform. Sidney ordered it built and it was finished the next day. That’s Tuesday afternoon. I can’t pinpoint the exact time, but sometime around three. That is when the platform was built. That is the time after which the killer could know that suspending the sandbag above that platform would be the way to target Jason.”

  “So the trap was rigged sometime after that?” MacAullif said.

  “Exactly,” Clark said.

  “Unless ...” I said.

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless it was rigged simply to hit the shower. And the construction of the platform was merely fortuitous.”

  “Possibly,” Clark said. “But the sandbag did hit the platform. Hit it dead center, from what I can tell. Which would not be dead center of the shower. As things turned out, dead center of the shower would have been a direct hit on our young star. But the sandbag landed dead center on the platform. Which is what saved Jason’s life. Because the actress pulled him to her.” Sergeant Clark held up his finger. “Which the killer could not have known, since the scene was never rehearsed.

  “So, there’s our problem,” Sergeant Clark went on. “Someone stole the sandbag, probably Monday or Tuesday while you were shooting on the set. Somebody rigged it, most likely sometime after Tuesday afternoon when the platform was in place. There’s no way they could have rigged it then—Tuesday afternoon, I mean—everyone was here shooting, something like that would be seen. But Tuesday night there would be no problem.”

  “How would they get in?” I said.

  “Easy. They’d simply stay.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Like you said before. How do I know the killer’s not hiding on an upper floor? Frankly, I don’t think he is—I think there was time to blend into the crowd, but not time to get away. But one day after work, what would be simpler than to slip upstairs, wait till everyone was gone, then come back down and rig the trap?”

  “And how would they get out?” I asked. “Isn’t the warehouse locked up tight?”

  “In theory,” Clark said. “But several people have the keys.”

  “Oh? And who is that?”

  “Practically everybody. All the production people. That’s the production manager, the gofers, and the AD’s. Sidney, of course. And the secretary and the script supervisor. Then there’s the department heads. Some of them have keys. The art director, for instance. And he’s given it out to the carpenters, to get in and work on the set. And the gaffer has one. Not that he needs it. I gather he wanted one because the art director had one. He’s the type of guy who’s always afraid he won’t be given his due.”

  I nodded. That was a damn good assessment.

  “On the other hand,” Clark went on, “the DP and the sound mixer don’t have keys and don’t want them. The attitude is, why should they have to get here ahead of everybody else and be responsible for keys? Places should be opened for them.”

  Sergeant Clark smiled. “The key grip had a key. I suppose that figured. At any rate, the poor man was mighty reluctant to admit it. He seemed to feel I was accusing him of something. I can’t say that I blamed him. Between that and the sandbag, he must have thought I was getting ready with the handcuffs.

  “Let me see, who else? I think that’s about it, but it’s quite a collection.” Clark turned to me. “You didn’t have a key, did you?”

  “No. Why? Were you getting ready with the handcuffs?”

  “How about you?”

  “Not me,” MacAullif said. “I’m just the technical advisor.”

  “Yeah, that’s us,” I said. “Nonessential personnel.”

  “Anyway,” Clark said, “with that many keys around, getting in is not a problem. Getting out is a little harder. That is, if the warehouse is all locked up and the padlock’s in place. Then you can’t open the door from inside. But there’d be ways around that. There’s other ways out of the building.”

  “Without smashing a window?”

  “Sure. You could open it from inside, then pull it shut behind you after you go out.”

  “How would you lock it?”

  “You couldn’t. Not then. You’d have to lock it the next day when you came to work.”

  “I see,” I said. “But wait a minute.”

  “What?”

  “You say this happened Tuesday night?”

  “At the earliest. It could have been done as late as last night.”

  “Not by someone who didn’t have a key. Taking your premise that someone stayed in the building after work. Monday and Tuesday were the only days we were here. Wednesday and Thursday we shot outside. So if someone hung around after shooting, it would have to be Tuesday night.”

  “Right. What’s your point?”

  “You say he couldn’t lock the window till he came back to work. Well, again, we weren’t here Wednesday and Thursday. We didn’t get back here till today. So the earliest he could lock the window would have been this afternoon.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Did anyone see anyone locking a window?”

  “No one said they did.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “Yes, of course. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Just that no one saw it. And that’s only one possibility. A person with a key wouldn’t have to hide here after work. He could open the door and go in any time.”

  “Right,” I said. I exhaled. “So, we’re no further along than we were before.”

  “Not at all,” Clark said. “We’re making considerable progress. I would hope to wrap this up soon.”

  I looked at him. “You’re kidding?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Are you saying you know who the killer is?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. But I will. It’s just a matter of time. I have no doubt I’ll nail the killer. Right now I’ve really only one concern.”

  “What’s that?”

  “To catch him before he kills again.”

  33.

  SERGEANT CLARK CALLED SATURDAY AFTERNOON to tell me there’d been a break in the case. He caught me just as I was preparing to take Tommie out to the movies. I left that pleasure to Alice, went out, and hopped a subway downtown.

  I certainly had mixed feelings. It had been a hell of a first week’s shooting, to say the least, and I’d been looking forward to the weekend off. On the other hand, Sergeant Clark had invited me to his office to discuss the case and, unless he considered me a suspect, which I sincerely doubted, that was rather gratifying.

  He hadn’t told me what his news was either, so I was curious as all hell. Clark had said he couldn’t discuss it on the phone because he had other calls to make. I wondered if that was true, or a ploy on his part to get me to come in.

  I took the subway down to Chambers Street, walked over to One Police Plaza.

  The last time I’d been in Sergeant Clark’s office it had been to apologize for thinking he was an asshole. I wondered if
he recalled the incident. Somehow, I was sure he did. Anyhow, it was all I could think of when I walked in the door.

  Sergeant Clark was seated at his desk, just as he had been then. But at that time he’d been reading a paper. This time he was watching a TV. That was a new addition to the office—a TV and VCR on a stand. The tape was playing, and on the screen I saw a boy’s face contorted in pain.

  Sergeant Clark picked up the remote control and froze the frame, cutting off the boy’s anguished cry.

  It seemed familiar, though I couldn’t place it.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Sidney’s film,” Clark said. “Straight Shooter. I rented it.” He motioned to a stack of VCR rental cases on his desk. “Along with Down and Dirty and To Shoot the Tiger. I’ve been screening them, hoping to get a clue.”

  I frowned. “I don’t understand. Why?”

  “Why?” Clark said. “Because of them. Sidney Garfellow and Jason Clairemont. I figure one or the other of them has to be the key to the whole thing.”

  “One or the other?” I said. “It seems to me all the attacks have been on Jason Clairemont.”

  “That’s possible. Maybe even likely,” Clark said. “But I’m not prepared to go that far. We also have the assault on the boom man.”

  “Which could have been directed toward Jason Clairemont.”

  “The fall, yes. But what about the incident with the tape recorder? If someone sabotaged the equipment, resulting in a shock, that was not directed toward Jason Clairemont. At least, I can’t see any way it could have been.”

  “We only have Murky Doyle’s word for that.”

  “Granted, granted,” Clark said. “I don’t really feel like debating the merits of the claim. All I’m saying is, aside from the theory that the killer is specifically targeting Jason Clairemont, I have to consider the possibility the violence is directed against the production in general. If so, who in the production is important enough to warrant consideration?” Clark gestured to me, inclined his head. “With all due apologies to the screenwriter, the most important people on this movie happen to be the producer-director and the star. It occurs to me I know very little about them, so I’ve been watching their films.”

  “And what did you learn?” I said. I was aware of a conscious effort on my part not to sound condescending.