Deadly Visions

by Roy Johansen

  Pete winced as he spotted the badge clipped to Howe's belt. “Aw, shit. Cops. Look, guys, the director just came up with that bullshit car roll in the past couple of days. We didn't have time to get permits, but if you wanna talk to the production manager—”

  “Relax,” Joe said. “We're not here to bust your chops about filming permits. I'm Detective Joe Bailey, this is Mark Howe. Nice work out there.”

  Pete still wore a guarded expression.”Thanks.”

  Joe lowered his voice.”Pete, have you heard about what happened to Monica Gaines?”

  “You mean the human torch?”

  Joe nodded.

  “Sure. Me and the guys were taking bets on whether she set it herself for the publicity.”

  “Not likely,” Joe said. “Even if you think she's a fraud, she has no experience with this kind of thing. Plus, we have it on video. If she engineered it herself, she put on one hell of a show.”

  Pete lifted his eyebrows.”Video?”

  Joe held up a brown padded envelope. “Security camera caught the whole thing. Anywhere we can show you this?”

  Pete led them to a dilapidated Winnebago recreational vehicle that served as the production's onsite office. The lime-green interior was littered with production reports, storyboards, and hundreds of cigarette butts.

  “Classy,” Howe said.

  “Hey, this isn't exactly big-budget stuff we're doing here.” Pete pointed to a VCR/TV combo unit resting on a small card table. “Go ahead and show me your tape.”

  Joe inserted the cassette and played the Monica Gaines fire footage.

  “Awesome!” Pete shook his head in disbelief.”Can I see it again?”

  They watched it four more times, and Joe noticed that Pete seemed to be viewing it more as a piece of action-packed entertainment than as a tragic occurrence.

  Joe finally ejected the tape. “Show's over. Any ideas?”

  Pete scratched his head. “Well, you need to find the trigger. The ignition mechanism had to be somewhere on her.”

  “She was wearing only a robe,” Joe said. “She slipped it on less than thirty seconds before this happened.”

  “That's too bizarre. If I were to try to rig something like this, I'd cover her with a flammable compound, then strap a remote-controlled igniter under her clothes somewhere.”

  “Remote controlled?” Howe asked.

  “Yep. I push a button on my keypad, and as long as she's within three hundred feet, it creates a spark, lights the compound, and up she goes. Poof.”

  Joe shook his head. “She said she'd just stepped out of a bathtub, and there was no ignition mechanism. The paramedics would have seen it.”

  “I'm telling you, there had to be one somewhere. Did you check her clothes, her hair, everything? It could be as small as a hairpin or a button. This stuff has gotten really tiny.”

  “We'll take another look,” Joe said. “What was left of her robe is in evidence. If there's anything there that strikes us as odd, we might ask you to come in and give us your thoughts. Okay?”

  “Sure.” His glance went back to the monitor. “Think maybe you can show me that again?”

  Joe ejected the cassette, remembering the vulture nurse waiting to snap pictures of Monica's corpse. Sickos.”Sorry, Pete. We have to get going.”

  Joe and Howe walked into the squad room, to find Carla on the telephone, holding up her freckly index finger as an indication that this call was somehow significant to them.

  “Got it,” she said into the phone.”We 11 see you in a few minutes.” She hung up.

  “What is it?” Howe brushed aside the candy wrappers on his desk, looking for any message slips that may have been left for him.”Is the fajita truck outside already? Pedro's early today.”

  Carla stood and pulled on her jacket.”Sorry to disappoint you, but this is a little more official than that.”

  “The doughnut van?”

  “Nope. That was the security chief at Monica Gaines's hotel. They apprehended a woman who'd broken into an office there.”

  Joe and Howe traded puzzled stares.

  Carla motioned for them to follow. “She's Monica Gaines's TV producer.”

  “Either arrest me or let me the hell out of here!” Tess Wayland stood in the small office as Joe, Howe, and Carla entered. Tess was a short, slender bundle of energy with a strong chin, spiked brown hair, and glasses that were slightly too large for her face. She cocked her head toward Bonafas. “Dick Tracy here figured he was going to impress you guys, is that it? Tell me, are you impressed with his crime-fighting skills? 'Cause I sure as hell am not.”

  Bonafas sighed.”She's been like this ever since we caught her. It's been a real joy, let me tell you.”

  “What's the story?” Carla asked.

  Tess let out a rueful cackle.”The story? I'll tell you what the st—”

  Carla held up a hand to silence her. “I was talking to him. You'll get your turn.”

  Bonafas gestured toward a closed door.”One of the guys caught her in the room next to the monitor bank. It looked like she was about to cart away our security tapes.”

  Howe turned toward her.”Something in there you don't want everybody to see?”

  “Don't be stupid,” she hissed. “I know you guys would have already taken copies of the security tapes you needed.”

  “Then enlighten us,” Carla said.”Because right now I'm inclined to treat you as a suspect in an attempted murder.”

  “Oh Lord,” she moaned.”In two minutes I can have a team of lawyers on the phone who can tear you guys to tiny bite-size chunks.”

  “Bring 'em on,” Carla said. “In the meantime, why don't we talk about why you broke into this place?”

  “I'm here on behalf of Monica Gaines.”

  Joe stepped forward. “You're trying to tell us that she sent you here?”

  “Not exactly. I produce her television show, a little thing called Monica Gaines's Psychic World.Perhaps you've heard of it.”

  Howe grimaced.”Aw, Christ.”

  Joe shared Howe's disgust. “You wanted Monica's fire footage to use on the show?”

  “Damned right. It's only a matter of time before somebody gets it. Why not us?”

  “For one thing, it's evidence in what may become a murder investigation,” Carla said.

  “We're doing our own investigation on the show every night,” Tess said. “We have the leading psychic authorities appearing on live television and offering their—”

  Howe interrupted. “So you thought this footage would spice things up?”

  “It's hard to engage in any meaningful discussion without knowing exactly what we're talking about.”

  “Well, isn't that sort of what your show does every night?” Carla said.

  Tess checked her watch.”Look, guys, I have a show to produce. If you're gonna arrest me, I'd appreciate it if you could get it over with. The sooner you book me, the sooner my lawyer will be all over your asses, and the sooner I'll be back with my crew.”

  Joe glanced at Carla and Howe. They obviously agreed that it wasn't worth incurring the wrath of Tess Wayland's attorneys. He turned back to Tess. “Tone down the attitude, and we might be able to work something out.”

  Tess hesitated, and then nodded. “Finally, a reasonable man.”

  Joe sat next to her. “How well do you know Ms. Gaines?”

  “I've produced her show for the past two years.”

  “That doesn't answer my question.”

  “I guess I know her better than most people. She's a pretty private person.”

  “Does she have any enemies?”

  “Besides the entire editorial staff of Skeptical Inquirer?Not really. There's the occasional nut whose feelings may be hurt because she doesn't accept his marriage proposal, but that's pretty standard for any media star at her level.”

  “Any professional rivals?”

  “None that would benefit from her death. Psychics who are as popular as Monica give credibility to everyone
else in her profession.”

  Joe nodded. It was true. Whenever a spiritualist or psychic suddenly gained widespread popularity, there was an upswing in the number of successful charlatans emulating their techniques.

  “Has there been anything unusual about Monica's life lately or the people she's been associating with?” Carla asked.

  Tess considered the question. “Like I said, she's a private person. To tell you the truth, I don't think she has much of a personal life. She's all about work. But there has been something unusual in the past few months. Between each production cycle, Monica has disappeared.”

  Howe grinned. “You don't mean literally, as in thin air, right?”

  “No,” Tess said. “At least, I don't think so. Monica goes away for weeks at a time and no one can reach her. She doesn't post updates to her website and we don't have a clue where she goes.”

  “Well, we know she has three residences,” Howe said.

  “We know that too,” Tess snapped. “We once needed her to meet with a station group president to close a syndication deal and we sent people to each of her homes. She wasn't at any of them. Even her immediate family had no idea how to contact her.”

  “Has she ever given you any idea what she's doing?” Carla asked.”Health spa? Plastic surgery? Maybe a married lover?”

  Tess smiled.”I know her, and I don't think she'd be especially discreet about any of those things.”

  “I'll talk to her about this,” Joe said. “In the meantime, can you give us the exact dates when she was unaccounted for?”

  “Sure. My organizer is out in my rental car. Do I take it that you're not arresting me?”

  Howe turned toward Bonafas. “Does the hotel management have any special desire to press charges?”

  Bonafas shook his head. “I think they'd like to avoid any more publicity right now.”

  Tess frowned. “I guess getting a copy of that security tape for tonight's show is out of the question, huh?”

  Joe shook his head. Unbelievable.

  “Take a look at this, will you?”

  In the observation center they had set up in the building across the street from Monica Gaines's hospital room, Paul and Donna joined Gary at his video monitor. It offered a view of an open window in the hospital.

  “What's this?” Paul asked, staring at the monitor.

  Gary adjusted the brightness. “Monica Gaines's room blinds are closed, so I've been shooting the room next door. This one has glass walls to the corridor, and I've been seeing a lot of people coming and going down the hallway. One guy has been going back and forth all day, but he's been wearing two different disguises.”

  Paul shook his head.”Dude, you've been looking at this thing too long.”

  “I'm serious. Look.” Gary pushed a button on his console and displayed a still-frame image of a tall man wearing a lab coat and a thick beard. “Okay, this guy walked past Monica's room nine times in the space of two hours.”

  “Yeah, him and about a hundred other guys,” Donna said.

  Gary pushed another button and turned a dial. “Okay, look at this one.” Another image appeared on the screen, this time a man in a green scrub suit and a matching cap. There was no beard; just high cheekbones and a strong jaw.

  The group stared blankly at the screen.

  “Can't you see?” Gary said.”It's the same guy.”

  Donna shook her head. “There's a similarity there, but I think you're reaching. Why don't you take a break?”

  Gary glanced between the team members. “I'm telling you, this is the same guy. He's scoping out Monica's room for some reason.”

  “And he likes to adopt funny disguises and pace hospital corridors.” Paul chuckled.”I just don't buy it.”

  Gary opened a leatherette case and produced an official-looking ID badge attached to a thin chain. He picked up a thin watch battery and placed it into a black receptacle behind the badge.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Paul asked.

  “It's a wireless video camera.” Gary flipped another switch on the console and aimed the badge at Paul, whose face suddenly filled the monitor. Gary put the chain over his neck and squarely positioned the badge.”I'm going in.”

  Donna shook her head. “No. Wait for Haddenfield to get back.”

  “I'm tired of waiting.”

  “If a cop or security officer catches you, it could bring down our entire operation,” Paul said.

  Gary picked up his jacket.”Our operation, such as it is, has accumulated zero useful data so far. Maybe we need a closer look.”

  “With that thing?”

  “Sure. If I can get into the room or even the hallway outside, I can pop this camera out and position it toward Monica Gaines's bed. That's what we really want, isn't it?”

  “I thought all we wanted was a fat paycheck,” Donna said. “You really don't even know what you're sticking your neck out for.”

  “Sure I do.” Gary held up the tiny camera again. “For the chance to use these cool toys. Haddenfield will thank me. This is exactly what we've needed.”

  Paul jammed a finger into Gary's chest. “Don't get caught. Because if you do—”

  “—you'll disavow any knowledge of my existence. Gotcha. Will this room self-destruct in ten seconds?”

  “Be careful,” Donna said. “I wish you'd wait for Haddenfield. He should be back any minute.”

  “I'm not waiting.”

  She sighed. “If there's any chance of getting caught, get your ass back over here.”

  “Don't worry.” Gary tapped the monitor. “You can watch it all on TV.”

  Dylan stepped into the hospital stairwell and pulled off the itchy fake beard. Surely, in the thousands of years since Sophocles'time, someone could have come up with a stage beard that didn't make him want to scratch his goddamned face off. Time for another disguise.

  Dylan reached for the black plastic garbage bag he'd wedged under the metal stairs. He took out a pair of spectacles, a blond toupee, and a brown blazer, then shoved the beard and scrub shirt into the bag and stowed it. He donned the new disguise. He didn't need a mirror to know how it looked; he'd used it a few times before. He pulled open the door and walked down the corridor, adopting a stooped posture. Jesus, how much longer would he have to spin his wheels here?

  He passed a curly-haired young man with a thick beard. Was the kid staring at him? The kid looked away. Okay, maybe not.

  Dylan walked by Monica Gaines's room, glancing at her through the glass windows that faced the corridor. She was unconscious now, alone in the dim room. A private security guard was standing watch outside, shifting uncomfortably in his cheap polyester suit. The guy was probably a local hire accustomed to watching bowling alley parking lots. If Monica Gaines's people were concerned about her well-being, they'd do well to get a real bodyguard, he thought. Not that anyone could stop him if he decided that Monica was a liability.

  The curly-haired kid quickly walked past and paused at the end of the corridor. He turned and held up a sheet of paper as if he were studying it intently.

  Curly wasn't looking at that paper, Dylan realized. Curly was looking at him.

  Dylan walked past Curly again, quickly scanning him for any clues that would reveal who the hell he was. Ragged tennis shoes, no handgun bulge, generic ID badge, and—

  Oh, shit. The badge. It was one of those $799 hidden cameras sold at big-city “spy shops” and mailorder stores, aimed at corporate executives who fancied themselves the next James Bond. This idiot hadn't even bothered to change the stock ID card and logo that surrounded the tiny black lens.

  Who the hell was he? Curly was obviously more interested in him than in Monica Gaines or anyone else on the floor. Dylan glanced up at the large circular mirror mounted high in the corner of the corridor, put there to keep orderlies from ramming gurney carts into one another. Curly, still holding the paper, was following him.

  “What the hell is Gary doing in there?” Hadden-field stared at the black-and-white
monitor image.

  Donna shook her head.”We told him not to go. He wants to get a better look at this guy who's been hanging around there. He's also going to try to plant his little camera someplace that will give us a better look at Monica Gaines.”

  Haddenfield squinted at the screen. “Whatguy hanging around?”

  “We'll see him in a second,” Paul said.”Gary insists he's been there on and off all day, wearing different disguises.”

  “Disguises?”

  Paul nodded. “That's what he thinks. You might consider replacing Gary. He's losing it.” Paul pointed to the screen.”There's the guy.”

  Haddenfield gasped. It was Dylan. He coughed in an attempt to hide his involuntary reaction.

  Donna didn't take her eyes from the monitor. “Maybe this guy is a private security officer, or a reporter.”

  “We have to get Gary out of there now,” Haddenfield said.

  Paul studied him.”Why? Do you know this guy?”

  Haddenfield shook his head. “It's not that. It's just—a security risk. Is Gary carrying his cell phone?”

  Donna shrugged. “Probably.”

  Haddenfield quickly picked up his phone and punched Gary's number. He listened to the ring tones.”Come on, you prick. Pick up.”

  Donna pointed to the monitor. “No reaction here. He's still on the other guy's tail.”

  For a moment Haddenfield thought that Gary had answered, but it was just his outgoing voice-mail message. Haddenfield cut the connection. “Christ.”

  Paul frowned. “You know, I think it isthe same guy. Gary may be right. Who do you think it is?”

  Haddenfield backed away. “I'm going in. I need to get his ass out of there.”

  “Good idea,” Donna said. “I don't like the idea of—” She leaned close to the monitor. “Where's he going?”

  She was looking at a dark, shadowy set of stairs. Gary had followed the man into a stairwell.

  “You goddamned idiot!” Haddenfield shouted at the monitor.

  All onscreen movement stopped.

  “He's trying to stay quiet,” Paul said.

  “It won't help. Gary is so busted,” Donna said. “That dude would have to be blind and deaf not to know he's being followed.”