“I didn’t. It found me,” he said.
They were in front of the studio door now. He indicated that she should get out her key, and she knew that their conversation on his history was over.
Madison fumbled in her purse and produced the key, then opened the door and stepped inside. As she’d expected, once they’d entered the vestibule, she saw Colin Bailey on duty behind the little glassed-in reception area.
During the day, when work was in progress, two people handled the reception desk. The hallways that led down to the studios, work areas and offices weren’t locked, but a security officer usually sat in front with the receptionist. Today, no receptionist was on duty, but Colin Bailey was there, formidable despite his age. Colin had been a boxer in his day. Like the cop she’d just met, he was bald, but his bare pate was a present from nature, and not the work of careful shaving. He had bright blue eyes and jowls that would have done a bulldog proud. His nose had been broken a dozen times and looked it.
He could be gentle as a lamb, but when it came to defending Eddie Archer or his property and reputation, Colin turned into a cobra.
“There’s no entrance! Absolutely no—Oh! Madison, it’s you. And the FBI man, I assume?” Bailey rose from his swivel chair, opened the door dividing the entry from the reception area and came out to greet them. He inspected Sean, and then smiled. “Why, it’s you, kid!” he said with enthusiasm. “I thought I got the name wrong or something!” He took Sean’s hand and shook it with enthusiasm. “Wow, it’s true! So you’re a G-man, huh? For real?”
“For real, Colin, my friend, for real,” Sean told him. “So, you’re doing well?”
“Great!” Bailey said. “Well, until last night,” he added, his smile fading.
“You were on duty?”
“I was. And I take that seriously, as you know, especially during lockdown.”
“You had your eye on the video screens?” Sean asked.
Bailey grimaced. “For all the good it did. And the cops have the video now.”
“The cameras still cover the same areas?”
Bailey nodded. He motioned to them to join him in the reception area. As they walked in, Madison realized she’d never been there herself; she’d never thought about the security cameras.
There was a bank with six screens. One showed the entry. Another focused on the main work area, encompassing the shop, the main construction area and, somewhat obscured, the rest of the floor. Another screen covered the parking lot, and yet another, the upstairs hallway. One showed the cemetery and parking lot to the right if one were facing the studio entrance, and another showed the side of the Black Box Cinema.
“You can’t see the entrance to the Black Box,” Madison noted.
“The Black Box Cinema has its own security camera that focuses on anyone coming through the main entrance,” Bailey told her. “But as you can see, these screens will tell you if anyone is entering the studio by the main entrance, and if anyone tried to get through the fire exits, an alarm would have gone off.”
“There’s no security footage for the tunnel—the museum—itself?” Sean asked.
“Yes, but it’s seldom used,” Colin said. “There never seemed to be a reason. No one’s allowed down there except by appointment or on movie nights, and there’s always a guide with anyone who does go down. Film noir buffs always want to see it, but it’s not like it’s the biggest tourist attraction in Hollywood or anything. The cinema’s Eddie’s baby—has been from the start. He grew up loving film noir, and I guess he feels it’s just a little collection he shows friends, even if the friends are people he doesn’t know. You can ask for a tour if you’ve come to see a movie. You don’t even have to pay the nominal five bucks, just bring your ticket stub during opening hours. Like I said, there never seemed to be much need for security down there.”
Sean Cameron didn’t respond to that. Maintaining a pleasant expression, he said, “Thanks, Colin. Madison’s going to catch me up on any of the changes that have happened around here since I left. We’ll check back in before we leave. Obviously, we have to leave this way, don’t we?”
Bailey nodded. “Unless you open a fire door and, if you do, alarms will go off like firecrackers.” He grinned at his own mild joke.
Sean looked at Madison. “If we go to the right, that’ll still lead us to the main work areas?”
“Yes, the hallway to the left has two meeting rooms, plus the stairs up to the offices and meeting rooms on the second floor.”
He moved quickly, heading to the right. She followed him at the same pace.
The studio seemed strange. Empty. She came in early sometimes, but a lot of workers did, and Madison couldn’t remember a single time when she’d come in and one of the seamstresses or construction engineers hadn’t already been at work. The sounds of sewing machines, electric saws, hammers and other work-related noises were constant, although someone usually had a stereo system playing pop music or rock classics. Today, there was no stereo on. Materials were piled up on the tables that stood by the sewing machines, and the shop area itself felt eerie. It was almost like walking into a home whose owners had mysteriously disappeared.
The walls were pinned with fabric and materials and drawings. Creatures they’d made for movies, shows or advertisements were lined up on the floor and arranged on shelves—some might be used again, and some were kept because they’d required a great deal of work and had turned out exceptionally well. They also kept some of the projects that hadn’t worked quite as well, a reminder of the thought and care that needed to go into any creation.
A giant rat stood next to an equally large penguin. The rat had been used in a public service announcement and the penguin had been animated to advertise a new adventure park in Oregon. Robotic creatures from the last sci-fi movie they’d worked on were lined up together, and above them was an old bicycle being ridden by a very evil-looking big, bad wolf. Zombies created for Apocalypse from Beneath the Sea were against the far rear wall, and the bloodied victims from a Victorian-era murder mystery were on the high shelving ten feet above the floor—above the zombies. Madison noted that Sean was staring at the victims, Miss Mary, Parson Bridge and Myra Sue. He was thoughtful, and she suspected he was imagining that the appearance of Jenny Henderson’s body must have been disturbingly similar to these props. The studio was known for the realism of what they created.
“Life imitates art and art imitates life. In this case, the question is which came first,” Sean murmured.
Madison glanced down, troubled by the creatures that were just rubber, plastic, fabric and paint. She’d drawn the designs for some of them; she’d dressed Myra Sue. Suddenly, Myra Sue and the other “victims” didn’t seem like props designed for a movie. They looked like flesh and blood.
A lot of blood.
Madison found herself turning away from Myra Sue’s one sightless eye.
“Fire door is still in the back, right?” Sean asked her.
She nodded. “Between these guys and the Planet Mondo air creatures over there,” she said, pointing to the door. There was a large sign that said Fire Door, but it was partially obstructed by the wings of one of the Planet Mondo air creatures.
“Hasn’t changed much,” Sean said. He nodded to one of the giant robots across the workstations, beside the climate control room. “I worked on Hugoman. He’s been here awhile.”
“Really? He’s fantastic. And I love the movie!” Madison said. She did love the creature in the movie Hugoman. He was the invention of a mad scientist who’d given him his son’s personality through partial cloning; the massive machinelike creature was kind and fought only to save lives. Of course, he’d been misunderstood, and when he’d saved the community from an attack by mutant creatures, he had died—a moral about judging people, or creatures, on appearances. Hugoman had actually been low-budget and promoted as an action/monster flick, but it had been extremely well written and had become a cult classic.
She flushed; they were here becau
se of a murder, and because someone they both cared about had been accused of that murder. And yet, she wasn’t sure why they were just touring the studio. The murder hadn’t taken place in the studio; it had happened in the museum tunnel.
He wasn’t appalled by her sudden enthusiasm; he smiled at her. “Thanks. I loved working here. I needed to go back to Texas for a bit, and then…then you get swept up in life, so I wound up staying and working there. But I did love the time I spent here, working for Eddie Archer. I was proud that we helped create a cult classic on a budget.” His tone became businesslike. “So, as far as I know, that’s our fire door on this side of the building downstairs, and we have another over by the offices?”
It took her a second to follow his quick change of subject, but she managed not to blink.
“To the best of my knowledge, yes,” she told him. “And there are corresponding exits upstairs, with ladders in case of fire. Eddie’s always been very careful, dealing with some of the flammable materials as we do.”
Sean nodded. “Okay, what’s going on in the shop. What are you working on right now?”
“Don’t you know?” she asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s kind of ironic. We’re working on a remake of Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum. It’s updated, and it’s been retitled The Unholy. The script is really good—and different enough to make this a different movie. From what I’ve seen so far, I’d compare it to Disturbing Behavior, which was, in essence, a remake of Hitchcock’s Rear Window.”
Sean frowned. “A remake of the movie—and Jenny was killed in front of the tableau?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not just ironic,” he told her. “That sounds intentional. And it changes everything.”
“The original movie was filmed well over half a century ago. What could this have to do with the movie we’re making now?”
“Everything,” he said curtly. “It could be a motive for murder. And lockdown—that’s incredibly important, too. Lockdown should eliminate anyone who isn’t close to the studio.”
Madison spoke through clenched jaws. She wasn’t in the FBI or the police; she wasn’t required to understand motive and investigation. “Even when we’re not in lockdown, the curious can’t just wander in. I have to have permission to bring in a guest on a regular day, and I wouldn’t have been given permission at all now.”
“Well, there’s permission, and there’s giving yourself permission by dodging the rules. On a regular day, someone could try to slip someone else in.”
“What about the security cameras, Sean? People here don’t want to risk their jobs.”
“Of course not. Still…”
He walked toward the climate-controlled room, but looked through the windows for a moment, and never tried the door. He seemed uninterested.
“Where’s your workstation?” he asked her.
Her work area was a few feet from the climate-controlled area. She pointed it out to him, and he went over to it.
It seemed bizarre that everything was just where she’d left it on Friday night. There were pieces of the leather coat she’d chosen for the costume of actor Oliver Marshall, playing antihero Sam Stone in the new movie.
“I saw the movie as a kid. But refresh me,” Sean said.
What did this have to do with the murder?
“In a nutshell? There are a series of murders—people ripped to shreds by something in the night. Then an incredibly wealthy philanthropist with a gorgeous young wife is found murdered in a similar manner in his Egyptian Museum. The cops want to arrest the wife, so she goes to Sam Stone. Various clues suggest she’s the murderer, but she denies it. The movie is great because it leaves the audience wondering—was something supernatural happening, or could it all be explained? The Egyptian mummy supposedly sent from the Department of Antiquities turns out to be a priest heading an ancient cult and in the end, needless to say, he proves to be the murderer. Sam Stone falls in love with the wife—Dianna Breen—but she dies at the hand of the priest before she’s proven innocent.”
“Who’s playing Sam Stone?” Sean asked.
“Oliver Marshall.”
“Hmm. How is he to work with?”
“He’s fine. He’s always in the tabloids for being a party boy, but he’s polite and courteous, shows up for his fittings and works well with everyone behind the scenes. He’s very pleasant and makes everyone at the studio think he’s just one of the gang. I like him.”
“Good to hear. When’s the last time he was in?”
“Friday. I was working on his costume.” She gestured at the fabric on the table. “He was in for fittings. Sam Stone carries concealed weapons, so everything about the costume has to fit perfectly.”
“Those…creatures evoked by the Egyptian priest—what’s his name?” Sean pointed to some of their newest creations, including giant fanged jackals, birds and bizarre giant snakes.
“The priest is Amun Mopat, and yes, they’re for the movie.”
“What will the priest be wearing? Same type of costume as in the film noir?” Sean asked. “And who’s playing him?”
“That role hasn’t been cast yet,” Madison told him. “There’s a mannequin over by the wall with a mock-up of the robe he’ll be wearing. It’s an homage to the original film. Almost exactly the same.”
“Where? Show me.”
Madison walked over to the mannequin that stood behind one of the jackal-like monsters created for the movie.
There was nothing but a plain brown monk’s robe on it.
She looked at Sean as shivers of fear streaked down her spine.
“The robe—it was just a mock-up. But it’s gone,” she said. “I suppose someone might have taken it…. Mike Greenwood could have shown it to someone. I’ll ask Mike and Eddie where it is.”
Sean shook his head. “They won’t know—and the robe isn’t coming back. It’s been used,” he said grimly, “by the killer.” He turned to look at her. “Find that robe, and we’ll be on our way to finding a killer.”
3
“Hey!” Sean touched her cheek. “This is a good thing. Seeing that the robe is gone actually helps. I’m almost astounded that everyone assumes it was Alistair, to tell you the truth. The girl was killed in front of the Sam Stone tableau, the studio is doing a remake, the robe is gone. To me, all of that points to someone with an agenda against the studio or the movie.”
Madison nodded. But she didn’t agree that the robe’s disappearance was a good thing! A killer had been here, where she worked. A killer had used the robe she’d made to sneak onto a tableau or into the tunnel and slice open a young woman’s throat.
Sean turned her to face the construction area. “What are they working on here?” he asked.
“An old Western scaffold.”
“For The Unholy?”
“No, that’s the tail end of our last project—Ways of the West.” She gave herself a mental shake and turned toward the sewing machines and a rack of clothing. “Projects overlap, but you know that. Or sometimes we work on several at the same time. Right now, though, as soon as the scaffolding’s out of here, we’ll be doing nothing but The Unholy. Or…I assume we’ll still be working on it.”
“The world goes on, despite murder,” Sean said. He motioned to the far wall of the construction area. “And there’s the door that leads from the tunnel.”
It wasn’t really a question. She said, “Yes,” anyway.
He walked over but didn’t touch it. Madison followed him and saw powder all over the whitewashed floor nearby. Black powder.
“The police dusted here,” he said.
Madison felt a moment’s discomfort. Her prints were on that door.
“They’ll get a lot of prints,” she said. “Including mine.”
He looked at her, the curl of his lips gentle, slightly amused. “Elimination,” he told her. “They’ll take everyone’s prints for the purposes of comparison.”
“Eliminat
ion? But…you believe the killer works here, or is close to someone here? That means we’ve all known him or her…. Actually, any of us might have been killed.”
“No, I don’t think any of you could have been killed. The killer didn’t want the police running around looking for a murderer. The killer wanted them to arrest Alistair. His habits were known—he was being watched way ahead of time.”
“Are we going through there?” she asked, nodding at the door.
“No, we’ll let the police find everything they can with their forensic units. I’ll go into the tunnel soon. You don’t have to come with me.”
An uncomfortable sensation crept over her. A horrible murder had just taken place there, in the tunnel. She’d only seen crime scenes on television or at the movies. She didn’t want to see the real thing.
But she was here to help. Help save Alistair. He couldn’t be guilty—and Eddie had called her to assist this man who was somehow going to prove it.
She had to go to the site. If what she’d experienced during her life, the ordeals that had made it so painful, were worth anything at all, the one benefit might be that she could reach the dead girl. Did Jenny’s spirit somehow remain, although her mortal life had been stolen? If so, wasn’t she obliged to try to speak to the girl, to connect with her?
She shook her head, responding to Sean’s comment. “No…if I’m going to help you, I should go all the way.”
He didn’t reply. He was staring at the area around the door. Close to it on the left was another rack of costuming, while a supply of wood had been stacked up on the right. She began to wonder if anyone could have hidden behind the racks of clothing or the wood, staying out of sight of the video cameras. But if someone had been there, waiting, how had that person gotten into the building? Some of the construction crew had been working Saturday; she’d been off herself, as had most of the shop. Sunday, as far as she knew, no one had planned on coming in. So that would’ve meant the person had hidden behind the rack of clothing overnight, with the intent of killing someone who might or might not have been in the tunnel on a night when no one should have been there?
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 2: The Unseen ; The Unholy ; The Unspoken ; The Uninvited Page 31