He watched the seamstresses sit down at their machines and the construction crew collect around a table while the head of the project discussed the plans.
He watched, and it looked like a busy, working studio. The murder simmered just beneath the surface, but as the minutes passed, people seemed to become more and more immersed in their jobs.
Mike Greenwood walked up to him. “Sad thing, huh?”
“Sad, but you and Eddie have the studio up and running as smoothly as could be expected,” Sean said.
“We have a good group of workers, and people believe in Eddie. You treat people right year after year, and in the end…” Mike shrugged. “Too bad his choice in women is…well, Eddie’s such a nice guy. He can be kind of a sucker. Don’t quote me on that, please. I’ve been with him from the beginning, but…”
“I don’t repeat conversations, Mike,” Sean said.
Mike pursed his lips grimly. “Helena acts like she’s supporting him all the way, but you ask me, she’s nosy. She’s trying to keep on top of every move the police make. And you people, of course. She didn’t go to that movie last night because she wanted to see it.”
“Mike, what really happened between Eddie and Benita?” he asked.
Mike shrugged again. “I don’t know. He came in one day and asked me if I knew a good divorce attorney. I suggested he might want to attend some counseling first. He hadn’t been married that long. But he said, ‘No, Mike, counseling won’t help. We’re amicable, but it’s over. I can’t live a lie.’”
“And he never said anything else?”
Mike shook his head. “Not a word. I know she still cares about him, and he cares about her.”
“What about the rumors that she was cheating on him?”
“I think they were just that—rumors,” Mike said. “But if you were to ask him yourself, he might tell you.”
“I’ll do that.”
Tyler returned with two police officers to guard the elevator.
Then Sean, Kelsey and Kat went back down, armed with flashlights—and their Glocks.
* * *
Vengeance was worried. The FBI agents were spending too much time in the basement. Vengeance knew because there were so many people at the studio who innocently gave information away. It was good to be trusted.
Still, even if they found the tunnels, even if…
They wouldn’t know everything. They couldn’t know everything.
Still…
Vengeance made a call. “It’s me, and listen, listen well. Find out exactly what’s happening now. We may have to do a little cleanup.”
“Not me, no, no, not me!” she replied. “I can’t—I’m being watched. I know I’m being watched. I can’t—I won’t. I won’t get any more involved. You’re being paranoid!”
Yes, Vengeance thought, because my hands are the bloody ones….
“You have to be involved. I’m going to need help. Tonight. Do you understand me?”
“I may not be able to get out.”
“You have to. Do you hear me? You have to.”
Vengeance gave her instructions.
“After all,” Vengeance reminded her, “the whole thing was really your idea.”
“No, no, I was just talking. I never thought—”
“Yes, you did,” Vengeance said. “It’s what you wanted. Well, tonight, my friend, you’re going to get your hands dirty.”
* * *
“Tough times here, huh?” Oliver Marshall said to Madison.
She nodded grimly. “I’m glad you came in, that you weren’t afraid and you didn’t stay away,” she said.
They were almost alone; she was standing outside the curtain while he changed. She was ready to work on the material and rubber that would go under the shield during his hallucination scene. She needed to be sure it would allow him easy and comfortable movement. Alfie had gone off for some basting thread.
He poked his head outside the curtain. “To be honest?” he said softly. “I’m here with my agent. He thinks it’s going to be a popular thing for me to have done. I wish I was brave—like Sam Stone—but I’m not. And, of course, you know how the saying goes: If you repeat that, I’ll call you a liar.”
Madison grinned. She liked Oliver. He’d already told her he was gay, which she kept a secret as she’d promised. “Oh, one day, with any luck I’ll be as big as the guys who can admit anything,” he’d said. “I don’t lie. I just don’t answer. And I do love women and flirt with them all the time. But when you play action heroes and romantic leading men, a certain…discretion is best.”
“Are we safe here?” he asked her now. “Is there any danger to life or limb?”
She grimaced. “You mean you don’t believe what the media say? That Alistair did it?”
Oliver shook his head. “Alistair? Kid’s a marshmallow. He’d scald himself in boiling water before he’d hurt anyone, especially that girl. She was kind of annoying, but I’m sure I was annoying to people when I was starting out, too. This is the weirdest business. You can’t get an agent or a casting director to remember your name one day, and the next you’re in a movie that hits, and you can do no wrong. But…are we safe?”
“Oliver, the place is crawling with cops and the FBI. You’re safe.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t some crazy shooter, right? It was all planned out. Man, I can’t believe Jenny Henderson could’ve made an enemy who hated her so much!” he said.
“I don’t think she did. I think someone wanted to hurt Eddie—or even Alistair.”
Oliver sniffed. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Well, in my opinion you wouldn’t have to look a lot further than the stepmother. I mean, if Alistair’s locked up for life, who gets Eddie’s fortune?”
“I’ve thought about that—except they must have a prenup. And Helena’s more interested in using Eddie’s contacts, anyway. I’d say that most of us who know and love him try to keep our mouths shut about his marriage,” Madison said.
Oliver was thoughtful. “Well, if you have an in with the cops, I’d suggest they look at her really closely. She was in here with Eddie one day when I was with the producer and director of Sam Stone. She was sidling up to everybody, trying to stay in the conversation. I saw her right next to Eddie—just about fondling him in public. I’m almost sure she went into his pockets and came out with something. I don’t know what, but I wouldn’t trust her any farther than I could throw that yapping dog of hers.”
“Oliver, you would never throw a dog,” Madison said.
“No, but you get my drift!”
Alfie was hurrying over with the basting needle and thread. Madison leaned back, looking at Oliver, who winked and said, “I think he likes me. And I think he’d like your job.” His voice grew even quieter. “Hey, he sucks up to the new Mrs. Eddie Archer whenever she’s here. I say watch out for your own assistant.”
* * *
Kat stopped in the middle of the tunnel and sneezed. “Sean, we shouldn’t have to break through anything. If any of the walls were broken through, we’d have seen it. The killer couldn’t possibly have had time to cover his tracks.”
“Kat, I didn’t say try to break through, I said look through,” Sean said. “To the best of your ability. The costume the killer wore is most likely stashed down here somewhere. We’ve pretty much determined that he—or she—wore gloves, so I sincerely doubt forensics will get anything off the dagger.”
Kelsey, who was behind Kat, groaned. “If I end up wearing any more mold, spiderwebs and bone dust, I won’t be able to leave the studio until it clears out for the day. I’ll be a walking advertisement for the fact that we know more than we’re sharing at the moment.”
They’d only covered the first tunnel so far; they hadn’t even taken the turn that would lead them around to the Black Box Cinema.
He thought it somewhat odd that they hadn’t encountered anyone’s lost spirit, but then, he knew Jane would have all kinds of interesting information for them about the making of the film Sa
m Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum, and that she’d come back with research on the cemetery, as well. They just needed all the pieces of the puzzle; if they could find the pieces, they could solve the puzzle. It was a matter of logic. That had been reinforced during their training when they’d met the rest of Jackson Crow’s team at Quantico.
“It’s here,” he insisted. “That costume is here somewhere.”
“All right, we’ll find it,” Kelsey said, setting her hand on his arm. He smiled. She did look like hell, and his cousin was a beautiful woman. She’d come close to dying during their first case, the one that had brought them all together, but even then, she’d understood the risks. She’d been a United States marshal; she’d already signed on the dotted line.
“No one’s talking down here, right?” he asked. He was referring to any ghosts who might have remained, but he didn’t have to explain. They knew what he meant.
Both women looked at him and shook their heads solemnly.
“I guess it’s a good thing they’ve all gone on. Okay, stick to this path. I’m going to follow the other one for a while, see where it takes me.”
He used his heavy flashlight to light the way toward the turnoff that led to the tunnel and museum. He chose not to head back in that direction, though. It seemed unlikely that someone would have retraced his or her steps to hide the robe. However, nothing was impossible. Improbable, but not impossible.
As he moved, she saw that he was going farther beneath the cemetery. The walls here were beginning to cave in; the tunnels were old, and no one had come down in decades to shore them up. Maybe the burials here had been forgotten. Or perhaps there were memorials aboveground, and mourners set their flowers there, having no idea of the labyrinth of dead below. Casting the light around him, he saw decay, broken vaults, fabric and bone in various stages of deterioration.
The crypts were distracting. He tried to look at the floor, seeking any drops of blood. There were none at first, but then on a broken slab of marble that covered half a crypt, he saw a tiny spatter.
He paused, studied it and moved on. And then he turned back. It was a grisly task, but he dug behind the broken slab. His finger curled around fabric that didn’t disintegrate at his touch. He tugged on it.
And a robe fell out before him. A robe that was identical to the one on the figure of Amun Mopat in the tableau.
It had to be the mock-up that had been on the mannequin in the studio.
He examined it carefully in the powerful beam of the flashlight. The robe wasn’t finished—it was basted together rather than sewn. He felt the material, which was sleek, with the characteristics of a knit, probably synthetic. The robe was a golden brown color, trimmed with gold braid.
And it was dotted with blood.
The killer had come in this direction.
Why?
* * *
“It’s noon. Are you allowed to take a break?” Oliver asked Madison. “Want to go out for lunch?”
“I don’t really want to leave the studio today. Thank you, though,” Madison told him. She smiled. “You know, there are a million women out there who’d pass out cold at an invitation from you. So I appreciate it.”
He gave her a good-old-boy knock on the shoulder. “You’re the woman of my dreams, Madison. But you’ve never flirted with me. How come?”
“Oh, Oliver, you are gorgeous. It’s not that.”
He grinned, leaning across her worktable. “But, hmm, let me see. I’m not your type. You’re more into the muscle-bound fighter type. No, no…the artist. A nerd? No, I’m not exactly seeing a nerd. Ah, maybe one of the cool, calm, stoic FBI types.”
He suddenly started to laugh. “Madison, I was teasing, but…ooh, you’re going to have to tell me all about your love life.”
“You must read enough about your life in all the magazines out there!” she chastised him.
“Have lunch with me. Humor me. I’ll get something ordered in for us. We can have a cozy costume chat in one of the conference rooms. Come on, what do you say?”
“Okay. But what about Alfie?”
“He can get his own lunch…and his own date.”
“I can’t be rude to my assistant. Alfie’s a good kid.”
“I’ll see that he’s kept busy,” Oliver said, wiggling his eyebrows.
The young star did have power; in a matter of minutes, Mike had taken Alfie aside, and Oliver was coming back to her with a grin on his face. “Let’s go. We’re having lunch in the small conference room.”
Madison glanced around. She saw that Logan Raintree was keeping watch. He managed to be in a different place every time she looked, either pretending a keen interest in the work going on or engaging a worker in conversation—even pitching in when an extra hand was needed. She was certain that he’d kept an eye on her all morning. What was he going to think about her having lunch with Oliver?
Oliver leaned closer. “Should we ask the FBI guy to join us?” He made a face at her. “Wrong FBI guy, huh?”
“Oliver, would you stop?”
He straightened. “Seriously, just go tell him we’re having lunch, and where we’re going to be. Tell him we’ll keep the door open the whole time. You’ll be safe, I swear it. Coward here, remember?”
She laughed. “All right. Let me talk to Logan.”
Logan seemed to know she was coming. “I’ll be in the conference room having lunch,” she told him.
“I heard. Don’t worry. I’ll be nearby. And there’s a cop standing guard at the end of the hallway by the elevator.”
“Honestly, I’m not worried. I just didn’t want you to be,” she said.
He smiled. “Mike told me Oliver really likes you—says working with you is like working with a real human being. Go ahead and enjoy your lunch.”
She moved closer to him. “They’ve been in the basement for a while,” she said.
“Everything’s fine,” he assured her.
She wanted to ask more questions but in the busy studio she couldn’t. She rejoined Oliver, and they both spoke to friends among the other workers as they walked to the hallway, beyond reception and the guard station, and over to the conference rooms.
Oliver paused at the first display area near the conference room. He pointed to the one-eyed victim, who seemed to stand there in some kind of strange welcome. “That movie scared the crap out of me when I was a teenager,” he told her.
“The werewolf did it for me,” she said.
Inside the conference room he paused again, looking at the creation Sean had called Matilda. “Wow. And we’re having sushi in here,” he said.
As he spoke, Nelly Anderson, the receptionist, came in with a large bag. “You ordered this, Mr. Marshall?” she asked, flushing.
“Yes, I did, thank you so much. It’s Nelly, right?”
“Yes, yes!” Nelly said, clearly surprised and happy that he’d remembered her name. Madison liked Nelly, but Nelly didn’t seem to notice she was in the room at the moment.
“Hey, that was really fast. Thanks again, Nelly,” Oliver said.
“You’re welcome.” Nelly managed to set the bag down. “If you need anything else—”
“I’ll call on you.”
Still flushing, Nelly made her way out of the conference room.
“See? Women love you,” Madison said.
“I’m a fake in more ways than one, but don’t tell anyone,” he said, sitting down beside her.
He looked around the room again, shook his head and dug into the bag. “Two green teas, dragon rolls, California rolls—we are in California, after all—and miso soup. That okay?”
“Sounds great,” she told him.
He distributed the food, napkins and chopsticks. “You’re doing okay, Madison? I mean, really?”
“I’m doing fine. I’m worried about Eddie and Alistair, of course.”
He nodded, lifting a piece of sushi between expertly wielded chopsticks. “I have to admit, it shook me up when I heard about it.” He
hesitated. “If things don’t go so well for this place, I’ll be really grateful that I chose a stage name for my Actor’s Equity card.”
“I didn’t know your real name wasn’t Oliver Marshall.”
“My name is Oliver Marshall. Oliver Marshall Claymore.”
She fumbled and dropped the piece of dragon roll she’d just picked up. “Are you related to the Claymores who owned the studio and the land around it?”
He nodded. “Distantly.”
“You were born in Ohio! At least, that’s what I’ve read.”
He grinned. “I was born in Ohio. All of that is true. My dad’s great-great-uncle was the original owner of the property here. We don’t have anything to do with it anymore, and I don’t know if the family was still in contact. I do remember stories my grandfather told me about the place. That might be why I wanted to be an actor. Oh! And my name is a secret, okay? I’ve kept it out of the magazines and trash-azines and I’ve even managed to keep it off Wikipedia!”
She shook her head. “I don’t tell people what others say. You know that.”
He nodded. “I do. You’re the one totally trustworthy person I’ve met out here, Madison.”
“Well, if someone does find out—although I can’t see why it would come up—Eddie owns the studio now and Alistair is the one who’s been accused. It doesn’t have a thing to do with you. Anyway, it was Claymore Illusions a long time ago,” Madison said.
“Yeah, that’s true….”
“What kind of stories did you hear?” she asked.
“Oh, funny stories about actors and about the birth of special effects, and how everything’s changed over the years. My grandfather used to come to Hollywood on vacations to visit and spend time here. He was an Ohio farm boy, so the studio was really exciting for him. He did become an actor himself. He was fairly successful on Broadway and did lots of tours. My dad, however, became a scientist and decided that since we were from Ohio, he’d put his mind toward creating a better strain of corn.” He wagged a chopstick at her. “I’ll have you know that farmers consider him a hero.”
“I’m impressed,” Madison said, meaning it.
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 2: The Unseen ; The Unholy ; The Unspoken ; The Uninvited Page 48