Lights! Camera! Puzzles!

by Parnell Hall

  “Who is also dead.”

  “That’s right. Took his own life in a fit of remorse.”

  “You buy that?

  “You don’t?”

  “I’m not stupid, and neither are you. She was killed in an audition theater.”

  “So?”

  “What was her boyfriend doing there?”

  “Killing her.”

  “Why are you trying to shut me down?”

  Cora frowned. “I don’t know. I think my first instinct is to get all buddy-buddy with you and want to launch a secret inquiry. And deferring to you because you’re a star. You know what I mean? You give me a theory and I go along with you because you’re famous.”

  “No offense, but if I were that famous, I wouldn’t be doing this picture.”

  Cora shook her head in wonder. “Wow. You keep saying just the right thing. That doesn’t mean I agree with your theory.”

  “I haven’t given you a theory.”

  “You don’t believe the boyfriend did it.”

  “That’s not a theory. That’s just an opinion. But she was killed on a movie production. It should have something to do with the production.”

  “Technically, it was preproduction.”

  “Oh, try to slip something past a wordsmith.”

  “Please don’t call me a wordsmith.”

  “All right. If you don’t call me a star.”

  “Done.”

  “Ready to form the pact to investigate the murder of—What was her name, anyway?”

  “Karen Hart.”

  “Damn. You know it. I was hoping we could call it the murder of Jane Doe.”

  “Maybe next crime,” Cora said.

  A gofer stuck his head in the trailer. “You’re wanted in wardrobe and makeup, Miss Broadbent.”

  23

  They still hadn’t gotten the first shot when Sergeant Crowley showed up on the set. He saw Cora standing on the sidewalk drinking a cup of coffee and wandered over.

  “How come you’re always filming outside?” Crowley said.

  “Because we can.”

  “Must you always be a wiseass?”

  “I’m not being a wiseass. That’s the answer. Shooting schedules are always structured that way. You shoot your exteriors first so if it rains you can move to a cover set. You shoot ’em last, and if it rains, you got nothing.”

  “Oh, listen to the bigtime associate producer. One week of shooting and you’re a movie expert.”

  “That’s just common sense, Crowley. You could work it out yourself, if you weren’t a cop.”

  “What has being a cop got to do with it?”

  “You get preconceived notions that warp your judgement. You pick up a suspect, and, lo and behold, all the evidence you find tends to point to him, and you manage to ignore anything that doesn’t.”

  The First A.D. over a bullhorn said, “Okay, lock it up. We’re going for picture.”

  The P.A.s, looking very important and official, stopped pedestrians on the sidewalk.

  A Second Assistant Director led Angela Broadbent out of her trailer.

  There was an excited buzz from the spectators behind the rope across the street.

  The First A.D. with the bullhorn said, “Quiet, please.”

  Cora chortled.

  “What’s so funny?” Crowley said.

  “They’re ages away from shooting. The director’s going to come out and give her a pep talk, and she’s gonna pretend to listen. Then he’s going to check that each and every individual in the state of New York is ready to shoot. Then they’ll go.”

  “How did you get so cynical?”

  “Get?” Cora said. “Come on, Crowley, you know me. Cynical is my default position.”

  As Cora predicted, it was some time before they were ready to shoot.

  “Roll it.”

  “Speed.”

  “One eighty four, take one.”

  Angela Broadbent and the young man playing Melvin came out the front door of the Hyatt. Fred Roberts might have been an adequate actor, but he couldn’t keep up with Angela. She was playing him off his feet.

  A valet drove up in a flashy convertible.

  Before he could get out, Angela said, “Pop the trunk.”

  The valet popped the trunk and got out as Melvin got in.

  Angela walked around to the trunk, pulled out Melvin’s golf clubs, and selected a nine-iron. She went back to the front of the car, swung the club like a baseball bat, and shattered the driver’s side headlight.

  Angela handed the golf club to the valet as if he were a caddie, and climbed into the front seat next to Melvin.

  “Cut,” Sandy cried. “Print that, and we’re going again.”

  Angela spotted Cora and came on over. “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Sergeant Crowley, Homicide. And this, of course, is Angela Broadbent.”

  Angela smiled at Crowley. “Homicide? Are you here about the murder, Sergeant?”

  “No, I just dropped by to see the filming.”

  “Why aren’t you here about the murder?”

  Crowley frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t solved it, have you?”

  “Technically, it’s still an open investigation. There’s a good chance the boyfriend did it.”

  “I thought you ruled him out since he was also murdered,” Cora said.

  “There’s also a good chance the boyfriend didn’t do it.”

  Cora shook her head. “You are so annoying.”

  Angela smiled, ingratiatingly. “I don’t suppose you have the case file with you?”

  Crowley blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, obviously you’re not doing anything with it.”

  “Ma’am, I can’t let you have my case file.”

  “No, but you can bring it to the set and let me look at it. You know, ninety percent of filming is just standing around. It’s so boring. I’ve got a trailer on the set. We could have a cup of coffee, and you could show me what you’ve got.” Angela grimaced. “That sounded bad. My publicist would be very unhappy with that statement.”

  Crowley smiled in spite of himself. “Maybe we could work something out.”

  Cora rolled her eyes.

  24

  I can’t believe you did that,” Cora said, as Sergeant Crowley wandered off in the direction of the catering truck.

  “Did what?”

  “Pulled the movie star bit on Sergeant Crowley.”

  “I don’t expect his file to tell me much.”

  “Crowley’s a good cop.”

  “That’s not the point. If he thinks the boyfriend’s the best suspect, he’s not going to have much that says any different.”

  “He doesn’t think the boyfriend’s the best suspect.”

  “Nonetheless, I doubt if he has much on anyone else. So we have to get it ourselves.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “First of all, it happened when you were casting. You’re in preproduction, you only have a skeleton crew. Not even a crew, really. Mostly above-the-line people. You know, producers and stuff.”

  “I know what above-the-line means,” Cora said. At least she was pretty sure she did.

  “So who was here then?”

  “It was after one of the cattle-call auditions. The only people on were the producer, director, the production manager, and Sandy’s assistant, who is also working as the script supervisor. And the production assistants.”

  “I think we can rule out the production assistants.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that would be boring. But aside from them, I doubt if you named everybody. There’s got to be more.”

  “Oh, the screenwriter. Nelson. I’m not sure if he was even there that day.”

  “It doesn’t matter that he was there. Only that he was on the picture. So he could have known her.”

  “I’m not sure I follow your train of logic.”

  “Okay,” Angela
said. “Then tell me this. Who did she sleep with to get the job?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Not at all.”

  “She’s not an actress. She’s a production assistant.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “You don’t sleep with someone to get to be a production assistant.”

  “You do if that’s what you wanna be. Say you’re not the actress type. Say your goal is to become a producer. Or a director. Some sort of movie executive. If you’re twenty years old, working on a picture is the Holy Grail.”

  “I suppose.”

  “This screenwriter. Is he nerdy? Socially awkward? Would he have a tough time getting laid on his own?”

  “He doesn’t strike me as the killer type somehow.”

  “They never do,” Angela said.

  Cora looked at her.

  Angela smiled, fiendishly. “All those movie clichés. They work, even for a real murder.”

  “I still wouldn’t bet on Nelson,” Cora said.

  “No,” Angela said. “I’m sure you’ve heard the one about the actress who wanted to get into the movies. She was so dumb she slept with a screenwriter.”

  “The director is another matter.”

  “The director is another matter entirely,” Angela said. “The only problem here is, the director doesn’t want to nail a gofer, he wants to nail a star, someone famous, someone he can brag about.”

  “You mean he hit on you?” Cora said.

  Angela hesitated just a moment. “He knows better. And he wants me in this picture. He wouldn’t want to jeopardize that.”

  “What about the producer?”

  Angela waggled her hand. “That’s a gray area. Same as the director, with one small difference. The director wants to nail a star. The producer wants to nail an actress by saying he’ll make her a star.”

  “Would he be more apt to prey on the P.A.s?”

  “Marginally. In Howard’s case, I wouldn’t know. I never worked with him. Do you know anything about him?”

  “I know he was reading actresses for a part that was already cast.”

  “That would seem a pretty good sign. You wouldn’t know if any of them wound up on the movie in walk-on roles?”

  “I don’t know, but I could ask. What would that prove?”

  “That he follows through. If he promises a girl something, he makes good on it.”

  “Like if he promised to make her a production assistant?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I suppose it could be,” Cora said. “But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “If he was that open about it, why would he be worried about someone finding out? Is he married?”

  “Aren’t they always?”

  “You’re as cynical as I am,” Cora said. “I like it.”

  “If he is married, could that possibly be worth killing for?”

  “His wife might think so.”

  Angela grimaced. “Now you want to make an unseen, offstage wife turn out to be the killer? What a horrible plot that would be.”

  “It’s not a movie.”

  “Yeah, but it’s gotta follow some sort of logic. Has his wife been around?”

  “I don’t know if she even exists.”

  “It’s something to look into. I don’t see him as a very good suspect.”

  “Well, what about the production manager?”

  “Chuck? I worked with him on another picture. He’s gay.”

  “Really? He looks like Satan.”

  “It’s the pointed black beard. He’s gay, and discretely so. He doesn’t hit on the production assistants. Unless they’re openly gay. And none of them are.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because they’d get fired for making the director uncomfortable.”

  “Wow,” Cora said. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “Well, don’t tell Sandy. He thinks I’m learning my lines.”

  Cora laughed. Then sobered up. “I must say, for all that, it looks pretty unpromising.”

  “Yes, but we’re just getting started. We’re bound to chase a lot of false leads. We get them out of the way, and come up with something better.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m working off the top of my head. Things are bound to fall through the cracks. Now, you told me who was around for auditions. Aside from the P.A.s, I can’t help thinking you’re leaving somebody out.”

  “Oh, and who would that be?”

  “I don’t know. Who else would be apt to take advantage of a young woman?”

  Melvin came walking by.

  “Hey, girls. What’s up?”

  25

  Hi, Melvin,” Cora said. “Angela wants to know if you shtupped the gofer girl in exchange for getting her on the movie.”

  Melvin’s mouth fell open. “Who the hell do you think I am?”

  “I know who you are,” Cora said. “That’s why I’m asking?’

  “Are you asking or is she asking?”

  “We’re asking,” Angela said. “Though I didn’t know we were being so blunt about it.”

  “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

  “An evasion,” Cora said. “Did you see that? He evaded the question.”

  “I certainly did. That would kick him up the suspect list. I know he’s a friend of yours.”

  “Friend isn’t exactly the right word for it.”

  Melvin looked back and forth from one to the other. “This isn’t funny. Crowley’s on the set. If he hears you talking like that, he’s going to ask me questions.”

  “Why would that be bad?” Cora said.

  “Because he might come to the same erroneous conclusions you have.”

  “And what erroneous conclusion is that?” Angela said.

  “That I killed Karen Hart to keep her from blabbing about how she slept with me to get on the picture.”

  “Is that what happened?” Cora said.

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  Cora threw her hands up. “Oh, my God, I could write the end of this scene myself. Who else knew about this?”

  “A gentleman doesn’t tell.”

  “I know. That’s why I was asking you.”

  “It had nothing to do with anything.”

  “Oh, this was an incidental seduction of a minor?”

  “How old did you think she was?”

  “That’s not the point. Look at her. Look at you. What’s wrong with this picture?”

  “Just because she’s younger than you doesn’t mean she’s a baby. There’s a lot of leeway there.”

  “You’re not helping your cause.”

  “Well,” Angela said, “much as I appreciate this insight to the relationship I’m going to be playing, could we stick to the facts? You had a relationship with the murdered girl.”

  “Not a relationship. She was a one night stand.”

  “Did she know that?”

  “She wanted on the picture.”

  “And you could do that?”

  “She got on the picture, didn’t she?”

  “You have to tell Crowley,” Cora said.

  “Crowley knows all about it.”

  “What?”

  “He knows it didn’t mean anything. It’s no big deal.”

  Cora made a gesture like her head exploding. “You just told us to keep it down because you didn’t want Crowley asking a lot of questions.”

  “I don’t.”

  “But he already knows!”

  “Sure. Because I told him discretely it meant nothing. That’s a lot different than gossip and rumors flying around the set that he has to deal with.”

  Angela had been watching this back and forth as if she was at a tennis match. She cocked her head. “How long were you two together?”

  26

  Melvin banged the gofer girl.”

  Crowley frowned at Cora. “I beg your pardon.”

  “The dead gofer girl
. Melvin banged her, and you covered it up.”

  “Covered it up?” Crowley said. “Consensual sex is not a crime, thank God. There aren’t enough jails to hold ’em all.”

  “Don’t be dumb. The girl is dead. you’re looking for clues. Don’t you think the fact she had sex with someone other than her boyfriend might qualify?”

  “Yeah. It would be another motive for the boyfriend. Who we already think killed her. Which we can’t prove, because he’s dead. But I can’t help that. I have to take the facts the way they come.”

  “You have to cover up the facts the way they come. What is this, some macho boy’s fraternity? ‘Yeah, sure, I banged the victim. Didn’t you?’”

  “I can’t begin to tell you how wrong you are.”

  “Oh, go ahead. Begin. I got time to listen.”

  “In a murder case, we don’t announce all the clues we uncover. A judicious no comment is what we tell the media.”

  “The hell you do. You publish the party line. You guys decided it was the boyfriend, and as far as the media is concerned, it’s the boyfriend.”

  “As far as the media is concerned, it’s a non-story. A guy kills his girlfriend and takes his own life, all neat and tidy. The story’s over and you can go back to your filming.”

  Cora’s eyes widened. “You have orders not to disrupt the movie crew?”

  “Do you know how much money the motion picture industry pumps into this city? I’ll stop filming dead if there’s good reason. But I’m not going to do it on a whim.”

  “So Melvin gets a pass for sleeping with the victim?”

  “He isn’t getting a pass. Believe me, he’s been thoroughly questioned.”

  27

  cora got back to the trailer to find Angela having coffee with the young man playing Melvin.

  “Hi, Cora. Have you met Fred Roberts, my Melvin?”

  “We haven’t been formally introduced, but I certainly know who you are. Pleased to meet you, Fred. Are you having any problem playing the scum-sucking sleazeball I was married to?”

  Fred grinned. “No, but thank you for that hint into his character. Angela and I were just running lines.”

  “That’s right,” Angela said. “Fred came on the picture after I did. Though he read for it first.”

  “Really,” Cora said. “I thought the men’s auditions were after the women’s.”