I think the general public has come to accept the idea that objects equal evidence. The video case, the letter, the envelope, all might possibly contain trace evidence or latent prints that could prove valuable. What is less apparent is the importance of the tape itself and what information might possibly be gleaned from it.
It's a lesson I learned the hard way back in the mid-seventies when I was a new guy to Homicide and there was no such thing as videotape. Vice brought in an especially ugly 16-mm snuff film that featured a twelve-year-old Seattle girl who had disappeared on her way home from school. I barfed my guts out the first time I saw it. My partner, a world-weary old guy named Bert Claggerhorn, sat us down in the film room, and we watched that damn movie over and over, hour after hour.
Finally, I raised hell and said I'd be damned if I'd watch it one more time, and I didn't. But Bert went right on ahead without me. The amateurs who specialize in pornographic films are just exactly that-amateurs. They're not overly concerned about production values. After watching the film enough times, Bert finally noticed that an overlooked television set was playing in the background. Either the cameraman forgot to turn it off, or, more likely, he was using the volume to help mask the sounds of what he and his pal were doing.
After spotting that one telling detail, Bert ordered blowups made, one from every foot or so of film. When the blowups came back, some of them showed soaps and afternoon game shows that can be seen on television sets anywhere in the country. But filming must have run long, with occasional pauses in the action. Toward the end, the programming carried on over into the evening news, and that's how Bert nailed those bastards.
Studying the blowups, he was able to identify several newscasters and a weatherman who appeared only on the local Bellingham station. Armed with that knowledge, we zeroed in on the Bellingham area. Once we narrowed down the locale and trained the full focus of our investigation there, it didn't take long to flush out our two "movie-mogul" creeps. A bloodstained mattress, the same torn one that was clearly visible in Bert's blowups, was still on the bed. Eventually, those bloodstains were traced to the victim. Thanks to Bert's detailed study of that film, the killers were found and put away for good.
Fraymore seemed bemused by the intensity of Dinky's reaction. "I'm conducting an investigation here, Ms. Holloway," he said. "I understand your abhorrence toward this particular film, but we have to be thorough. That movie gives us something we didn't have before-motive."
In view of the first skirmish in Fraymore's and my little turf war, I should have kept my mouth shut altogether, but keeping my mouth shut has never been one of my strong suits.
"What are you going to do about Tanya Dunseth?" I asked the question straight out, recognizing my blunder as soon as Fraymore turned his narrowed gaze in my direction.
"What business is that of yours?" he demanded.
With Alex looking on, I didn't want to back down. I shrugged noncommittally. "I just want to know, that's all."
Fraymore's thick neck bulged over his eighteen-inch collar. "Did I miss something here?" he asked. "Did I turn my back and all of a sudden you hired on as an investigator with the Ashland Police Department?"
The sarcasm wasn't lost on me. There was no humor in his delivery. Fraymore was the local chief dog, and I was a mangy, out-of-town cur encroaching on previously marked territory.
"I don't believe I have to remind you that you have no legal standing whatsoever in this jurisdiction, Mister Beaumont," Gordon Fraymore continued. "The City of Ashland has no letter of mutual aid on file with the City of Seattle. In other words, butt out. That badge of yours is no good here. Furthermore, I don't appreciate interference from visiting firemen. You just go on about your business-see some plays, get your daughter married off, do whatever it is you want to do while you're down here, but leave the law enforcement end of things to me."
I may be slow, but I got the picture. "Right."
Fraymore's and my verbal scuffle went right over Dinky Holloway's head. "You wouldn't really arrest Tanya, would you?" Dinky asked, as though it were only a remote possibility, if that.
Listening with a cop's ear, I knew better. It wasn't just what Fraymore said, it was also how he said it. Tanya Dunseth was in deep trouble. Dinky might have regarded Tanya as a talented young actress and fine mother, as a valued cast member and fellow employee. Gordon Fraymore saw her as a suspected killer, plain and simple. In the world of homicide investigators, suspected killers become convicted ones. And that seemed the most likely outcome in this case.
Presumably, Gordon Fraymore could have sidestepped Dinky's question the same way he had avoided mine, but he didn't. Denver Holloway represented the Festival, the business entity in Ashland that, more than any other, made the detective's regular municipal paychecks possible. Having a suspected murderer onstage at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival wouldn't be good for the Festival or for Ashland.
Fraymore was smart enough to realize that if he was going to have to arrest one of the Festival's star players, if he was going to bite the hand that fed him, he had best handle everyone else from there with kid gloves-starting with Dinky Holloway.
"I might have to," he conceded uneasily, popping Tums as if they were candy. I wondered what was causing Gordon Fraymore's severe indigestion-bad food, general overeating, or Martin Shore's murder.
"How many plays is Tanya Dunseth in?" he asked.
"Three," Dinky answered. "Romeo, Shrew, and The Real Thing."
"Big roles?"
Dinky nodded. "Important ones. Substantial ones."
In the silence that followed, Gordon Fraymore gave his sprouting five o'clock shadow a thoughtful rub. "It's like this, Ms. Holloway. If I were you, I'd be out there right now preparing people to take over Tanya's parts. That is confidential information. If word about it leaks out, she'll know we're onto her and take off like a shot."
Dinky bit her lip and nodded. "I understand," she said.
By the time we finally left Fraymore's office, it was 8:20. Ashland is a small town. It would have been easy for us to drive to the theater district, park, and make it to our seats in the Elizabethan in plenty of time for an eight-thirty curtain. But somehow our hearts weren't up to seeing Taming of the Shrew. Alex and I opted for something to eat. We invited Dinky to join us, but she begged off.
"I've got to go somewhere and think," she said. She started away, then came back. "He is going to arrest her, isn't he?"
"It looks that way," I agreed. "You heard what he said."
"It'll be terrible for the Festival. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Tanya's an important part of the season. She's a great Juliet, an outstanding Kate. The understudies aren't nearly as good. How long do I have?"
"I don't know. Several days maybe. Possibly as long as several weeks, but I doubt it. Fraymore is under tremendous pressure to get this case solved in a timely manner. He's going to give it everything he's got. If things don't happen fast enough to suit him, he'll make them happen."
Dinky opened her purse and groped for a pack of cigarettes. "Do you think Tanya actually did it?" she asked. Her hands trembled as she attempted to light her cigarette. I finally lit it for her.
"You know Tanya better than I do. You tell me."
Dinky shook her head mournfully. "I don't know what to think. All I know is, I never should have told anyone about the tape. I should have just kept quiet."
"You're not the only one who knew about the tape," I reminded her. "Whoever sent it to you knew about it. Besides, the tape alone won't convict her. There's lots more to it than that. Fraymore's right. The tape does provide motive, but he has to look at opportunity, physical evidence, the availability of the weapon. Tanya certainly had access to that."