And so he concentrated on the plot points. “The main thing we have to do is make sure we get Max’s body there in a timely manner. According to Dr. DePaulentis’s paper, lividity becomes apparent within a half hour to two hours after death, which you will admit, is a pretty short time frame when we have to move him. So we’ve got to do everything we can to make it appear he died at the scene.”
“You’re sure there’ll be no blood?” Gordon said. “You can guarantee that.”
“There are no guarantees, Gord, but a twenty-two straight to the heart isn’t going to go anywhere. It might bounce around a little inside, but there’s not enough firepower to go through. That’s why we have to have a trained shooter.”
He didn’t say it, but there was a word for a killer who specialized in executions with the .22. Assassin.
However Max fell when he was shot on the soundstage, they would have to be careful to transport him in the same position. Jerry had timed the drive from the soundstage to the pullout, which was only twenty minutes away. The timing would be tight, but the likelihood that Max would be in full livor mortis was actually pretty slight. When the heart stopped pumping, the blood would settle into the organs and sink to the lowest points, but the whole process could take up to twelve hours to be complete. Any changes within that time frame, Jerry thought (he hoped—DePaulentis hadn’t been entirely clear on this point) would likely not be remarkable enough to puzzle a forensic pathologist.
But to be on the safe side, Jerry had driven out to the pullout and removed all the rocks and debris from a ten-foot-by-ten-foot area of dirt, the place where Max might conceivably fall.
They’d just have to deliver Max there in a timely manner.
Jerry took another sip of scotch. “As far as livor mortis goes—”
“Livor mortis?”
“It’s another word for lividity. How the blood sinks to the bottom of a person when he dies. Remember? Anyway, we don’t have to worry about the woman and the girl, especially if we just shove them in the backseat of their car like the bad guy would do. Any way they land is fine. Especially after we roll the car down that hill.”
They went back to the beginning. When the woman and her daughter arrived at the mall, they would be ushered onto the soundstage. Max would be there, hopefully still disoriented from over twenty-four hours in the isolation tank, and easy to manipulate.
They’d shoot him first, two to the heart with a .22. The mother would be next, and the little girl last, since she would be easiest to kill.
“How far do we go with the mother?” Gordon asked.
“Pants off—I told her they can wear casual clothes, so I’m guessing it’ll be pants. And maybe her underwear. Maybe tear something, but we have to make sure to use gloves. We don’t want to leave any hair follicles or microscopic bits of skin, dander, anything like that. And jumpsuits. Whoever places them where they need to be has to wear a jumpsuit and a shower cap over a hairnet. Use the precautions in the DePaulentis plan.”
“And where are we going to hide whoever’s going to do it, do you think, Jerry? If the mom and the kid see some guy in a jumpsuit, rubber gloves, and a shower cap over a hairnet, alarm bells could go off. People have a sixth sense about things. We’re no different from animals, when you come right down to it. We can sense danger. We don’t want this to be a mess, Jerry.”
They would put the mother and daughter in the car and drive them out to the pullout, then a half mile farther on, push the car over the embankment. They would transport Max to the site in the box truck.
“Careful to keep him in the same position,” Jerry stressed.
“Agreed.” Gordon got himself a drink and sat down again. “I’m worried about that twelve miles to the pullout. That’s a lot of time on the road.”
“No it’s not.”
“Two cars? Transporting three bodies? Any time on the road is dangerous. Someone could see us.”
“What are they going to see, Gord? Someone driving by. It’ll be dark by then. All they’ll see is headlights, and who notices what kind of cars are on the road anyway? Do you know that the least reliable evidence of guilt comes from eyewitnesses? Eyewitnesses, generally speaking, suck. Part of that time they’ll be on the road, they have to go past the RV park…Don’t look at me like that, Gord, it’s no big deal. Night, remember? And Max’s car will go about a half hour later, so they’re not even seen together on the road. Trust me. Nobody’s going to notice a thing. The mother and daughter will be covered up, and Max will be in the cargo truck.”
Jerry added, “The main objective is to make sure Max is laid out just the way he hit the floor on the soundstage. That could be a dangerous window of time—but it’s a short one. And we’ll be doing it when it’s dark. We straight on this?”
“We’re straight.”
“Good.”
Chapter Forty-Two
CONCENTRATE.
Max knew how easily he could lose all sense of time and space, and worse, his own identity. It wasn’t just disorientation. The word disorientation was nothing compared to what he knew would happen to him. He couldn’t feel his hands, his feet, he couldn’t smell anything, he couldn’t hear anything, he couldn’t see anything. He felt nothing against his body, no pressure at all, as if he’d been wrapped in cotton wool. There was no point of reference. He knew he’d lose all sense of time, he knew he would lie suspended in the darkness, lost, desperate, unable to hear his own cries for help. And he knew it would come on him fast. The hallucinations would take over and he would be completely lost. He needed to concentrate. He bit his lip so he could feel something. The sharp pain, the taste of blood. It helped. He needed to think about one thing. One word, one mantra—a chant that would keep him sane. He flailed around for a word, any word, for that one clear thought, but panic began to consume him.
Think!
He couldn’t.
Think think think think think.
But nothing came. Nothing.
Amazing to think he’d once used drugs and alcohol to blur his senses, to disorient himself.
And then, from somewhere, it came to him, one tiny word. Freeze.
Freeze. The word Gordon had used against him. Programmed into him: Freeze.
What was the opposite of “Freeze”? Don’t Freeze. He backed it up with another thought. If they tell you to freeze, don’t. Don’t freeze. Move. And move fast.
His lips formed the words. “Freeze, Move.” He made no sound, but he could feel his lips moving. They still belonged to him. He kept moving his lips: Freeze, Move. Over and over. Freeze, Move. Freeze, Move. Freeze, Move!
He started to drift, lassitude spreading to his arms, his legs, his whole body. Had to fight against it, hold on to those two words by the most tenuous thread, as if he were tethered to a balloon.
When they came for him, when they got him out of here, he knew what he would do.
MOVE.
III: THE LAST PICTURE SHOW
Chapter Forty-Three
JERRY WAS HAVING a late lunch outside on the deck when Gordon walked up, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
Breaking the mood completely.