Don marched by the trailers belonging to people, headed to the trailers belonging to departments. One of the last trailers was identified as Production. He opened the flimsy door, motioned for D.D. to enter. She pretended to be fiddling with her coat, allowing him the opportunity to go first, where she could keep him in her line of sight.
The inside of the trailer was one seven-by-eight office, attached to a closed door that ostensibly led to a similar-sized bedroom. Beige carpet, brown built-in sofa, brown and beige benches on either side of a Formica table. As decor went, the trailer fit the man.
Don produced a twenty-page contract from the top of the table, then a pen. D.D. started skimming.
“Have you heard from your other cop, yet?” she asked casually. “Chaibongsai.”
“No,” Don said. He bent over the table, shuffling more piles of paper. He seemed intent on keeping busy.
“When’d you last see him?”
“He was on set the day before yesterday. We shot daytime scenes in a local office building that we’ve turned into police headquarters.”
“How’d he look?” D.D. asked. She stopped skimming the contract. Watched Don.
“I don’t know. How does someone look?” Don was definitely turned away from her now, shoulders rounded, gaze averted.
“He interact with the cast and crew?”
“I guess so. Samuel usually sat at video village—”
“Video village?”
“The bank of monitors where you can see what’s being filmed. His job was to look for mistakes. For example, he’d point out that a real cop wouldn’t stand that way, exposing his gun to a suspect. When the director yelled cut, he’d glance at Samuel. If Samuel saw any issues, he’d say so, then have a one-on-one with the actor. Otherwise, filming would continue.”
“He have any one-on-ones his last day?”
“Couple.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know. He talked to the director, then to Gary, not me.”
“Gary?”
“Gary Masters, our star. Perhaps you know him from Boyz of Bel Air? Sitcom in the eighties about two white kids from the Bronx who move to Bel Air?”
Don finally turned around. D.D. eyed him closely.
“Never saw it. Gary Masters. He good? Easy to work with?”
“Pro,” Don said immediately. “He started in commercials at six months, meaning he’s literally been acting all his life.”
“Maybe he didn’t like being corrected by a cop?”
“No. Gary seemed into it, considered Samuel to be his own personal character consultant. You don’t always get that on a set.”
“What about the director?”
“Ron Lafavre.”
“Sounds like Chaibongsai had final say on some scenes. Did that irk him?”
“Ron’s who asked for a police expert, so I wouldn’t think so.”
“Any other issues crop up that last day?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you get through your scenes? Cameras worked, sound rolled, cast was happy? No mishaps, however minor?”
Don’s turn to regard her closely. “No . . . Detective, are you having second thoughts about being our expert? Because we really do need one, so—”
“Not at all, not at all.” She waved her hand.
Don continued to frown at her. “Are you worried that Chaibongsai will return? Because if so, I have to admit, we’d go back to him, as he’s familiar with the project. But you’d be compensated for time worked, of course.”
“I’m not worried about that,” D.D. said immediately.
“Then . . .”
“Chaibongsai isn’t coming back.” She took a step closer in the small trailer. Allowed her pregnant bulk to crowd Don a little, force him back against the table. His hands were where she could see them, and while he may not have noticed it yet, she wore her firearm in a shoulder holster underneath her open coat, easily accessible.
She wasn’t scared of Don Bilger, though. She was curious.
“Samuel Chaibongsai is dead,” she said, watching the producer’s nervous face. “I got the call on my way here. Landlord found his body. Looks like he was beaten to death by some kind of blunt object. For example, a baseball bat.”
What do you need to get the job done? Murder weapon of choice, of course, based on your preferred methodology. But what else? Gloves, thin latex for maximum dexterity, while limiting evidence transfer. Hat, not a bad idea for containing any shedding hair.
But what else? Now you must consider your victim choice as well as methodology. Is he or she a fighter? Perhaps you require restraints, or a secondary weapon to stun your victim into submission. Or perhaps the right disguise to help lower defenses, draw your victim in. I recommend a suit; there’s something about a man in a suit that almost always inspires trust.
Do not love your shoes. Chances are, they will have to be tossed as the soles leave behind imprints. Also, consider the moments after your first strike. If you plan on spending some time with your victim, you will want to gather ancillary items such as duct tape, rope, pliers, perhaps a lighter, and/or a camera. Do you want a Taser? A plastic bag for bloody clothes?
Pack your murder kit. This is step three.
Chapter 3
A very subdued Don Bilger led D.D. from his white trailer back outside to the waiting transport van. Normally, D.D. would’ve preferred walking, but her back was still bothering her, the baby seeming to have gained three pounds in just the past hour, so driving to the “green room,” where the stars hung out until summoned on set, sounded good.
D.D. had never signed the movie contract. Originally, when she’d spoken to her boss, Deputy Superintendent of Homicide Cal Horgan, she’d been okayed to play consultant on her personal time for private pay. But the discovery of Chaibongsai’s body had changed all that.
Already her squadmates Phil and Neil were at the scene, studying the body, processing the basics. Uniformed officers would start with the canvassing of neighbors. Lists would be made of known contacts, and detectives further deployed to track down Chaibongsai’s family, friends, associates. By definition, the investigation would lead to the movie set, Chaibongsai’s last place of employment.
When Horgan had called with the news of the murder, as well as the suggestion that D.D. go home, she’d argued for continuing on in order to conduct basic reconnaissance. Instead of playing film consultant, she’d spend the next twelve hours identifying key players and getting the lay of movie land. Then, come seven A.M., when the cast and crew were exhausted from having worked all night, D.D.’s fellow detectives would descend and, based on D.D.’s intel, quickly overwhelm the weakest links and strongest targets. Badda bing, badda boom. Case wrapped in time for breakfast.
Besides, D.D. argued with her boss, she wasn’t going to be alone all night, surrounded by potential murder suspects. Shortly after nine, when Alex finished teaching his criminology class, he planned to join her on set. That was his approach to these things: If she wouldn’t stay home with him, then he’d work late with her.
You had to respect a man like that. Probably even love him, which might logically lead to living together, especially considering, you know, the baby.
They would become a family.