Eleventh Hour
Page 38
“Well, no, we haven’t,” Flynn said. “And what do you know about it?”
THIRTEEN
“Hey, it all stays in this room?”
“Sure, why not?” Flynn said. “Give it your best shot, Mr. Wolfinger.”
Linus Wolfinger smiled at all of them impartially, tapped his pen one more time, and said, “I think it’s Jon Franken. He’s the assistant director for The Consultant. He’s too good to be true, you know? Mr. Hollywood down to his tasseled Italian loafers. He knows everyone, is just so good at A-list parties. I know there’s got to be something really nasty about him. No one that good is what he seems to be, you know?”
Delion rose, the others with him. He said, “Thank you, Mr. Wolfinger. We’ll really look close at Jon Franken. Me, I can’t stand a guy who’s too good at his job. It motivates me to nail his ass.”
Flynn said, “Now, Mr. Wolfinger, do contact either me or Inspector Delion or Special Agent Carver here if you come up with something or if you find out anything that could be useful.” All of them passed their cards to Wolfinger, who didn’t take them, just let them pile up in front of him, close to that still-tapping pen that was driving everyone nuts.
Dane said, wishing in that moment that he could haul the little jerk up by his dicky and throw that damned pen out the window, “It would be easier if the murderer had stayed in the same city, but he didn’t. At least now no more episodes will be aired.”
Wolfinger said, “I’ve already slotted in The Last Hurrah, another new show about lottery-ticket winners and what becomes of them.”
“Sounds innocuous enough,” Flynn said.
Pauley said, “Maybe it’s someone who’s out to sabotage the show itself. I’ve been in the business a long time, made enemies. Maybe it’s someone who hates me personally, wants revenge, knows that this one is my particular baby. I’ve got a lot on the line here.”
Dane said, “You think a man would kill—what is the count now that we know of—eight people, just to get revenge on you?”
“Put that way, it doesn’t sound too likely, does it,” Pauley said.
“Were there problems getting the show off the ground, Mr. Pauley?” Flynn asked. “Someone specifically who put up roadblocks?”
“There are always problems,” Wolfinger said, batting his hand at Pauley to keep him quiet, “but on this one there were fewer than usual. Mr. Pauley is right that he’s got a lot to lose. He’s married to the consultant’s girlfriend on the show. He pushed to have her star. If the show closes down, then so does she.” Wolfinger didn’t sound sorry at all.
Dane glanced over at Pauley and knew he was thinking, Little Shit. Pauley said, “He’s right—having the show shut down won’t be wonderful for my home life, but Belinda will understand, she has to. But having the media go nuts over a script murderer will be a disaster for my reputation and the studio’s. We won’t even mention the lawsuits.”
“Certainly everyone’s reputation is on the line here,” Flynn said.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Wolfinger said. “I trust you gentlemen will try to encourage everyone interviewed to keep quiet about this?” He laughed. “Hey, it won’t matter. This is far too juicy to keep quiet about. It’ll be out before the day is over.” Wolfinger looked down at his pen, frowned a moment, then said, “Then there’s Joe Kleypas, the star. Interesting man. A bad boy, but nonetheless, an excellent actor. Maybe you want to put him up there on your suspect list.”
“Why would he kill people to ape the show he’s starring in?” Delion asked. “He has to know the show will be shut down.”
Wolfinger shrugged. “He’s a deep guy, never know what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s got mental problems.”
Flynn said, “All right. We’ll be speaking to you later, Mr. Wolfinger. Thank you for your time and your ideas.”
When they left exactly seven minutes later, Nick said, “He’s an interesting man. I didn’t think he was a shit. Well, all that pen tapping was obnoxious.”
“That’s vintage Little Shit,” said Pauley.
Frank Pauley stopped to frown at a framed black-and-white photo of Greta Garbo on the wall. He carefully straightened it, then nodded. “You’re right. He acted like an adult. I’ve seen him do it before. But I’ve also seen him throw a soda can—full—at somebody who said something he didn’t like.”
Dane said, “Mr. Pauley, are they still shooting any of these episodes?”
THIRTEEN
“Hey, it all stays in this room?”
“Sure, why not?” Flynn said. “Give it your best shot, Mr. Wolfinger.”
Linus Wolfinger smiled at all of them impartially, tapped his pen one more time, and said, “I think it’s Jon Franken. He’s the assistant director for The Consultant. He’s too good to be true, you know? Mr. Hollywood down to his tasseled Italian loafers. He knows everyone, is just so good at A-list parties. I know there’s got to be something really nasty about him. No one that good is what he seems to be, you know?”
Delion rose, the others with him. He said, “Thank you, Mr. Wolfinger. We’ll really look close at Jon Franken. Me, I can’t stand a guy who’s too good at his job. It motivates me to nail his ass.”
Flynn said, “Now, Mr. Wolfinger, do contact either me or Inspector Delion or Special Agent Carver here if you come up with something or if you find out anything that could be useful.” All of them passed their cards to Wolfinger, who didn’t take them, just let them pile up in front of him, close to that still-tapping pen that was driving everyone nuts.
Dane said, wishing in that moment that he could haul the little jerk up by his dicky and throw that damned pen out the window, “It would be easier if the murderer had stayed in the same city, but he didn’t. At least now no more episodes will be aired.”
Wolfinger said, “I’ve already slotted in The Last Hurrah, another new show about lottery-ticket winners and what becomes of them.”
“Sounds innocuous enough,” Flynn said.
Pauley said, “Maybe it’s someone who’s out to sabotage the show itself. I’ve been in the business a long time, made enemies. Maybe it’s someone who hates me personally, wants revenge, knows that this one is my particular baby. I’ve got a lot on the line here.”
Dane said, “You think a man would kill—what is the count now that we know of—eight people, just to get revenge on you?”
“Put that way, it doesn’t sound too likely, does it,” Pauley said.
“Were there problems getting the show off the ground, Mr. Pauley?” Flynn asked. “Someone specifically who put up roadblocks?”
“There are always problems,” Wolfinger said, batting his hand at Pauley to keep him quiet, “but on this one there were fewer than usual. Mr. Pauley is right that he’s got a lot to lose. He’s married to the consultant’s girlfriend on the show. He pushed to have her star. If the show closes down, then so does she.” Wolfinger didn’t sound sorry at all.
Dane glanced over at Pauley and knew he was thinking, Little Shit. Pauley said, “He’s right—having the show shut down won’t be wonderful for my home life, but Belinda will understand, she has to. But having the media go nuts over a script murderer will be a disaster for my reputation and the studio’s. We won’t even mention the lawsuits.”
“Certainly everyone’s reputation is on the line here,” Flynn said.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Wolfinger said. “I trust you gentlemen will try to encourage everyone interviewed to keep quiet about this?” He laughed. “Hey, it won’t matter. This is far too juicy to keep quiet about. It’ll be out before the day is over.” Wolfinger looked down at his pen, frowned a moment, then said, “Then there’s Joe Kleypas, the star. Interesting man. A bad boy, but nonetheless, an excellent actor. Maybe you want to put him up there on your suspect list.”
“Why would he kill people to ape the show he’s starring in?” Delion asked. “He has to know the show will be shut down.”
Wolfinger shrugged. “He’s a deep guy, never know what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s got mental problems.”
Flynn said, “All right. We’ll be speaking to you later, Mr. Wolfinger. Thank you for your time and your ideas.”
When they left exactly seven minutes later, Nick said, “He’s an interesting man. I didn’t think he was a shit. Well, all that pen tapping was obnoxious.”
“That’s vintage Little Shit,” said Pauley.
Frank Pauley stopped to frown at a framed black-and-white photo of Greta Garbo on the wall. He carefully straightened it, then nodded. “You’re right. He acted like an adult. I’ve seen him do it before. But I’ve also seen him throw a soda can—full—at somebody who said something he didn’t like.”
Dane said, “Mr. Pauley, are they still shooting any of these episodes?”
