Sacred Evil

Page 26

“Of course,” Avery said, waving a hand in the air. “It’s important that we give the film the edge of realism. And I’m a tough taskmaster as a director. It’s not who you are all the time, it’s also what you want in a situation. And if you understand your situation, you can be passionate about it. The film is about a time in history. I wanted Bobby and Sherry to understand history.”
“It was—great,” Sherry said.
“Ditto. I enjoyed the library,” Bobby said.
“The fact that we went to the library makes us suspects?” Avery inquired, frowning. “If an interest in special documents makes us suspect, then you’re going to have a lot of suspects.”
“True,” Jude said easily. He changed his line of questioning. “Agent Tremont has worked in film. She’ll understand anything you have to say when I may not.”
“Yes, and frankly we’re intrigued by the set, and the information you gave us previously, Mr. Avery,” Whitney said. She offered him an easy smile. He seemed somewhat mollified.
“I don’t know what else I can tell you. The movie is a major production, you know. And we were filming that day, before breaking down to set up at the next location. I should have never chosen that location, never! It might have been the so-called Darby Building that was recently brought down, but it was once the House of Spiritualism, and I don’t like to be a superstitious man, but I honestly feel that there is something simply evil there.”
“I didn’t feel a thing,” Bobby muttered. “Sorry, Mr. Avery, I just didn’t.”
“I didn’t like it. I wouldn’t have been hanging around that place once it got late!” Sherry Blanco protested.
“It was creepy,” Jane Deaver said. “I hated being there. And we tried to get Ginger to leave with us. We tried!” Huge tears formed in her eyes.
“Did you see anyone lurking around the set? Did you feel as if you were being watched? Was anything out of the ordinary?” Jude asked.
Missy said, “No.”
“Yes. No. I mean, it was just creepy!” Jane said. “When night came, the lighting was so low and there were shadows everywhere, and the shadows seemed to move.”
“Shadows move when the object casting them moves,” Bobby Walden said quietly. “There were people all around—until late.” He looked at Whitney. “You know, the wardrobe folks, the crew. Breakdown calls for a lot of workers, and the camera crews were wrapping up. Production assistants were wrapping up…and then it’s the end of the day. People get the hell out of there.”
“Who was left at the end?” Jude asked.
“Sammy was still there,” Missy said, pointing at the retired cop. “Sammy was with us on the sidewalk, just outside the chain-link fence, until the cab came.”
Samuel Vintner, ex-cop, going to ruin, with gin blossoms on his cheekbones and a paunch, grew red and shook his grizzled head. “I’d have been there for Virginia Rockford, too, but she—sorry, don’t mean to speak ill of the dead—but she just bitched at me. I even offered her a ride home. She didn’t want me around her, so I went to make sure that the crew was out and that the gates were all locked again.”
“With the cheap padlocks,” Whitney murmured.
“Hey—that’s the city, not us!” Sammy protested. He looked at Jude. “I swear, yeah, I may have been one of the last people to see her alive, but I tried my best to make sure she was safe, and when she was on location, she was safe. I offered her a ride. She told me no, she wouldn’t drive with me if I were the last creep on earth. She was in a huff, angry about something. She left, headed straight to walk north on Broadway and when she was locked out, and I went to the guard on the other side of the block—the city fellow—and told him I was leaving. The place was empty. I’d seen to that!”
“Where did you go from the site, Mr. Vintner?” Jude asked.
“Home, where my wife warmed up my dinner. My sister-in-law—who hates me, by the way—was there. They’ll both tell you that I was home thirty minutes after the set closed for the day. Miss Rockford was angry—and, sorry, it’s true, she wasn’t the nicest person in the world—and she left in kind of a huff, treating me like I was a gnat in her way.”
“I didn’t even speak with Ms. Rockford!” Sherry Blanco said. She was an attractive woman, extremely pretty, blue-eyed and blonde and slim as a reed. Her words betrayed little empathy, despite the public service announcement she had done.
“Not once? Not once during the shoot?” Jude asked.
“No. I wasn’t in the scene she was in. I was on set that day, but I left by three-thirty. Look, I’m sorry, truly sorry for this woman. But bad things happen in this city every day, and I can’t let them all tear me apart. I left the set early. Detective, you can’t possibly suspect me!” she said.
He smiled, not agreeing that it would be impossible. “Ms. Blanco, we were hoping that you might have met Miss Rockford, and perhaps exchanged a few words with her. Or that you might have seen someone perhaps watching her on the set?”
“Well, I didn’t speak with her.” She waved a hand in the air. “Detective,” she said, fluttering her lashes at him, “I’m afraid that you just don’t understand a movie set, and the logistics that go with it all. There might have been another major player in the movie that I didn’t meet. It depends on your call times and scenes, and who is in the scenes. You just don’t understand.”
“But I do,” Whitney said sweetly.
Sherry Blanco stared at Whitney, irritated. “Look! I didn’t speak with her! I didn’t see anyone hanging around her. Bobby talked to her, though. She and Bobby were in a steamy scene together, one of the last filmed that day.”
“I was nice to her,” Bobby said, startled, and edging away from his costar. “We were working together. Of course I talked to her!”
“She was waiting for you!” Missy Everett said, suddenly bolting to her feet as if she’d erupted from the couch. “You had to know it—I knew it!”
“What?” Bobby gasped.
“She was waiting for you! She thought that you were going to call her to hang out with you for a while when the filming was done,” Missy said.
“That’s right,” Jane Deaver agreed. “When we tried to get her to leave, she said that she was going to hang out with you.”
Bobby reddened to the shade of a tomato. “I—I talked to her. I didn’t make a date with her or anything.”
“Well, she sure thought that you did,” Jane said, staring at him accusingly.
Jane caught her friend by the shoulders and drew her back to the sofa, whispering something.
Bobby suddenly seemed distraught. “Look, I’m sorry if she believed that. And, I hate to say it, but if she planned on spending time with me, it’s not because she was bowled over by me—she probably thought it might get her attention from the right people.”
“Jane, you know that’s true!” Missy said softly.
Jude was pretty sure it was a warning that if she wanted to work again, she needed to calm down about Bobby Walden.
Missy said, “Look, we liked Ginger, and we weren’t happy about leaving her, but she insisted. We didn’t see anyone—Sammy walked us to the street and we got into a cab together. I didn’t see anyone watching Ginger in any weird way during the day, except, of course, the actors, who were supposed to be sizing up the available prostitutes. And they all turned it on and off. Detective, you know that we really have spoken with other cops—they were all over us and everyone else who had been at the site, down to the limo drivers.”
Jude smiled. “That’s their job, you know,” he told her. “They check and verify everything. They even know that a cabdriver named Abdel Mohammed picked you two up and dropped you at the B-Way Café up in Midtown.”
Missy and Jane looked at each other with wide eyes. “I didn’t know his name, did you?” Missy asked Jane.
“Well, when there are two of us, I don’t usually go getting chummy with the cabdriver!” Jane said.
“Excuse me!” Angus Avery said. He tapped his watch. “Time. Time is money. Directors who come in way above budget don’t get hired again.”
“Mr. Avery!” Whitney said, her eyes golden and luminescent. “I don’t think that you have to worry. We’ll be sure that the media know just how helpful you’ve been. That’s going to be tremendously important when your work is judged. You can be the man who helped the women of New York City.”
“The whores of New York City,” Sherry Blanco muttered.
They all turned to look at her. “I do read the papers, you know!”
“Yeah, she reads People and US Weekly,” Bobby muttered.
“Bobby, you’re just being cruel. And I’m not being stupid or mean, just truthful. This has been all over the news. They identified the girl from the river—in fact, I heard that one of the educational channels is going to do a sob-story thing on her called The Girl from the River! What was her name? Sarah whatever. She couldn’t get real work, so she started stripping. I saw Virginia Rockford on that set, and she may not have hung up a shingle, but she was for sale. And now that poor woman this morning…Melody Tatum. High-priced escort! Well, in truth, they were all whores. That’s who the Ripper went after, right?” She looked at Jude hopefully.
Jude felt tension searing him like a blade; Whitney set a hand on his arm and squeezed lightly.
“Ms. Blanco,” Jude said, “no one really knows for certain who the killer will target next, and it doesn’t matter if anyone knows those who were killed, or is like those who were killed. With this killer, he seems to be moved by his perception of the victim, and God alone knows how he might perceive anyone out there. Especially a high-profile actress.”