Con Job (5 page)

Valerie Kimberton had been dead for nearly an hour, they thought, before the EMTs had arrived. It was hard to say for certain just yet, but the gamers who had found her while looking for empty tables for card games had called 911 immediately, and she had not responded to their shaking or well-meaning attempts to check for a pulse.

Vince was leaning over a table in the staff suite, surrounded by department heads again, ignoring the vegetable tray beside him as he rested his temples in his hands. “There was nothing wrong with her yesterday. It’s another death, and that can’t be an accident. It’s going to be murder for her, too. That means some psychopath is randomly picking off con-goers.”

“Why random?” prompted Daniel.

“Because if anyone wanted to murder that woman, I’d be first in line.” Vince blinked. “Oh. Oh, no.”

Jacob pressed his lips together. Daniel cleared his throat. “Just a friendly word of advice, Vince: you might not want to say things like that in front of other people.”

Vince looked at Daniel, his eyes a bit wide. “But — I’m going to be a suspect, aren’t I? I mean, everyone saw us arguing, right in the dealer hall. If they do any probing….”

The staff suite was very quiet, and the enthused laughter and calls from the hallway were loud through the door.

“Given the circumstances, they’ll rush the autopsy,” Daniel said to the room in general, “and unlike the first incident, we have a pretty good idea of where Valerie went and who she was talking to. So yes, everyone will be questioned — but don’t panic, because questioning is a long way from detaining or charging, right?”

“Right,” said Rita slowly. “I guess they have to talk to everyone. Just to be sure.”

“Exactly. So don’t panic, and be forthcoming. Don’t try to hide things. We all know, for example, that she was making Vince’s life difficult — but if you whitewash that, pretend there was nothing to that when there obviously was, it just makes things look suspicious. But, of course, you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”

Vince sighed. “What do we do about the convention?”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t know that there’s anything we
can
do. I mean, a moment of silence across the con, maybe? But it’s not like we have any idea of what happened. And there’s still a chance that they’re not connected, or that Valerie wasn’t even murdered.” He sounded more hopeful than he looked.

Vince sat up. “Okay. We announce to the con that two people have died, but we make it clear that there’s no established connection yet. We’re going to get more Con Aid calls for certain as people worry, so I’m sorry, but you guys are probably going to have to extend shifts — and Daniel, I assume you’re going to be putting on your other hat, but I’d appreciate any liaison work or guidance you can give as we go.”

“Of course.”

“Now, are those two reporters still around?”

“They went for lunch,” Rita reported, “but they have media badges.”

“I think we should have someone showing them around,” Vince said. “Explaining the con, so they don’t write us up as a bunch of maladjusted basement-dwellers, and keeping them from hyping some attendee into a sensational interview about panic at the con.” He looked around the room. “I know we’ve all got full plates, but just, if you see them, check in on them, okay? Just show them around, bore them to death with lack of panic and criminal drama, and get rid of them.”

“The one seemed pretty easy-going,” Rita said. “And Daniel gave the other one the stink-eye. I think it’ll probably be okay.”

Vince continued, “And we need someone managing things in Ops, handling questions and keeping rumors down. Rita, you’ll be in there anyway, and Reg should be slowing down soon; think you can handle that?”

She shrugged. “I’ll try.”

“Good enough. That’s all we’re doing at this point. Nobody plans for this.”

Jacob raised a finger. “I was supposed to do escort for Greg Hammer and his autograph session….”
Please don’t make me give that up. I know this is all crazy, but I want that.

“When?” Vince glanced at the schedule on the mobile app and sighed. “Yeah, we need someone on that. Hammer’s too big to leave on his own.”

“Right.”

“I’m going to post a new schedule,” Daniel said, “of times for each of us to talk individually to the officers in the investigation. Let me know when you absolutely cannot make it, but we need everyone and it’ll be easier if we have a plan. It’ll be on the wall there as soon as I can make it happen.”

Daniel’s phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. His mouth thinned. “Autopsy’s not done,” he said, “but preliminary findings are arsenic in the stomach contents. Same poisoning as the other one. We’re looking at a multiple homicide.”

Jacob stopped in the Con Ops room to log himself out for Greg Hammer duty. A knocking sound caught his attention, and he turned, scanning for its origin. It was coming from the pass-through, where a woman was smiling and knocking on the wall. “Hello?” she called.

“Sorry,” Jacob said, starting toward her. “Not used to polite knocking, not in this racket. People usually just yell if they want something.”

She continued to smile, a little apologetically, and pushed a tablet toward him. He took it, confused, and bent his head to read the screen.

I am hearing impaired, so writing is easier for me in a noisy environment like a con. Sorry for the inconvenience!

“Oh, it’s no inconvenience!” Jacob said, and then he felt himself blush. The woman laughed. “Sorry,” Jacob said, wondering if he were compounding the problem.

She laughed again and scrolled.
I was coming to the con with a friend who was going to interpret at panels and events for me, but she closed her hand in a car door yesterday—

“Ow!” said Jacob.

—and can’t do it today. I know the con probably didn’t plan for an interpreter on site, but is there a way you can put out the word for anyone here to interpret? I’m happy to compensate someone for the events I’m most interested in. Thanks for any help you can give.

Jacob gave her a smile and brought up the tablet’s keyboard.
We can certainly put out the word via the mobile app, and let me ask a friend who might be able to help out. He’s either certified or testing soon, he’ll probably be happy to help. And sorry again!

She gave him a friendly smile.

Jacob took out his phone and texted Zach.
You available? Got an attendee here who lost her sign interpreter.

When does she want someone?

Sounds like she’s willing to negotiate.

Are you at Ops? I’ll be right over.

“He’s coming,” said Jacob before catching himself, and then he smiled apologetically. He reached for the tablet, but she caught it and shook her head, laughing again.

Sometimes cons had interpreters for Main Programming and other big rooms that pulled thousands for the primary events, but it wasn’t consistent. It was a shame her friend had been injured. Jacob wondered briefly if the friend were a professional interpreter and therefore was out of work until her hand healed.

Zach arrived in a surprisingly short time and signed a greeting. Jacob stifled a laugh at Hellboy signing with the petite attendee, but it seemed they were getting on well, and he had a guest to escort.

Greg Hammer was a tall man, lean with a bushy mustache and a buckskin jacket, which was completely at odds with his lime green running shoes. He held open the door of his hotel room and gave Jacob a friendly smile. “Are you my shadow for today?”

“For the next few hours, anyway. I’m Jacob.” Jacob hesitated, debating, and then held out his hand. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Greg’s smile broke into a grin. “Hey, thank you, Jacob! That’s great to hear. Thank you.” He reached down and picked up a cardboard box. “Shall we?”

The elevator was empty when they boarded on the executive floor, but they picked up a few passengers as they descended. The first two didn’t seem to pay any particular attention, and Jacob guessed they didn’t know or didn’t care who Greg was. The next pair of young women, however, recognized him. “Ohmigawd, Greg Hammer! We’re so glad you’re here. Except, I really wish you weren’t here so you could be working on the next volume of
Madhouse
. Can I just say that you got me through grad school without completely losing my sanity?”

Greg laughed, shook hands, and opened the cardboard box to give them each a promotional postcard. “I can’t say anything now, but there’s going to be a
Madhouse
announcement next month. Keep your ears open.”

“You bet!”

The first two passengers were watching now, aware they were in the presence of a celebrity but unwilling to show ignorance by asking about him. The girls got off, and on the second floor Jacob and Greg exited and started for the autograph area.

“So, I don’t know what you’ve heard so far,” Jacob began, feeling awkward, “but — there’s no good way to say this — two people have died at the con. Poisoning in something they ate, but not food poisoning, if you follow. So police are investigating and you’ll see them around, but we’re not supposed to be shutting down or panicking or anything. If that makes sense.” The Academy probably had whole classes on how to say this sort of thing, only Jacob hadn’t taken them yet.

Greg hadn’t heard. “Oh, no! Attendees?”

“One attendee, and one industry person. You probably didn’t know Valerie Kimberton, with MEGAN!ME?”

“Yes, but only distantly. MEGAN!ME is actually making a bid to co-produce
How to Die
with a Japanese company as an anime. It’s in negotiations, but that’s less to do with me personally.” Greg shook his head. “They have any ideas on what happened? Accident in the food court or something?”

“No one else seems to be getting sick,” Jacob said. “This way, we can get in the back.”

The autograph table was at the end of a line of stanchions and ropes which folded upon itself in a long zig-zag, already full of waiting fans. They clapped and cheered as Greg appeared from behind the ubiquitous convention center curtains. There were several chairs at the table, as sometimes several guests shared the table at once, but Greg Hammer had it all to himself.

He waved in a friendly manner, opened the box to sort promotional postcards and bookmarks across the table, and dropped a handful of markers in different colors and metallics on the table, ready to take on any surface he was asked to sign. Then he settled himself into the chair and beckoned the first attendee toward him. “Come on over! What do you have there?”

Jacob put himself at the end of the table, not quite between the head of the line and Greg Hammer, but he didn’t expect to be anything more than an obligatory figure. Con Job’s attendees were generally well-behaved and polite. Most geek cons were like that, actually. Grabbing at clothes and ripping off souvenirs was for rock concerts, not conventions.

Fans had brought mostly issues of graphic novels or compilation volumes to be signed, though some had t-shirts or figurines. One had brought a DVD with a poorly-colored cover, which made Greg howl with laughter. “Oh, where did you ever find this? Did you actually buy it? Are you the one?”

Jacob shifted to look at the table. He hadn’t known about a DVD.

Greg held up the disc package and spoke to the fans around him. “This is a 1997 straight-to-video monstrosity of
Road Trip
, and there’s a very good reason you’ve never heard of it. I thought it would destroy my career — only I was lucky enough that it failed so hard no one ever heard of it.” He signed the cover with a flourish and handed it back to the grinning fan. “Keep it secret, keep it safe. And for Cthulu’s sake, keep it out of reach of small children or the easily influenced.”

Jacob drew out his phone and texted Sam.
I’m at the autograph table, don’t see you. You coming?

I’m about two-thirds of the way back, behind Naruto and River Song. Who are together, in fact. No, silly, I didn’t forget you!

Jacob sent her a smiley face.

About forty-five minutes before the scheduled end of Greg Hammer’s autograph session, Jacob went to the rear of the line and closed off the opening in the stanchions so no one else could join. They should wrap up on time.

Sam was indeed in line behind a Naruto (Shippuden version) and a Dr. River Song. She gave him a smile and wave as he passed.

When she reached the front of the line, drawing Jacob’s copy of
How to Die in Five Easy Steps
from her messenger bag, Jacob stepped forward. “And, this one is actually mine,” he said with a smile. “I’d be really honored if you signed it.”

“Wow, a first edition.” Greg turned it over. “And great condition. Can I sign the title page? The cover’s still too gorgeous, I hate to screw it up with my messy scrawl.”

He checked Jacob’s badge — “With a c or a k?” — and then wrote out a short message and signed the page. Then he handed it back to Sam. “I’ll let you hang on to that for him. Hey, is that a
Savage Air
costume?”

“Right on,” she said. “Barnstorming Betty, the Junior Ace!”

“Highly under-appreciated series,” he said. “Love it.”

Sam and Jacob thanked him, and then Jacob stepped to the side with her as the next fan approached. “I’ll leave this in the room,” she said. “I have to hurry, ‘cuz there’s a gathering for
Savage Air
I just heard about, and I want to join. Laser is shooting it, so it’ll be awesome.”

“Let me know how it goes.”

It was early afternoon when Jacob returned Greg to his room to pack, and he went back to Con Ops. As promised, there was a new schedule on the wall, showing staffers’ names and interview times. Some already had check marks beside them. “Anyone seen the reporters?”

“They’re out in the wild,” Paul answered, tapping at the computer. “But I think Vince was being a little paranoid about that. We have media all the time, and aside from the occasional SOB, most of them write up human interest angles or even artsy stuff about the films and costumes. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Jacob nodded. Paul was probably right.

“Do you think we’ll get a lot of kickback if we push the
Magic: The Gathering
tournament back an hour? Gamers like late nights, right?”

Rita leaned over the pass-through. “Where’s Vince?”

“I dunno. What’s up?”

“Hotel staff is stripping the con suite. All the food, gone. They’re taking everything.”