Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4) (4 page)

Hand on his weapon, Gordon headed to the RV at a dead run. A pale Mai stood on the top step, gripping the metal rail. She stumbled downward, and he caught her before she face-planted on the asphalt.

“What?” he asked.

She turned and pointed to the open door. “She’s … I think … She’s … Dead.”

By now, five of his officers, three production security guards, and a throng of onlookers were streaming through the walkway like salmon heading upstream to spawn. He helped a trembling Mai away from the scene, into the arms of Ed Solomon, one of his top officers.

“Keep everyone away,” Gordon commanded. The security guards hesitated, moving in, but slowly.

Solomon settled Mai on a wooden bench at the edge of the lot. Titch appeared and took immediate control, herding the crowd to the street. People dispersed, albeit reluctantly, with many over-the-shoulder glances. However, Titch’s bulging biceps, close-shaved head, and steely-eyed expression carried a
don't mess with me
attitude that few citizens challenged.

Trailer and RV doors flew open. Heads poked out. Gordon ordered everyone to stay where they were.

Gordon didn’t know how much the movie security guards knew about police procedure, so he told his officers to have everyone stick around, to start collecting names and contact information.

He caught a glimpse of Vicky McDermott, another of his top officers. “Stay with Mai,” he told her. She strode to the bench and sat beside Mai, who had lowered her head into her hands.

“Solomon, with me,” Gordon said.

His officer insisted on going first, darting inside the open door, then moving to the right. Gordon followed, going left. As he slipped a pair of gloves on, he studied the room.

Racks of clothes covered one wall. Two open doors at the far end revealed changing rooms. Across from the clothes racks, there was an ironing board and a sewing machine on a table beside it. On the other end was a low, round platform in front of a three-way mirror. An easy chair and an end table holding a lamp were tucked into a corner. What appeared to be a sewing basket sat below the table.

And in the middle of everything lay the body of Marianna Spellman.

“Shit,” Solomon said.

“I’ll double that.” Gordon stepped carefully to the body, making sure not to move Marianna’s glasses, which were lying near her face. He checked for a pulse, although her arms and legs akimbo, glassy-eyed stare and slack facial muscles told him he wasn’t going to find one. He did a cursory visual check of her clothing—jeans, a turtleneck, and her fancy boots. No blood, no gunshot holes, or torn clothing. However, there were rules to follow.

“Call Dispatch,” he said. “Have Connie get the medics rolling. And call the Coroner’s Office. Alert County Homicide, too. Tyler Colfax will love this one. We’ve got a PR nightmare, and we’re going to need to do everything by the book, one letter at a time.” Gordon noted the time. Oh seven-fifty-two.

“I don’t see any blood,” Solomon said. “No obvious signs of foul play. You don’t think there’s a chance she died of a heart attack, do you?”

“It’s possible, but my gut says it’s right up there with walking out of this trailer now and being struck by lightning.” And, regardless, until they knew the cause of death, they’d have to investigate it as a homicide.

“I know you want this done by the book,” Solomon said, “but I could do some preliminary stuff.”

Solomon was a first-rate investigator, but Mapleton didn’t have detectives, much less homicide detectives. “We need to secure the scene. Get your camera. Then we can start working the crowd, hunting for witnesses, and all the fun stuff. The crime scene team knows what it’s doing, and until we get a coroner’s investigator here, we can’t touch the body. See if you can round up a key to this trailer and lock it. Then check all the other units in this lot, get anyone who’s in them to stay put. See if anything looks disturbed.”

“I’ll get the tape,” Solomon said. “How far out do you think we should set it?”

Gordon sighed. “Probably the whole damn lot.” He wondered what Marianna would have thought about yellow crime scene tape on her precious movie set.

Gordon stepped onto the platform at the top of the trailer’s stairs and scanned the lot. Empty. Kudos to the efficiency of his officers. However, keeping things that way was going to take more. He turned to Solomon. “While you call Dispatch, I’ll get our people started.”

Gordon walked down the stairs and over to McDermott. Mai had regained some color and composure. “Mai, I’m going to need to ask you a few questions.” He told McDermott to get to the street, help with sorting out everyone who’d had access to the trailer. “Corral everyone. Separate movie people from Mapleton people. See if you can put one group in Daily Bread, the others in Finnegan’s.”

“On it, Chief.” She strode briskly from the scene.

Solomon exited the trailer and gave Gordon a quick thumbs up as he headed toward the side street where the police on duty had left their vehicles.

Gordon asked Mai to wait a moment, then got on his radio and called Titch. “I need two more officers here. Can you spare them?”

“Roger that, Chief,” Titch said. “Everyone’s being cooperative.”

While he kept an eye out for his officers, Gordon returned to continue questioning Mai. “Your full name, please.”

“Mai Phan.”

“Thank you.” He took out his notepad and a pen. “First, was the wardrobe RV locked when you arrived?” Gordon asked. Although he’d seen her go in, he hadn’t noticed whether or not she used a key.

She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and shook her head. “No, it was open.”

Damn. That expanded his list of suspects to include any of the cast, crew, and half the citizens of Mapleton. He hadn’t seen anyone in the lot when he’d followed Mai.

“Where are the wardrobe people?” he asked. “Shouldn’t they have been in the RV? Didn’t you say two of the stand-ins were supposed to be here?”

“I didn’t say that. Someone else did. I volunteered to go check.” Mai wiped her eyes. “It gave me something better to do than wait around.”

“Did you see any of the wardrobe people today?”

She nodded. “Yolanda was in the RV when I got here this morning. It was a little after six, I think. No cell phones allowed on the set, and I don’t wear a watch. No, wait. First, I went to a lounge for coffee. Didn’t want to take a chance on spilling any on the wardrobe. After that, I came here and changed.”

“So, maybe six-fifteen?”

She shrugged. “Sounds about right.”

“Who else was in the wardrobe RV?”

“Nobody except Yolanda. She’s in charge of wardrobe. The extras are all wearing their own clothes for background shots. Aside from the stand-ins, Ian and I are the only cast members in this morning’s shoot. He’d been by earlier, according to Yolanda—so once I was dressed, I went to the street to wait to be called.”

“Ian’s last name?”

“Patrick.”

He wrote it down. “What about when you stopped in the lounge? Was anyone else there?”

“Of course. There are always people in there.”

“I’ll need their names.”

She inhaled a deep, shaky breath. “A bunch of extras I don’t know. Local people for background. Most of the main players aren’t on call until after lunch. And there’s an unspoken hierarchy, so the more important ones tend to use the other lounge, even though everyone’s free to use either. Or, if they’re
really
important, like Cassidy and Lily, they get their own places and may or may not use the lounges.”

“About how many in the bunch you mentioned?” At her hesitant expression, he went on. “Close your eyes, visualize where everyone was sitting, standing. Men? Women? Kids?”

She tilted her head upward and shut her eyes. “Six. No, seven. Two men, three women, and two kids. Plus some of the crew. Two men, one woman. I don’t know their names either. Still early days. Sorry.”

As Gordon recalled, the morning’s shooting was simply people walking along the street. Of course, nothing was that simple, but he could see why using extras instead of paying higher rates for real actors made sense. When Officers Gaubatz and Jost appeared through the walkway, Gordon asked Mai to wait while he spoke with his officers. Gaubatz quickened his pace, and Gordon couldn’t help but wonder whether it was because he was eager to help, or because he wanted to beat Jost. The two officers had had a few run-ins not that long ago, but they seemed to have moved past them.

“Titch said to report here,” Gaubatz said.

Gordon explained how the unlocked RV had expanded the scope of their potential suspects. “There are still people inside some of the units. I need all of Seesaw Village secured. Nobody comes in, and the people already inside the units will have to be questioned before we release them. Solomon is the lead.”

“Yes, sir.” Gaubatz looked at Jost, then pointed to his left. “I’ll start at that end. Meet you in the middle.”

Titch’s voice came over the radio. “Sir, Mayor McKenna says he needs to talk to you. Now.”

Of course he would.

“Tell him I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Sir, I don’t think he’s going to like that.” Titch’s voice dropped. “He’s kind of steamed.”

“I know he’s not going to like it. Tell him I’m conducting a crucial interview, and I’ll be with him as soon as I’m finished. Be charming. But firm. Under no circumstances is anyone—mayor or not—other than medical or law enforcement personnel to come back here until we know what’s what. Feed him the line about how I’m making sure Mapleton is represented as a city that makes sure everyone’s rights are respected, that we’re not going to do anything that would show us in a bad light, that we know how to investigate a crime properly—whatever it takes to unruffle his feathers. And let’s switch all related radio traffic to channel five.”

“Yes, sir.” Titch didn’t sound happy. He liked things clear cut, and playing the diplomat, especially with a politician, didn’t come close to hitting his top ten favorite things to do.

An ambulance pulling into the lot announced the arrival of the medics, and Gordon was glad to see Gilman and Reynolds hop out of the vehicle.

“What have we got?” Gilman said.

“Body in the wardrobe RV.” Gordon walked them in that direction. “We’ve notified the coroner’s office, but you can call the death faster than anyone can get here.”

Gordon knew Gilman and Reynolds would disturb as little of the scene as possible, so he left them to their work and went to finish with Mai.

“Thanks for your patience,” he said.

Mai gave a weak smile. “Actually, if I don’t think about it being Marianna—and I hardly know her—it’s kind of interesting, watching the way real cops work. Not like the time I was in a police show for television.”

“They do tend to make things seem easy,” Gordon said. “Now, a couple more questions. You and Yolanda Orozco were in the RV at about six-fifteen. How long were you there?”

“Like I said, I’m not wearing a watch, and left my cell at the hotel, so I can’t be exact, but not very long,” Mai said. “Yolanda handed me these clothes, and I put them on. Then I went to makeup, which didn’t take long, either. No close-ups, so just the basics.”

Gordon studied her more closely. Aside from a heavier layer of foundation than most women wore, she projected a natural look. “Was anyone else in the makeup RV with you? Ian Patrick?”

She shook her head. “Not while I was there, and I didn’t ask. He’d need even less work than I got, so he could have come and gone, or more likely, planned to pop in closer to last minute. He hates wearing the stuff. Calls it face gunk.”

“You’ve been a big help, Mai. Thank you.” He took down her contact information and told her she could join everyone else.

When she’d gone, he helped Solomon string the yellow crime scene tape across the entrances to the Village and the pedestrian walkway. “I’ll get the RV as soon as the medics are done,” Solomon said. “I’ve already photographed everything.”

“Jost and Gaubatz are knocking on doors through the Village. Once you have statements, send them out to Daily Bread or Finnegan’s, wherever Titch and McDermott have stashed the movie group. Meanwhile, I have a summons from the mayor to deal with.”

Solomon’s sympathetic smile didn’t help. Neither did seeing the mayor pacing behind the barricade across the entrance to the walkway.