Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4) (6 page)

“Understood.” Dawson rose, then flopped back onto the couch. He licked his lips, twisted his neck, and glanced around the room. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water? I’m afraid I’m still more upset than I thought.”

Gordon went to the kitchen and filled a glass. After Dawson drank and set the glass down, Gordon said, “I’d like to start by interviewing your wardrobe manager. I’ll also have my officers interviewing your people, to speed things along.”

“I assure you, you’ll have everyone’s full cooperation. Do you think we can resume shooting tomorrow?”

You’ve got to be kidding.

“I can’t promise anything.” Gordon headed for the door. “You understand we can’t cut corners. But I will keep you apprised as we continue the investigation. If you’ll wait downstairs, I’ll see if we can get into Marianna’s office.”

Gordon opened the door for Dawson and once the man had left, he carefully emptied the rest of the water from the glass, and put the glass in a paper lunch bag from the kitchen. Not that the man wouldn’t have voluntarily given his fingerprints, but why waste time? He took the back stairs out and went to his vehicle where he put the glass in an official evidence bag.

Dawson was low on his list of suspects, but at this point, Gordon wasn’t about to rule anyone out, no matter how genuine they came across. The man worked with actors. Maybe he’d been one himself. He’d learned the hard way there were people who slid under his radar.

He called Solomon on his cell rather than put anything over channels that might be overheard. Yes, they’d cleared all the trailers. Yes, everyone who’d been inside one of the vehicles was now ensconced at Daily Bread. No, nothing had seemed out of place. Yes, the medics had officially proclaimed Marianna dead. No, nobody from the Coroner’s Office had arrived—and Gordon had mixed feelings when it turned out Pierce Asel was the investigator on duty.

After working an interesting case involving skeletal remains, Gordon no longer thought of him as Asel the Asshole, which was how most cops referred to him, but Asel still had a reputation for taking his sweet time showing up at scenes. Granted, the county was large, but his reputation of tending to his own needs first, especially when those needs included a meal, had some basis in fact. Maybe he’d finished his breakfast before he got the call. Or maybe the mayor pulled a few strings and lit the fuse that would get Asel moving. Or maybe he’d like to rub elbows with movie people.

“Anything promising?” Gordon asked.

“If you’re asking if I found anything that looked like a murder weapon, or someone sitting around wearing a sign saying
I killed Marianna Spellman
, then no. But Lily Beckett is one hot babe, Chief. I’ll volunteer for overtime bodyguard duty if she needs it.”

“What would your wife say to that?”

Solomon snickered. “She’d expect to meet her, but she’d be okay with it. We have a
look but don’t touch
agreement.”

Gordon reflected on how Angie had gone total fan girl over Cassidy, but that night, when it was him and Angie alone, nothing had been different. A little hotter than usual, actually. Fantasies? Well, he’d heard they were healthy.

“Lionel Dawson is getting me a list of all approved personnel from their security guys. What I need now is for you to escort him to Marianna Spellman’s RV. There should be a schedule of everyone who’s working on the production, both the crew and talent.”

“Talent?” Solomon said. “You picking up the jargon, Chief?”

Gordon ignored him. “I want to know who was where, when, and if anyone wasn’t where they were supposed to be. Let’s regroup at the station. I’ll get Laurie to start things in motion for setting up a war room in the briefing room. I want to interview Yolanda Orozco, the wardrobe manager. See if we can narrow the timeline.”

“On it, Chief.”

Gordon went back inside Daily Bread, where he became the focus of about twenty pairs of eyes, one of which belonged to Mayor McKenna. Technically, the man should be at Finnegan’s, but since McKenna was the mayor, Gordon let it slide. Probably more interesting to be here with the Seesaw people instead of mere citizens.

Gordon held up a hand in a
wait a minute
gesture and went over to the director, who handed him a clipboard.

“This is from our security guard on check-in duty,” Dawson said. “It’s a list of everyone working this location shoot.”

Gordon thanked him and glanced at the names. Some had blue Xs beside them, some black checkmarks. Many were blank. “What’s the difference here?”

“One set’ll be the people who got on the bus at the hotel. The others are anyone who comes in on their own.”

“Does he sign people out as well?”

“No, it’s not like a movie studio. If they miss their transportation, it’s up to them to find a way to their lodgings. That’s why we provide drivers for our principals. Gets them where they need to be when they need to be there.”

“I’d like to speak with Yolanda Orozco. Can you point her out to me?”

The man scanned the room. “I don’t see her.”

“Did you see her earlier?” Gordon asked.

“I wasn’t paying attention to who was or wasn’t here.”

Gordon sent Titch to check the restrooms. Seconds later his officer returned. “Both empty.”

Solomon’s arrival brought restless murmurings from the diner’s occupants. Gordon sent Lionel Dawson off with Solomon to Marianna’s RV. Gordon’s head spun as he tried to make sure he was covering all the bases.

One thing at a time. Keep the natives from getting too restless. He shifted into briefing mode, lifted his hands. Another ripple of murmurs, then silence.

“Thank you for your patience, everyone. I know you all have questions, and I wish I had more answers. For now, all I can say is Marianna Spellman was found dead in one of the RVs a short while ago. The entire Village area is off-limits until the county’s investigative unit gets here.”

“Was she murdered?” a man called out.

“We don’t have a cause of death at this time. It’s standard police procedure to investigate all unattended deaths as suspicious until proven otherwise. That way, we don’t miss anything. My officers are going to be talking to each of you, and until they do, I appreciate your understanding that you’ll have to wait here. And, while you’re waiting, the staff at Daily Bread will be happy to make sure you don’t go hungry. The city of Mapleton will be picking up the tab.” He cast a pointed glance in the mayor’s direction. McKenna’s eyes widened slightly before he covered with a smile and a nod.

“I do have one question for everyone,” Gordon said. “I’m looking for Yolanda Orozco. How many of you saw her this morning?”

Mai’s hand was the only one raised. And she’d said the other actor on this morning’s schedule had been to wardrobe before she had. He searched his memory for the man’s name. “Is Ian Patrick here?”

Silence.

Gordon excused himself and stepped out the rear door. He called Solomon on the radio. “I need confirmation that everyone who was in the Village was sent to Daily Bread. Confirm with Jost and Gaubatz and get back to me.”

“Got it, Chief.”

While Gordon waited, he needed to keep everything else moving. He returned to the dining room and addressed the group. “If anyone else who was part of this morning’s schedule comes in, please have them report to Officer Titchener, and tell them they’ll have to wait here until we can release the Village.”

Murmurs and nods rippled across the room.

“Thanks. I’m going to leave you in the capable hands of Officer Titchener.”

Titch strode to the counter. Gordon joined him. “We’re going to draw up some questions. I’ll have an officer deliver them. You’re on point here.”

Titch straightened to full attention. “Yes, sir.”

Gordon assigned Gaubatz to keep the scene secure, then headed for Finnegan’s to deliver the same message to the locals. As soon as he opened the door, the aroma of coffee hit him, a switch from the usual beer and grease. Then again, Finnegan's wasn't usually open at this hour. Mick Finnegan, a disgruntled expression on his face, stood behind the polished wood bar, washing coffee mugs instead of beer glasses. Beads of sweat glistened amidst the remaining black strands of hair combed across the top of his head. The lighting was also cranked up, both from the overhead fixtures and the curtains at the window, open now instead of covering the glass. The big screen television was set on the morning news show, but nobody seemed to be watching.

Here, the people weren’t as understanding. Many of them had shown up at the film site to see what was going on, but had other appointments, jobs, and responsibilities. And, not being part of the movie production, they had cell phones.

Gordon’s first order of business was to request they not use them to say anything about what was going on. “It’s important for the investigation that we keep things contained until we have more information.” He could only hope they’d comply.

There were grumbles of protest, but most of the group put their phones away.

Gordon held up a hand. “People, we’re going to move as fast as we can, and we’ll try to take those of you who have to be somewhere else first. Anyone who’s willing to hang around a little longer, we appreciate it. Give me about half an hour to meet with my officers, and we’ll get the interviews rolling.”

He told McDermott to keep everyone where they were, then called Dispatch. “Connie, round up everyone assigned to the shoot, and anyone else on duty you can spare. Briefing in ten minutes. And alert the civilian patrol their services will be needed to maintain a visible presence in town while our officers are tied up with this investigation.”

“Roger that,” Connie said. “Coroner is rolling, ETA twenty minutes. CSR in thirty.”

When Gordon got to the station, Solomon was already drawing a timeline on the whiteboard set up at the front of the briefing room. Gordon joined him as other officers trickled in and took seats.

“What did Gaubatz and Jost say?” Gordon asked.

“They told everyone where to report,” Solomon said, “but didn’t escort them, so it’s possible some didn’t show.”

“Do they have the names of those they found?”

“I’m not sure.
Damn.
I guess I dropped the ball on this one. Sorry, Chief. I didn’t spell everything out. I should know better than to make assumptions, even with experienced officers.” Hands in his back pockets, Solomon stepped away from the board and gave it a long, hard stare. “A whole lot of nothing.”

“On the plus side, we have a fairly narrow window for time of death,” Gordon said. “Marianna wasn’t there when Mai was getting her wardrobe, and we found her less than two hours later.”

Solomon held up a hand. “Unless she was killed somewhere else and dumped.”

“Right now, we have nothing for motive, nothing for means, and probably dozens of people with opportunity, so let’s stick with the positives.”

“Gotcha. Narrow window for TOD. Good Thing. Check.” Solomon set down the marker. “I got the schedule from Marianna’s RV. I’ll put those names on the back of the board, but I’m going to grab some coffee before we start. Want a cup?”

What harm would one extra cup of real coffee do? He was dutifully taking his blood pressure meds. And this had the makings of a very long day. “Thanks.”

“Oh, and if we get a minute of downtime, I’ve got another lead on the Deadbeat Dad Killer,” Solomon said.

“Let's solve this case first.” Gordon tried to make sure he didn’t sound dismissive. Solomon’s love for putting puzzle pieces together had him convinced there was someone out killing deadbeat dads, and that it was connected to a travel blog,
Paula’s Places.
Gordon had met Paula while he was vacationing last winter, and there had been a shooting in the area. Since then, Solomon had been trying to tie the blogger to killings across the country. Gordon indulged him, because he didn’t want Solomon to move to a bigger force with a homicide division. And, he confessed, it was fun to watch the way the man’s mind worked.

While Solomon was getting the coffee, Gordon called Laurie in. “We’re going to come up with a list of questions so we can get as many officers doing interviews as possible. I want you to get them transcribed and copied so everyone’s working from the same list.”

“You got it.” She poised her fingers over the laptop she’d brought. “Ready when you are.”

“Did I ever tell you—”

“Not often enough,” she said before he could finish what had become a ritual between them. He reminded himself to praise her efficiency more often.

By the time Solomon returned with station breakroom coffee—which was already scorched—everyone was seated. Gordon took his place at the front of the room.

“We’ve got a situation that needs a speedy, but by-the-book, conclusion. Given the high-profile nature of the movie people in Mapleton, the press will be over this like hot fudge on a sundae, and I want to have answers before they get here.

“All of you have had experience taking statements. We’ve got a boatload of people to question, and the longer we keep them waiting, the more disgruntled they’ll be, so I’m recruiting everyone here to pitch in and interview a few of them. People involved in the movie are at Daily Bread. The onlookers are at Finnegan’s. I want us to come up with a list of questions so we’re all covering the same pertinent information. Laurie will get copies to everyone. But in addition to the answers, I want you to be watching for body language, any behavior that would indicate the interviewee is either lying or holding something back.”

Nods of understanding from his officers punctuated Gordon’s remarks. He went on.

“We have the body of Marianna Spellman discovered in the wardrobe RV at oh seven-fifty-two. The last persons we’re aware of in the RV are the wardrobe manager, Yolanda Orozco, and Mai Phan, one of the actors. Mai claims another actor, Ian Patrick, had been in there prior to her arrival, which was at approximately oh six-thirty.” Gordon picked up the list of names from production security and confirmed the man had arrived, but there were no times. He had a black check, not a blue X, so he hadn’t arrived on the bus.

“We need to know what time everyone arrived, where they went, who they spoke to, whether or not they saw Marianna Spellman, and what they thought of her. In addition, Yolanda Orozco, the wardrobe manager, wasn’t with the group at Daily Bread or Finnegan’s, and neither was Ian Patrick. See if you can garner any information as to their whereabouts.” He peered over the list he was holding, then made eye contact with each officer in the room. “And nobody, absolutely nobody, breathes a word to the media. Not the
Mapleton Weekly
, not the
Denver Post,
not even the high school paper. Anyone caught speaking to a reporter, be it print, electronic, or television will answer to me. Is that clear?”

A resounding “Yes, Sir,” came from the group.

After taking suggestions from the floor, he sent Laurie to print copies of the questions and asked to see Jost. The officer followed him to the rear of the room.

“When you and Gaubatz cleared the trailers and RVs, did you note who was there?”

“Yes, sir. At least I did.” Jost pulled out his notepad. “I can write this up right now if you’d like.”

Gordon radioed Gaubatz, who was still keeping the scene secure, asked him the same question, and got another affirmative.

“Excellent. Did either of you run across Yolanda Orozco or Ian Patrick?”

Jost consulted his notes. “Not me.”

Gaubatz’s voice came from the radio. “That’s a negative here, too.”

Great
. Had they lost two suspects, or gained two more victims?

Gordon thought herding cats would be easier than keeping track of all the Seesaw people. “Get your lists written up and give them to Solomon.”

“Yes, sir,” Jost said. Gaubatz’s
Ten-Four
came over the radio.

Connie poked her head into the room. “Coroner’s Investigator is here.”

Solomon stood. Gordon signaled him to wait. “Everyone, Solomon is lead on this case. Report to him. In detail. And often.” He motioned Ed over. “I need you to coordinate the interrogations. Use your judgment when it comes to releasing people. Start with the locals who have places to be. The movie folks were supposed to be here all morning anyway.”

“Yes sir, but—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you know when the CSR team gets here.”

With a nod and a faint smile, Solomon stepped to the front of the room. “Listen up, people.”

As Solomon handed out assignments, Gordon drove to the movie set. He parked behind the Coroner’s van and checked in with Gaubatz, who was outside the RV.

“All quiet, sir.”

Which meant no media. Yet. “If you need a pit stop, or coffee, you can take ten,” Gordon said. Gaubatz strode off toward Daily Bread, and Gordon ducked under the tape Solomon had strung across the top of the landing. Asel’s three-hundred pound bulk filled most of the remaining empty space around the body. Although the weather was cool, the closed RV had absorbed enough heat to be uncomfortable. Having a dead body in the middle didn’t help. Asel wiped his forehead with a red bandana and shoved it into his pocket. Gordon propped the door open a couple of inches to allow some fresh air inside.

“Good morning,” Gordon said. Keeping things pleasant was always a smart move with Asel.

“Got me a whole body this time,” Asel said, referring to the last time they’d worked together when a dog had discovered a human bone.

Gordon chuckled. “Yeah, thought we’d make it easier for you.”