Deadly Visions (10 page)

J
oe moved across Nikki's bedroom and checked the windows. Locked. “Where did you think the voice came from, honey?”

Nikki sat on the bed, her cheeks still red from crying. “I don't know. Kind of all over the place.”

He glanced around. It was a small room, ten by twelve feet, with windows on two adjoining walls. Thick padded carpet covered the floor, and posters of Nikki's classical music heroes shared wall space with the latest
Teen Beat
heartthrobs.

Joe sat next to her. “You're sure it sounded like Mommy?”

“It was her. I know it.”

“Tell me exactly what happened, okay?”

She pulled a pillow into her lap and held it close.”I was asleep, but something woke me up. I think it was the whispering. Mommy's whispering.”

“What made you think it was her?”

“I remember how she sounded, the way she talked
when she tucked me in.” Nikki laid her head on his chest.”She was here, Daddy.”

“What did the voice say?”

“When I woke up, she kept saying,'Time to toddle, time to toddle.'“

Joe stiffened. “Time to toddle” had been Angela's way of telling Nikki it was bedtime, always spoken in the same singsong voice.

Nikki sat up to face him. “And she called me Mon-keyhead.”

Another Angela-ism. He looked away. Just hearing Nikki say those words brought back a tidal wave of memories.

God, he missed her.

He stroked Nikki's hair back from her temple. “Sweetheart, do you think you might have been dreaming?”

She shook her head.”It was so real.”

“I know, honey, but think about it. You've been following the Monica Gaines case very closely, and you know about the voice she said she heard the other night. Plus, you yourself said you'd been sleeping. Don't you think it's possible that you may have dreamed it?”

“It didn't feel like a dream.”

“That's the way it is sometimes.” Joe pulled the covers up.”Lay back down, honey.”

Her eyes opened wide. “You're not leaving, are you?”

“No. I'll stay here as long as you need me.”

“Good.” Nikki lay back and pulled the covers around her chin.”You think I'm crazy, don't you?”

“Of course not. When Mommy passed away, I talked to her all the time.”

“I thought you didn't believe in spirits.”

Joe scooted to the foot of her bed. “Well, I imagined what Mommy would say back to me. It made me feel better. After you and I would see a movie, I'd pretend to talk to her about it. We'd almost always disagree. Your mother and I had a lot of things in common, but we didn't have the same taste in films.”

“I guess that explains all the Judd Nelson videos.”

“Yes, that and the Vanilla Ice movie. But we always agreed that you were really great. The point is, we all imagine what it would be like to talk to people who are gone. There's nothing wrong with that. Maybe you were sort of doing the same thing.”

“She sounded so real. Especially when she said—” Nikki let the thought hang.

“Said what?”

“What does it matter if it's only a dream?”

He shrugged. “I'm curious.”

“Mommy wants you to be careful. She thinks you may be in danger.”

“Only you, Bailey, could find someone who sets himself on fire for a living.”

Joe and Howe stepped over the cables snaking over and around the Smyrna filming location of
Blood Avenue,
a straight-to-video action movie. The thirty-five crew members were preparing to film a car roll on a suburban street. It was a few minutes past eleven A.M., and Joe had done almost nothing but worry about Nikki in the previous twelve hours.

She seemed fine on their morning drive to school, but it was so hard to tell; she was good at hiding her feelings, especially when she knew he was worried.

What had brought on this imaginary visit from her mother? Maybe a father who wasn't around as much as he should have been?

As if he didn't feel guilty enough.

Joe turned to Howe. “This guy actually
extin
guishes
fires for a living. He's a fireman in Douglas County. Stunt work is just his part-time gig.”

“How did you find him?”

“A friend of mine did security for another movie this company made. They grind out six films a year, all straight-to-video. Lots of bare breasts and stuff blowing up.”

Howe grinned. “My kind of flick.”

“This stunt guy's specialty is fire gags. I figure he might be able to help us figure out what happened to Monica Gaines.”

“Have you heard anything from the fire inspector?”

“Nah. I heard he visited the scene, but he's just as clueless as—”

“—as you are?” Howe finished for him.

“I was going to say as
anybody,
but yes, if you want to put it that way.”

An assistant director's whistle cut the air, and a strong voice shouted,”Quiet, please!We're rolling!”

Fifteen yards away, a gorgeous blond woman in tight black jeans and a ripped T-shirt held up an automatic handgun and aimed it down the street.

“Hey,” Howe whispered,”I think I saw her in
Play
boy
a few months ago.”

A Jeep rounded the corner and sped toward her. She raised the gun and opened fire, grimacing as each blank shell flew. The car abruptly veered to the left and rolled twice. It ignited, and the driver stumbled out onto the pavement, screaming as flames covered him.

A camera operator moved in for a close-up. After a few moments, the driver held his hands over his head, obviously a signal to the two firemen waiting just off camera with large chrome extinguishers. They were on him in an instant, covering him head-to-toe with white foam.

“Cut!”the director shouted.

There was halfhearted applause from the crew members, but it was apparent that they filmed scenes like this all the time. Just another day at the office. The firemen pulled the charred clothing from the stuntman, leaving him with a form-fitting black bodysuit.

“Yes!” The stuntman smiled broadly, obviously stoked by adrenaline. His blond hair was soaked with extinguisher foam, and his sunburned face glowed. “You sure you don't want another take, guys?”

The director shook his head. “We got the shot. Guess you'll have to do something else for your beer money this week.”

“Aw, hell, I'd do it again for free.”

“Sorry, Pete. We're moving on.”

As the crew prepared for their next camera setup, Joe and Howe walked toward the stuntman.

Joe smiled at him.”PeteTreadwell?”

Pete winced as he spotted the badge clipped to Howe's belt. “Aw, shit. Cops. Look, guys, the director
just came up with that bullshit car roll in the past couple of days. We didn't have time to get permits, but if you wanna talk to the production manager—”

“Relax,” Joe said. “We're not here to bust your chops about filming permits. I'm Detective Joe Bailey, this is Mark Howe. Nice work out there.”

Pete still wore a guarded expression.”Thanks.”

Joe lowered his voice.”Pete, have you heard about what happened to Monica Gaines?”

“You mean the human torch?”

Joe nodded.

“Sure. Me and the guys were taking bets on whether she set it herself for the publicity.”

“Not likely,” Joe said. “Even if you think she's a fraud, she has no experience with this kind of thing. Plus, we have it on video. If she engineered it herself, she put on one hell of a show.”

Pete lifted his eyebrows.”Video?”

Joe held up a brown padded envelope. “Security camera caught the whole thing. Anywhere we can show you this?”

Pete led them to a dilapidated Winnebago recreational vehicle that served as the production's onsite office. The lime-green interior was littered with production reports, storyboards, and hundreds of cigarette butts.

“Classy,” Howe said.

“Hey, this isn't exactly big-budget stuff we're doing here.” Pete pointed to a VCR/TV combo unit resting on a small card table. “Go ahead and show me your tape.”

Joe inserted the cassette and played the Monica Gaines fire footage.

“Awesome!” Pete shook his head in disbelief.”Can I see it again?”

They watched it four more times, and Joe noticed that Pete seemed to be viewing it more as a piece of action-packed entertainment than as a tragic occurrence.

Joe finally ejected the tape. “Show's over. Any ideas?”

Pete scratched his head. “Well, you need to find the trigger. The ignition mechanism had to be somewhere on her.”

“She was wearing only a robe,” Joe said. “She slipped it on less than thirty seconds before this happened.”

“That's too bizarre. If I were to try to rig something like this, I'd cover her with a flammable compound, then strap a remote-controlled igniter under her clothes somewhere.”

“Remote controlled?” Howe asked.

“Yep. I push a button on my keypad, and as long as she's within three hundred feet, it creates a spark, lights the compound, and up she goes. Poof.”

Joe shook his head. “She said she'd just stepped out of a bathtub, and there was no ignition mechanism. The paramedics would have seen it.”

“I'm telling you, there had to be one somewhere. Did you check her clothes, her hair, everything? It could be as small as a hairpin or a button. This stuff has gotten really tiny.”

“We'll take another look,” Joe said. “What was left of her robe is in evidence. If there's anything there that strikes us as odd, we might ask you to come in and give us your thoughts. Okay?”

“Sure.” His glance went back to the monitor. “Think maybe you can show me that again?”

Joe ejected the cassette, remembering the vulture nurse waiting to snap pictures of Monica's corpse. Sickos.”Sorry, Pete. We have to get going.”

Joe and Howe walked into the squad room, to find Carla on the telephone, holding up her freckly index finger as an indication that this call was somehow significant to them.

“Got it,” she said into the phone.”We 11 see you in a few minutes.” She hung up.

“What is it?” Howe brushed aside the candy wrappers on his desk, looking for any message slips that may have been left for him.”Is the fajita truck outside already? Pedro's early today.”

Carla stood and pulled on her jacket.”Sorry to disappoint you, but this is a little more official than that.”

“The doughnut van?”

“Nope. That was the security chief at Monica Gaines's hotel. They apprehended a woman who'd broken into an office there.”

Joe and Howe traded puzzled stares.

Carla motioned for them to follow. “She's Monica Gaines's TV producer.”

“Either arrest me or let me the hell out of here!” Tess Wayland stood in the small office as Joe, Howe, and Carla entered. Tess was a short, slender bundle of energy with a strong chin, spiked brown hair, and
glasses that were slightly too large for her face. She cocked her head toward Bonafas. “Dick Tracy here figured he was going to impress you guys, is that it? Tell me, are you impressed with his crime-fighting skills? 'Cause I sure as hell am not.”

Bonafas sighed.”She's been like this ever since we caught her. It's been a real joy, let me tell you.”

“What's the story?” Carla asked.

Tess let out a rueful cackle.”The story? I'll tell you what the st—”

Carla held up a hand to silence her. “I was talking to him. You'll get your turn.”

Bonafas gestured toward a closed door.”One of the guys caught her in the room next to the monitor bank. It looked like she was about to cart away our security tapes.”

Howe turned toward her.”Something in there you don't want everybody to see?”

“Don't be stupid,” she hissed. “I know you guys would have already taken copies of the security tapes you needed.”

“Then enlighten us,” Carla said.”Because right now I'm inclined to treat you as a suspect in an attempted murder.”

“Oh Lord,” she moaned.”In two minutes I can have a team of lawyers on the phone who can tear you guys to tiny bite-size chunks.”

“Bring 'em on,” Carla said. “In the meantime, why don't we talk about why you broke into this place?”

“I'm here on behalf of Monica Gaines.”

Joe stepped forward. “You're trying to tell us that she sent you here?”

“Not exactly. I produce her television show, a little
thing called
Monica Gaines
'
s Psychic World.
Perhaps you've heard of it.”

Howe grimaced.”Aw, Christ.”

Joe shared Howe's disgust. “You wanted Monica's fire footage to use on the show?”

“Damned right. It's only a matter of time before somebody gets it. Why not us?”

“For one thing, it's evidence in what may become a murder investigation,” Carla said.

“We're doing our own investigation on the show every night,” Tess said. “We have the leading psychic authorities appearing on live television and offering their—”

Howe interrupted. “So you thought this footage would spice things up?”

“It's hard to engage in any meaningful discussion without knowing exactly what we're talking about.”

“Well, isn't that sort of what your show does every night?” Carla said.

Tess checked her watch.”Look, guys, I have a show to produce. If you're gonna arrest me, I'd appreciate it if you could get it over with. The sooner you book me, the sooner my lawyer will be all over your asses, and the sooner I'll be back with my crew.”

Joe glanced at Carla and Howe. They obviously agreed that it wasn't worth incurring the wrath of Tess Wayland's attorneys. He turned back to Tess. “Tone down the attitude, and we might be able to work something out.”

Tess hesitated, and then nodded. “Finally, a reasonable man.”

Joe sat next to her. “How well do you know Ms. Gaines?”

“I've produced her show for the past two years.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“I guess I know her better than most people. She's a pretty private person.”

“Does she have any enemies?”

“Besides the entire editorial staff of
Skeptical In
quirer?
Not really. There's the occasional nut whose feelings may be hurt because she doesn't accept his marriage proposal, but that's pretty standard for any media star at her level.”

“Any professional rivals?”

“None that would benefit from her death. Psychics who are as popular as Monica give credibility to everyone else in her profession.”