Murder by Numbers (18 page)

“I thought that might have been caused by somebody else,” Liza admitted. Then she suddenly remembered the scene as Deke Jannsky got fired as an extra. He'd pointed to his trademark disreputable hunting hat…and somebody from the crew had produced a double. Couldn't the saboteur have done the same? Had she been fixated on Deke, when a film insider was really to blame?

As she told that story to Buck Foreman, another thought hit her. “What if Hake got tired of being a tool? If Chissel was losing it, maybe his pet thug decided to get rid of him…and take a shot at finding the money for himself.”

Liza cut the connection on her phone and turned to find a pair of big green eyes staring at her.

“You think Hake is the one behind all this?” Jenny blurted. “The break-in at Uncle D.'s place, the sabotage, all those broken windows—” Her voice lowered. “The murder?”

“It doesn't matter what I think. It only matters what the police can prove. There's a big difference between thinking a person did something and proving it, especially in court,” Liza warned. “Logically speaking, though, Hake would be a good suspect. “He's got a strong motive, checkable opportunity, and definitely the means for the break-ins. The same goes for the sabotage. As for the murder—well, there's plenty of motive.”

Hake claimed he was traveling on important business for Chissel the evening of the murder
, Liza thought.
But he never told the sheriff exactly what that business was. Wouldn't it be funny if the alibi he didn't want to talk about turned out to be a breaking-and-entering job in Santa Barbara?

“Hake actually got picked up once for breaking windows, so I guess you can say he's got a history. He was very insistent on not being around, so maybe he can prove that. And I can't think of any sort of motive,” Liza admitted.

But the window smashing was related somehow to Chissel's death. The broken glass buried with Chissel seemed to point that out. Of course, the broken glass could be some sort of attempt to fix the time of the crime and help the killer create an alibi. Hake had been very insistent about not possibly being able to smash the Main Street windows.

And then there was the whole bizarre effort involved in disposing of Chissel's body. A professional like Hake would have to know the dangers of hanging around a corpse long enough for a fancy murder by drowning. Why take such a risk? Why not quietly dump Chissel's dead body in the bay?

Okay. Suppose Chissel was the usual brains of the operation when it came to breaking the rules. Maybe Hake didn't have the benefit of a Chissel plan in doing away with his boss. So he had to wing it. Or maybe he came up with some sort of overcomplicated “perfect crime” that required broken glass and the body being found.

After the battering it had taken on the plane trip north, Liza's head was just not ready to deal with such logical curlicues. She also had no intention of sharing any of this with Jenny. The girl was fairly well freaked out already.

Liza's cell phone rang again.

“Proof?” Jenny whispered.

No. A very satisfied Michelle Markson spoke over the line. “I assumed you'd have arrived by now,” she said.

“We just got off the plane,” Liza assured her, “and now we are taking a minute to catch our breath. The trip was on the rough side—”

“But you made it.” Michelle cut through the clutter in her usual style. “Now you'll have to get Jenny onto the set as soon as possible. They're shooting in the harbor again. I'm sure you'll know where that is.”

“Of course. I expected—well, at least a little more trouble from Lloyd Olbrich about moving away from where Jenny was held after she was kidnapped.”

“Oh, he tried to make some,” Michelle said. “Puffed himself up about going to the union, fixing things so that Jenny would never work again.”

Every nightmare I've had since Jenny ran off after Guy Morton decked Olbrich
, Liza thought.

“One little prick.”

Liza realized she must have missed the rest of what Michelle was saying. “Excuse me?”

“That's all it took to deflate that man,” her partner went on. “If he was hell-bent on trying to nuke Jenny's career, I promised him MAD—mutually assured destruction.” Michelle almost seemed to lick her lips at the old term of Cold War brinkmanship. “Besides the ammunition you gave me, I mentioned our new client—an actor turned author named Jonathan Sanders. He's emerged from seclusion with a new book about a young performer driven to the edge by the abuse, mental and otherwise, of a sadistic director. We were debating whether to market it as a roman à clef or as a straight memoir.”

“You didn't really take on—” Liza sputtered.

“Take on a new client?” Michelle asked sweetly. “That's for me to know and for Mr. Olbrich to sweat over. In any event, you and Jenny should find him a changed—or at least a more cautious—man.”

Michelle continued, “In return for his cooperation, Jenny has to be seen as both responsible and professional—which means you have to get her back to work without delay.”

“We're just waiting on a ride now,” Liza said.

“Good.” Michelle cut out.

Liza relayed her partner's news.

Before Jenny could answer, they had a new distraction—Michael arrived.

“Well, I'd say your car came though without any serious damage,” Liza said, glancing over the rental as she climbed into the backseat.

“Except that the rental people are going to rake me over the coals for the mileage.” Michael aimed a mock-reproachful look at Jenny, but relented at the girl's stricken expression. “Joking—just joking.”

Liza sent a worried look at the girl sitting beside her in the backseat. “Are you feeling all right?”

Jenny put a hand on her middle. “I don't know if my insides got scrambled on that plane ride, or if it's the prospect of facing Lloyd Olbrich again. But the last time my stomach felt like this, I was getting ready to take my first screen test.”

“Well, from what I've seen of your screen tests, you came through it all right,” Liza reassured her. She turned to Michael and explained about their new destination.

“Michelle's wish is my command,” he said, pulling away.

By the time they got to Maiden's Bay, Jenny had gone from pale to light green.

“I'm sure a few more minutes can't make all that much difference,” Liza told the girl. “Why don't we stop off at Ma's? You could have some tea and toast…”

“I appreciate your wanting to help,” Jenny replied. “But with all due respect, you're not my mother.” She gave Liza a wan smile. “Besides, I think if I tried to eat anything, even easy food, it might come right back up.” Tapping Michael on the shoulder, Jenny pointed across the street to Schilling's. “Could we stop off at the pharmacy? Maybe I'll be able to get something there.”

Going inside, Jenny began scouting the aisle instead of consulting with Nora Schilling. Liza chatted with the older woman, nodding toward the front where sunlight again came in. “So you got your window replaced—that looks a lot better.”

Nora nodded. “Ray Massini managed to pry some money out of the insurance company.”

Sure
, Liza thought.
Mister Mayor doesn't want his downtown to look like some kind of war zone.

“It's nice to be able to look out again.” Then Nora shook her head. “But it won't be the same. I don't know how we'll ever replace Grandpa Gustav's glass vials.”

The window space once occupied by the colored glass bottles and odd-shaped flasks with their brilliantly colored contents now stood empty. “They were original with the store,” Nora sighed. “It's a real shame they went with the window.”

“We have bigger problems than that, Mom.” Gary Schilling came out from behind the prescription desk, looking harassed. Liza was a little surprised. She'd never heard Gary use that tone with his mother before.

She promised herself she'd ask Michael to use his Hollywood connections. Surely he knew a prop man or woman who could get hold of a few pieces of old, richly colored glass without paying a fortune for it.

Jenny appeared with a bottle of the extra thick, extra strength pink stuff and paid for it. When she got into her seat in the back of Michael's car, she opened the package and took a quick slug straight from the bottle.

Liza hid a smile as Jenny made a face. She remembered the taste of that stuff on too many mornings after junk food–fueled late-night study sessions in college.

She had better sense than to let stress get to her that way these days.

“Just remember to brush your teeth, or at least swish some water around in your mouth before you report for makeup,” she warned the girl. “Turning up in front of the cameras with a bright pink tongue will give the continuity people fits—not to mention Lloyd.”

That had the desired effect of making Jenny laugh as she got out of the car.

Liza didn't accompany her, though she watched from the car as the girl approached one of the production assistants. “As Jenny said, I'm not her mother,” Liza told herself. “And she's not off for her first day at kindergarten.”

Nonetheless, she quietly watched until the girl was out of sight.

Michael turned to her. “Where to next?”

“City Hall, I think,” Liza said. Sheriff Clements should hear what she'd learned…and maybe what she suspected as well.

At least Liza didn't get the Armando Vasquez bum's rush when she told the sheriff about the break-ins in Santa Barbara and the possible connection with Peter Hake and the events in Maiden's Bay. But Clements didn't exactly leap into “calling all cars” mode, either.

He ran a thoughtful finger along his mustache. “As far as I can see, you've got a whole lot of guesswork holding together a few chunks of fact here. As far as the sabotage goes, we might get lucky and catch whoever is doing it in the act—if he's still doing it. Your next strongest chunk of fact is for the B and E in Santa Barbara. That comes down to us doing a whole lot of legwork checking where Hake was when, making a case for a crime that happened in another jurisdiction.”

“Yes, but if you got him on that, couldn't you use that as leverage to get more information out of him on the other cases?” Liza asked.

“As you yourself admitted, we don't have all that much linking Hake to either the vandalism or the murder,” Clements said. “So far as we've been able to ascertain, Hake flew out of town early in the evening on business for Chissel.” He grinned. “That could be good with your theories—possibly he headed down to commit some minor burglary in California. He didn't get back until after the time of death—that's all we have proof for here.”

“Could it be that he—or somebody else—is trying to play with the evidence by burying Chissel on the beach to throw off the time of death?”

Clements shrugged. “That happens more often on mystery shows than in real life,” he said. “Much more often.”

Liza sighed. “So, bottom line—does anything I had to say interest you?”

“Oh, a lot of it interests me,” Clements replied. “The whole lost money thing raises a new motive—which is just what we need, but it's something to look into. For the rest, I don't think it justifies diverting my limited time and manpower onto just one suspect.”

“Especially if the payoff is in Santa Barbara,” Liza muttered.

The sheriff shot her a look, but then nodded with reasonable good nature. “Speaking of other jurisdictions, we got a line on Deke Jannsky,” he said.

“You did?” Michael asked.

Clements nodded. “Apparently, he decided it was best to lie low out of town after the incident with your car's windshield. Seems he got himself into a fairly serious fight with a tourist over in Gold Beach. The upshot is that Deke will be a guest of another county—not Killamook—for the near future. Maybe that will give both of you time to cool down.”

With that news, Liza and Michael were dismissed. They walked along Main Street to Michael's rental car, Liza frowning as she went point by point over the case she'd presented to Clements. Could she have made it any stronger?

“Speak of the devil,” Michael muttered.

Liza looked up to find Peter Hake walking toward them.

“I'm surprised to find you hanging on up here, Mr. Hake,” Liza said. “Now that the man who usually holds your leash isn't around anymore.”

Hake responded with a growl that showed teeth, and a swagger. That disappeared as Liza went on.

“You know, things would be warmer—and richer—down in, say…Santa Barbara.”

“Pardon?” But Hake stopped.

“I mean, why are you breaking your neck to screw up production on
Counterfeit
when it can't help Chissel anymore? If you're going out on your own, I think we should tell you that other people know about Derrick Robbins's missing money now.”

“I'm afraid I don't understand.” Hake's voice held puzzled curiosity, but his face had turned into the “give nothing away” mask it must have worn for a lot of police interrogations.

Instead of being happy that she'd forced him onto the defensive, Liza found herself getting angrier and angrier that she couldn't break through his macho façade and get to the truth. Her words got rasher.

“The better part of a million bucks—that could be motive for a lot of nasty things. I wouldn't be surprised if you find yourself moved to the front burner on the murder case. Maybe you decided to grab this score for yourself. However it turns out, you may end up just stuck with whatever severance Mirage gives you. And that probably won't be much, since the whole company is going down the tubes.”