Diagnosis Murder 3 - The Shooting Script (18 page)

"If you find the right computer, you can match it to this CD-R."

"If I knew where the right computer was," Steve said, "I wouldn't need to trace the CD-R."

Bedard shrugged. "Nobody said this job was easy."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jesse was armed for war. His weapons were a computer, a high-speed Internet connection, a bowl of Nacho Cheese Doritos, and a huge bottle of Coca-Cola.

The Pentagon was his one-bedroom, Marina del Rey apartment. The kitchen table was his command center. His objective: to acquire operational intel on the enemy's strengths and weaknesses, then use that information to develop an attack strategy.

The enemy was Noah Dent. The hospital administrator had crossed the line when he fired Susan.

Jesse had been at the computer since his thirty-six-hour shift ended that morning. He was too angry to sleep, unwilling to rest until he found a way to stop Dent from destroying the people close to him.

Dent's animosity toward Mark Sloan went beyond office politics or an administrative power grab. There had to be another reason Dent was out to get him, and Jesse was determined to find it.

But after several hours of work, all Jesse had been able to find was a list of the schools Dent attended and the degrees he'd received, along with details of his various jobs before landing at the healthcare subsidiary of Hollyworld International, the amusement-park company.

If there was a clue to Dent's hatred of Mark in all that material, Jesse hadn't spotted it yet. Then again, he was having trouble focusing his eyes on anything. He needed some sleep, and then he'd take a fresh look at the reams of material he'd printed out.

He heard Susan fumbling with her key at the door, so he got up and let her in. She stood there with two bags of groceries in her arms.

"You're supposed to be asleep," she said, edging past him into the living room which, in his apartment, also happened to be the kitchen, dining room, and den.

"Yeah, but I couldn't sleep with Dent on my mind," Jesse replied, closing the door and padding into the kitchen after her. "I'm gonna figure out what that guy's problem is and then I'm going to find a way to fight back. I've printed out a ton of stuff about him, but I'm too tired to make any sense of it right now. I can't see straight."

"My plan was to wake you up with a wonderful lunch." Susan unpacked chicken legs, vegetables, cheese, a cake, and two bottles of wine from a grocery bag and set them on the kitchen counter. "But you've ruined it."

"What did I do to deserve such a nice surprise?"

"Nothing," Susan said, a little too strongly. "It was to entice you into hiring me at BBQ Bob's until I can find a new job."

"The job is yours, as long as you want it. Consider yourself the new senior vice president of worldwide operations. You don't have to entice me," Jesse said with a smile, slipping his arms around her waist from behind. "Though you do it naturally, without even trying."

Susan stifled a smile and pushed him aside. "I'm impervious to your charm."

"Since when?"

"Since I picked up your mail." She reached into a grocery bag, dumping several bills and a box on the counter.

Jesse ignored the bills but picked up the box. He knew what it was without opening it. The Lacey McClure sex tape.

"Now wait a minute," Jesse said. "You know I didn't buy this for me, it's for Mark."

"Uh-huh," Susan said, neatly folding the empty bags and sticking them in the cupboard under the sink.

"It's for legitimate investigative purposes only," Jesse said. "I have no interest in it myself."

"Really?" she said with a teasing grin. "So why didn't you have it delivered to Mark's house instead of yours?"

"They didn't give me that option on the website," Jesse said. "You had to send it to the billing address on your credit card."

"You weren't planning to watch it first?"

"Of course not." Jesse hoped he sounded convincing. "I'm going to drop it off, that's all."

"But you're exhausted from your long shift and all that research," she said. "Hey, I have an idea. You go to bed and I'll take the tape to Mark for you."

"No, no, no," Jesse said, looking for his wallet and his keys. "I couldn't ask you to do that. It's my duty as his investigative assistant. He may have other critical sleuthing tasks for me to perform."

"I thought you were dead tired," she said. "I thought you couldn't see straight."

"The sight of your beauty has revived me," he said, flashing a smile he hoped was irresistibly charming.

"Yuck," she said. "So, what are you going to do if he asks you to watch the tape with him?"

"Avert my gaze and run out of the house as fast as my legs will take me?" He scooped up his keys and his wallet and headed for the door.

"Nice answer," she said.

"Do you believe me?"

She gave him a smile. "Not for a second."

Mark sat on the deck of his beach house, a yellow legal pad on his lap. On the pad, he'd written down all the evidence that had been collected so far and broke it down into four columns: EVIDENCE OF HER GUILT, EVIDENCE OF HER INNOCENCE, EVIDENCE AGAINST THE MOB and THE UNEXPLAINED.

They looked like titles for a handful of cheesy thrillers, exactly the kind of thing Lacey McClure would star in. And appropriately enough, she was at the center of each of these stories, too.

Under
Evidence Of Her Guilt
, he wrote:

Three Motives to Kill Cleve: 1) He was cheating on her with a younger actress he was grooming as her replacement. 2) He was using her films to launder Mob money. 3) He had some kind of leverage against her (hinted at in the FBI wiretap).

She had a key to the beach house.

She had gunpowder residue on her hands and clothes. The gunshots on the CD were created to help corroborate an alibi. So far, she is the only one who has an alibi that needs corroboration.

The PI following her saw no evidence that she and Cleve were separated.

The killings create an amazing promotional opportunity for her new film.

She has an airtight alibi.

It wasn't a very persuasive list of evidence—even he could see that. Under
Evidence of Her
Innocence
, he wrote:

She was separated from her husband, so adultery was not an issue. In fact, she was having an affair herself.

The fact that no one knew they were separated only proves how intent she and Cleve were on keeping their marital troubles a secret.

FBI wiretaps confirm that Cleve was using her films to launder money for the Mob and that Lacey was angry about it.

Gunpowder residue on her was from firing weapons during the shooting of an action sequence in front of one hundred witnesses. Also captured on film.

Two videos, independently made by separate parties, prove Lacey was at the Slumberland Motel at the time of the killings.

Ordinarily, that would be enough evidence to scratch her permanently off the list of suspects. Not this time. Under
Evidence Against the Mob
, he wrote:

Cleve and Amy were killed "execution-style."

The report by Lacey's forensic accountant confirms that Cleve was laundering money.

The FBI wiretap confirms he was laundering money for the Mob and that the Mob was contemplating violence against Cleve and Lacey.

A Mob shooter tried to kill me with the same weapon used to murder Cleve and Amy.

Lacey's airtight alibi rules her out as a suspect.

All that was missing in the case against the Mob was a signed confession from Daddy Crofoot. It was a slam-dunk. Open and shut. A no-brainer. Which is exactly why Mark didn't believe any of it.

Under
The Unexplained
, he wrote:

Why were Cleve and Amy drugged?

Who recorded the gunshots on the CD?

Why did the Mob gunman try to kill me and not Lacey?

How did Lacey pull this off?

He set his pencil aside and stared in frustration at the notepad. Setting all the facts on paper made the case much clearer. There was absolutely no justification for him to believe Lacey McClure was guilty. He didn't blame Steve for pursuing the Mob angle. Any rational detective would.

If Mark continued to investigate Lacey McClure, he would be doing it on his own, without the support of the LAPD and, by extension, his own son.

The media scrutiny of Steve's investigation would only be getting worse. His every move was under a microscope. If Steve helped Mark, in direct opposition to the official police stance on the case, his son would be jeopardizing his career. Mark couldn't ask him to do that.

Alone and without the benefit of Steve's authority, Mark would never be able to get close to Lacey McClure, her family, friends, or business associates. They certainly had closed ranks by now to avoid the media, who were undoubtedly hounding them for information, sound bites, and footage. They would all be safely behind walls, real and symbolic. protected by armies of spokesmen, attorneys, and armed security. Getting himself onto Lacey's property again, or onto her movie set, would also be impossible.

Perhaps it was time, Mark thought, to concentrate on his duties at Community General, especially now that Dent was out to get him, and leave the homicide investigation to Steve. His son was a good cop; he'd get the truth without Mark's help.

Mark tore the sheet of paper off the notepad, rolled it into a ball, and was about to toss it in the trash, when he realized he didn't have a trash can nearby.

Frustrated, he shoved the paper into his pocket and went into the house. The DVDs of Lacey McClure's movies and the magazines with articles about her were still scattered all over the living room. He started to gather the material up to take downstairs to Steve's room, out of sight and out of mind. It was time to start thinking of other things.

He was heading for the stairs, his arms full of DVDs and magazines, when Steve walked in with Jesse at his side.

"Look who I ran into out front," Steve said, then noticed all the stuff in Mark's arms. "What are you doing with all of that?"

"Taking it downstairs for you," Mark said. "It's time for me to stop intruding on this case."

Those were words Steve had never heard before. He only got a few seconds to savor them before Jesse ruined it.

"Then I guess you aren't interested in seeing this." Jesse held up the tape. "It's the home video of Lacey and Cleve having sex."

Mark hesitated, shifting his weight between his feet, trying to decide whether to go back the way he came, or continue on downstairs.

Steve could almost see the mental tug-of-war being waged between Mark's sharply conflicting interests.

His father had just decided to bow out of the case, and here was a chance to see the victim and his likely killer in an unguarded moment. And yet...

It was a stolen, explicit video of Lacey and Cleve making love. Watching it made Mark a voyeur or worse. What he was going to see was bound to be distasteful. And yet...

It might provide some insight into their relationship and, possibly, the murder.

Mark's curiosity was piqued, but was his interest prurient or professional?"

The conflict was etched in Mark's face, in his inability to take a step forward or backward. Steve watched, knowing exactly the decision his father would make.

"It couldn't hurt to look at a few moments." Mark did an abrupt about-face and returned to the living room.

Steve turned to Jesse. "Thanks, I was almost free."

"Sorry," Jesse said.

The two men followed Mark into the living room. As Mark set down his stuff on the coffee table, he asked Steve if he'd found out anything about the CD. Steve told Mark what he'd learned from Larry Bedard while Jesse put the tape in the VCR and turned on the TV

"Think Lacey would let you check out the MAC address of her Ethernet card?" Mark asked.

"Not without a search warrant," Steve said, taking a seat on the couch. "And I don't know if I could convince the DA or a judge to give me one based on the evidence we have."

Steve glanced at Jesse, who stood indecisively in front of the TV.

"What's your problem?" Steve asked.

"I promised Susan I wouldn't watch it," Jesse said.

"Did she believe you?" Steve asked.

"No," Jesse confessed.

"Then you won't be disappointing her," Steve said. "So sit down, you're blocking my view."

Jesse sighed with resignation and took a seat on the couch next to Steve, who aimed the remote at the VCR and hit PLAY.

There was a rough title card, apparently made with some cheap, off-the-shelf editing software. The titles read "LACEY MCCLURE IN THE RAW!" in bold, white letters, with some cheesy electronic music in the background.

The title card stayed on screen for five seconds, and then there was a jarring cut to Lacey and Cleve already energetically making love. The angle was that of a stationary camera on a tripod, the only movement in the scene was from the couple, the only sounds were their moans and heavy breathing. The two of them were uninhibited, moving into a variety of positions, acknowledging the camera with playful grins.