Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) (28 page)

Great
, Derek thought. Now he had to factor mental illness into Mitchell’s equation. Today was one of those days that you couldn’t cross off the calendar fast enough.

“I’ll bite,” Derek said. “Exactly what did this ‘film’ do?”

“I know what that sounds like,” Mitchell sniffed, swiping his hand under his nose. “Another escapee from
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
.”

“Was he like this before?” Derek asked Jill, but she didn’t answer. Her attention was focused on her phone. He touched her arm. Startled, she turned to him, her eyes settled on his hand, as if she couldn’t believe that he dared to place it there. He snatched it away, cursing himself for being too casual.

Focus, Derek, focus.

“Oh,” Jill said, as she seemed to reorient herself to the room. “Um ... Whenever I talked to him, which wasn’t often, he seemed normal ... that is, if you consider a kid who quotes movies every other sentence
normal.
”

Mitchell rocked back and forth in his chair as the lieutenant cued up the surveillance tape to the correct time. Derek worried that maybe Mitchell had watched one too many horror films, you know? Maybe fiction and reality had blurred. Hopefully, the tapes would clarify more than a few things.

“We’ve only got footage from the hallway,” the lieutenant said as he fast-forwarded. “They didn’t have cameras in the editing room.”

Derek pulled his chair closer to the screen. “We’ll take what we can get. Play it.”

He felt Jill’s breath on his neck as she leaned over his shoulder. In crisp, stark black and white, the footage must be in HD, for the hallway bloomed on the screen. Quickly, the lieutenant scrolled to the time code just after Mitchell’s key card had been swiped at the security desk.

After a few seconds, Mitchell appeared on-screen, inching toward the editing bay frame by frame. The kid looked like any teenager about to view his favorite film in a private screening. Kind of like Sylvester the Cat, who had just eaten Tweety Bird. Derek had seen footage of many a murderer about to enter the scene of the crime. Seldom did they appear to be humming. There was a spring to the kid’s step that Derek couldn’t imagine he would have—if he were even an accessory to the murder.

Mitchell entered the editing suite, so the lieutenant fast-forwarded the image until the door burst open, as the kid skidded out of the room.

“That’s when Elmore told me to get towels!” Mitchell twisted his hands, his face ashen. The kid’s legs bounced under the table.

Damn
. The suite’s door opened toward the camera, so there was no way to see inside the room to verify or discredit Mitchell’s account of events. So much for Hollywood knowing their angles.

“Where were you going so fast?” the lieutenant asked the kid.

“The bathroom. Like I said!” Agitated, Mitchell dug his fingers into his scalp, clutching his hair.

The lieutenant went to fast-forward again, but Jill stopped him. “Wait. Go back a few seconds.”

Derek glanced from the screen to Jill. “Why?”

“I thought I saw something,” Jill explained. “On his right hand.”

Mitchell’s figure appeared on the screen, walking backward.

“Stop. Right there,” Jill instructed.

Mitchell froze on the screen.

Derek studied the image. The only things he saw were Mitchell and an empty hallway. “I don’t see ...”

Jill pointed at the screen. “Look at Mitchell’s hand.”

Derek squinted. Clearly, Jill had way better eyesight than he.

What the ...?
Sure enough, the tips of Mitchell’s fingers were stained red. But how? The footage was clearly shot in black and white.

“Is that blood?” The lieutenant asked the question on everyone’s mind.

Mitchell pleaded, “No. That’s the oil I told you about!”

“But it’s red,” the lieutenant stated.

“How is this possible?” Derek gestured toward the monitor. “Could someone have doctored the tape?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “We confiscated the footage within minutes of the collar.” He flipped open the file. “The editor was reported dead to the security staff at 7:38 a.m., and an officer secured the site by 7:45 a.m. I don’t even think that Industrial Light & Magic could have laid in special effects in under seven minutes.”

Oil or blood, what was the answer? Derek wondered. Did the camera suddenly become capable of picking up color? Actually, not just any color, but the color red. This was one of those questions that the squints back at the lab were going to have to answer.

“All right. Fast-forward,” Derek said, watching Mitchell out of the corner of his eye. How was the kid going to handle the main event?

On-screen, Mitchell entered the bathroom, and then disappeared—out of sight. Seconds later, he reappeared with a handful of paper towels as he raced to the editing bay. The time stamp counted down ten seconds, and then the suite door burst open again as Mitchell backpedaled out the door. Black handprints streaked the floor.

Mitchell’s mouth was open wide, screaming and screaming.

The lieutenant stepped away from the monitor. “Looks pretty black and white to me. Excuse the pun ...”

The only problem was that there was absolutely nothing black and white about this case. Derek watched Mitchell now. The kid’s gaze was transfixed on the screen. A tear slid down the kid’s cheek.

Not exactly the reaction of a cold-blooded killer.

The lieutenant rose. “I will get the paperwork rolling to book him.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Derek asked.

“No …” the lieutenant said, seeming to really not understand that his detectives had taken a swing and a miss on this case. The footage did nothing to bolster their case. As a matter of fact, it pretty much just demolished it.

* * *

Mitchell watched as Derek crossed his arms over his chest. It looked like the agent was about to go all Samuel L. Jackson on the lieutenant.

“Let me play defense attorney for just a moment,” Derek said. “What was the murder weapon?”

The lieutenant looked down. “Not sure.”

“Well, according to the ME’s preliminary findings at the scene, the mortal blow was a single swipe of a sharp-edged instrument.” Derek pointed to the screen. “Maybe I missed where Mitchell brought in a Katana sword? One of the few weapons known to man to be able to perform such a feat?”

Exactly. Oh, my gosh. Hadn’t Mitchell been trying to bring home that exact point for the last few hours? Did none of them ever watch
The Bodyguard
? Seriously.

Boulder continued, “And even if we believe that Mitchell somehow snuck such a weapon into the editing suite, where is it now?” The lieutenant just shrugged, so the agent went on. “So, not only did Mitchell magically get this Katana sword into the editing bay, he also somehow killed his friend, and then stashed it in the whole ten seconds that are unaccounted for.”

Oh, Mitchell was liking this agent more and more by the second.

“And how exactly did this kid get the skill and the
strength
to perform such a feat?”

Normally, Mitchell might have taken offense to such a meager description of his physique, but now he welcomed it. He pushed up the orange sleeve of his jumper and showed off his bicep. He made a fist and tried to pump up the muscle. Let’s just say that no bulge formed.

Boulder pointed and raised his eyebrow. The lieutenant did not seem in the mood to argue with the agent, nor did he seem willing to just back down.

“Then who did it?” the lieutenant asked.

“No idea, but any defense attorney is going to get the kid out on his own recognizance.”

The lieutenant’s cheeks bloomed burgundy. “Because you just handed them their strategy on a silver platter.”

Exactly. Mitchell wished he had a pen to make sure to write down everything Derek had said. It sounded so
L.A. Law
.

“But look,” Jill said, pointing to the screen. “That’s supposed to be blood on his hands again, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not red,” the lieutenant said as he stepped back to the screen. “It’s black, as it should be.”

They were right. How did Mitchell miss that? Shouldn’t that prove it wasn’t blood on his hands the first time? Mitchell opened his mouth to say just that, but Boulder turned off the TV.

“All right. I think we have seen enough,” Derek said, turning to the lieutenant. “Let’s speak to Mr. Dixon alone.”

“But—” the lieutenant stammered, but Derek overrode him.

“
Alone
.”

Once the door closed behind the lieutenant, Derek turned to Mitchell, his lips in a stern line.
Uh-oh
. Mitchell liked the agent who put the lieutenant in his place, but not when that heated gaze was directed at him.

The agent braced his palms on the table, leaning in toward Mitchell. His jacket fell open, revealing a Glock 27. Cool. Well, it would be cool as long as he didn’t point it at Mitchell.

“You weren’t there just to see the film cut, were you?” Derek asked.

Play it cool
, Mitchell, play it cool. “I was working ...”

Derek slammed his palms on the table. Mitchell jumped in his seat. Dang it. His bladder couldn’t take much more of this.

“Cut the crap. My partner faxed me your file. You’re smart. Shit, half the stuff you wrote about I didn’t understand, but you were on to something. Weren’t you? That’s why you were at the studio this morning?”

Mitchell cast his eyes down, running his hands back and forth over his legs. How could he tell the agent why he was really there? Look at how Derek had reacted when Mitchell suggested that the film had lashed out. Already, the agent thought he was a horror freak who had finally lost it. But Mitchell just wanted to go home. Well, pee first, and then go home. Back to his dorm room. Watching his movie marathon. He wanted to forget that any of this had ever happened.

“Isn’t it?” Derek pressed.

Mitchell flinched. He kinda wished that the detective would come back and question him. He wasn’t as intimidating as this guy. But then again, the detective had been barking up the wrong tree. Now? Mitchell’s chest felt caught in a viselike grip.

“Derek, what are you talking about?” Jill asked.

But the agent didn’t even look at her. Instead, he smiled tightly, continuing in an almost playful tone. “Mitchell knows exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Mitchell kind of liked it better when Derek was being all mean. “You went there to get clips from the film.”

Mitchell tried not to react, but how could he not? And of course, the agent did not miss those few extra blinks and inward gasps.

“Yes, your roommates may have been as high as kites, actually higher than kites, according to the officer who interviewed them. However, they had excellent memories of you rambling on about an idea of yours, and how you needed some film clips to prove it.”

“It was nothing,” Mitchell mumbled, cursing his roommates. Not only were they loser stoners, but snitches as well. “It was some stupid theory.”

“Theories,” Derek said with a savage smile. “I like theories.”

Mitchell squirmed in his seat. His hands shook as he threaded them through his hair, rocking back and forth. “It’s stupid ... a long shot ...” But true. Mitchell was rarely wrong. God, how he wished he was wrong this time.

“Look, kid, no matter how off the mark those cops were, they sensed you were lying. They think it has to do with the murder,” the agent said, looking toward the one-way glass. “I think it’s about something else altogether. However, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth. The
whole
truth.”

Oh, how Mitchell wanted to tell Derek that “he couldn’t handle the truth,” but he was pretty sure that his Jack Nicholson impression was not going to go over too well in this room. Not with Elmore dead. Tears sprang to his eyes. Could he really have been so excited over this dumb idea just a few hours ago? Could Elmore really have died because of something Mitchell postulated?

“Okay,” Mitchell finally sighed. If they locked him up on Shutter Island, then they locked him up on Shutter Island. “I downloaded a pirated version of the movie, and—”

“You what?” Jill asked. “Where? What’s the website? Why didn’t you report it?”

Mitchell glanced from Jill to Derek. Well if his internship wasn’t already in the crapper, it was now.

Derek backed Jill off with a glance. Clearly, this was his interrogation. “And this film clip showed …?”

“For one thing, it took a freakin’ day to download, and then it ran funny. Scenes jumping. Mouths moving, but the dialogue didn’t match.

“Funny ha-ha, or ...”

“It blew up my computer, okay?” His parents had a fit when he told them that he needed a new one. He lied and said a virus came through the campus email. They wanted to give him their old desktop. “Mitchell, it’s perfectly fine. It runs DOS great. Why let it go to waste?” Thank God a laptop was required for class.

“So why’d you go to Temple Studios this morning?” Derek pressed.