Murder by Numbers (9 page)

“And he never acted again,” Michelle finished for him. “The story has been around for years, but I forgot the name. Another bit of Hollywood trivia.”

“And a kid's whole life trivialized,” Morton added.

Michelle's raised eyebrows might as well have been semaphoring the letters M-O-T-I-V-E.

Yeah, it's a really solid motive
, Liza thought,
but for murdering Olbrich, not Chissel.

“Sounds as though you wouldn't mind messing up Mr. Olbrich's directing work,” Michael said.

Morton laughed. “Are you talking about the sabotage on the set?”

Michael just shrugged. “You also talked about doing tech work when you started out in The Business.”

“Very good!” Guy Morton slapped a hand on the linoleum tabletop, laughing out loud. “The only problem with that theory is that the sabotage leaves me stuck dealing with the bastard even longer.”

Guy Morton's blunt comment pretty much set the meal stumbling to an end. Liza ferried Michelle and Jenny back to the Killamook Inn.

“I'll just be getting my car,” Michelle said. “A quick checkout, and then I'll be heading back to L.A.” Her eyes hinted at the numerous things she planned to chase down once she got back to the office. Liza figured her boss would have most of Hollywood trembling before the sun set tomorrow.

“The sheriff didn't tell you to stay in town?” Jenny burst out, surprised. “That's what he told me.”

“No, he didn't. But then,” Michelle said, “I didn't open my mouth and flame a murder victim the afternoon before he died—in front of witnesses.”

Jenny nearly ducked, as if the words that Michelle had flung at her were physical weapons, not merely an observation by a notoriously sharp-tongued woman.

As usual, Liza picked up the pieces.

“It's all right, Jenny,” she said. “It's just standard police procedure. I went through it when I was dealing with your uncle's death. The police will find out who really did this, and everything will be fine.” She glared at Michelle where Jenny couldn't see it. “Right, Michelle?”

“Right,” Michelle said, but Liza could see that her boss didn't believe in letting things work their way to a natural conclusion. “Make it so,” she told Liza, before stalking off to organize her exit from the hotel.

Liza figured that she wasn't the only person in the car who heard that as a threat.

“Thanks,” Jenny said to Liza. “It helps to have you on my side.”

“Just keep your mind on your work. We'll get through this.”

After Jenny got out and headed into the inn's grand, if rustic, entrance, Liza turned to her remaining passenger. “Aren't you heading back to civilization with Michelle?”

Michael got out of the back and came round to take the passenger's seat. “I'm thinking of spending a little more time up here. No projects to worry about right now—maybe I'll take a minivacation.”

“I might believe that if you were staying here.” Liza waved a hand to take in the main building, the cabins, the tennis court, pool, and other amenities. “But in Mrs. Halvorsen's spare room? The house is overheated, and that room in particular is so stuffy, I'm surprised you can breathe.”

He shrugged. “Older folks like to keep things warm. And it's not been so bad, once I got the window open.”

Probably cracking half a generation's worth of paint, and maybe your back, in the process
, Liza thought. She was so engrossed with the image of Michael struggling with a stubborn casement that she almost missed what he said next.

“Best of all, I like the view.”

For a second, she shifted her eyes from the road to glare at him. “Oh, yeah, scenic Hackleberry Avenue. Across the street is a big spruce that blocks everything in that direction. If you stick your head out and work at it, I guess you can see my driveway—” She stopped. “You're talking about looking at my bedroom, aren't you?”

“What do you think I am, some kind of perv?” Michael managed to sound honestly offended. “I just like seeing all the country greenery. It's beautiful up here. Speaking of which, maybe you could direct me someplace where I could hire or borrow a car. I wouldn't want to keep imposing on your generosity.”

Some days I think you've been doing that for years
, she thought.
Nothing like a marriage to invite that.

“There's a car rental agency in downtown Killamook,” she said aloud. “Want to go there right now?”

 

After dropping Michael at the car rental place, Liza drove home alone.

As she went along the coast, Liza found herself passing the crime scene again. The tent was still in place, but the beach looked empty.
No work going on
, she thought,
either on the film or the pile driving. Ray Massini must be delighted.

She remembered the eyewitness account she was supposed to write for Ava. Well, there were still hours before the paper's deadline. Liza came home to a friendly welcome from Rusty. After checking his food and water bowls, she sat at her computer and began typing. Liza kept it short and sweet—just the facts as she recalled them, and even there she was economical. “No need to mention corporate shenanigans or dissension on the movie set,” she told herself.

When she finished, she ran the story through spell-check and then eyeballed it on the screen, looking for typos the computer might have skipped over. Ever since she'd written the immortal line “There are
faucets
to sudoku that even experts struggle with,” when she'd meant to type the word
facets
, she'd learned the hard way to take that extra last-minute go-through of her work quite seriously. It wasn't too bad this time. Just one
his
that came out as
is
. That was a quick fix. Then she saved the story to her backup computer and a floppy disk and printed it out. Armed with the copies, paper and electronic, she set off for downtown again.

The swarm of news vans had deserted City Hall. This time Liza had no problem walking into the police side of the building. The proper thing to do would have been to call Sheriff Clements, but that would have allowed him to dismiss the idea of the story without even seeing it.

Coming in to see Clements, on the pretext of having him review the finished work, presented him with a fait accompli—or as Michael jokingly put it on a similar occasion, “a fat accomplice.”

It worked. The duty deputy let Liza in to see Clements, he read over the article, and then he gave his okay.

“Nothing in here to compromise our investigation,” he said. “No commentary or speculation—I'm not sure about your future as a journalist, Ms. Kelly.” He gave her a look that was almost friendly.

“My nose for news prefers things logical and factually supported. That's why I wound up doing the sudoku column, I guess,” she joked in reply.

The sheriff looked at her with interest. “I'd imagine that after your recent experiences, you might have a theory about Oliver Chissel's death.”

“Of course. In fact, the problem is, I've got too many theories,” Liza said. “The most interesting one came from my partner Michelle. She pointed out that this could have been a major crime of opportunity for somebody from Tinseltown with an axe to grind. Or a body to bury—under the circumstances that's probably a better metaphor.”

He snorted, and motioned for her to continue.

“Coming here, Chissel had moved out from behind his usual defenses. No gated community. No bodyguards at every point of entry. No cameras taking background shots of the building exteriors twenty-four/seven. He was vulnerable here in a way that he wasn't back in the city. I thought she might have a point. She's checking into it. She intends to see if anybody with a grudge against Chissel was on any flights in this direction from Los Angeles.”

“Tell her to call me if she comes up with anything. I'd had a similar notion. I've already got a deputy on that, but she'd know the lay of the land back in L.A. considerably better than one of my boys,” Clements said. “I like the theory just because it would be very nice to imagine that Chissel's killer came from somewhere outside of my turf. But it will take more than just checking flights to prove it. We'll have to check strangers in cars and passing boats or yachts—in our copious spare time. Which is getting steadily less copious, thanks to all your film people and their problems. I should get back to work.”

He opened the door of the office/interrogation room where he'd been going over papers. As Liza stepped into the hallway outside, she paused for a moment. “About the broken windows on Main Street. Have you considered Deke Jannsky?”

“Jannsky was one of the first people we talked with,” Clements replied. “Although, he has an alibi—of sorts. Deke was drinking with a buddy. His buddy agrees. Though, considering the amounts of hootch consumed, it's not exactly an ironclad alibi. Deke's pal could have blacked out and not even been aware of it.”

“Jannsky was pretty furious when he got fired from the film,” Liza said.

“Deke Jannsky? Is he considered a suspect for the murder?” a voice cut in. They turned to see Ray Massini coming down the corridor. He wore another good suit, but severe harassment showed through the bare spots in his air of command.

“He was being nominated for the vandalism on Main Street,” Clements told the mayor, “but I don't think he's a contender.”

“Well, I'm glad to see you've been talking with a professional publicist like Ms. Kelly,” Massini said. “You could use the pointers. Several media people got in touch with me. They were less than impressed with the briefing you arranged.”

“Give it a rest, Ray. I'm sure they'd love it if we could arrange a shoot-out and nab the killer in front of their cameras,” Clements replied. “I don't think it's likely, though.”

“I also hear that you intend to use a young female deputy to conduct tomorrow's briefing.”

“Brenna Ross is smart, articulate, and she's a lot more tactful than I am with bull—” The sheriff glanced over at Liza, coughed, and changed direction. “Bull-oney questions, especially from the gossip columnists masquerading as journalists.”

“I still think that you should be present—”

“Unlike some police chiefs, I'm not in love with seeing myself on TV, nor do I see the need to prance in front of the cameras for political purposes,” the sheriff said. “I need to catch the killer.”

“The public has a right—” Ray started to say, but the sheriff cut him off.

“Oh, is this the famous ‘right to know' speech?” Clements asked. “How about the department's responsibility to conduct an investigation? That may include keeping details of the case secret just to rule out all the cranks and wackos calling in with misinformation.” He shook his head. “Not that we've got much in the way of details to conceal yet.”

The mayor was definitely not happy. “Sheriff,” he said, “the people expect transparency from this administration.”

“Especially the media people.” Clements gave Massini a long look. “And that's an interesting attitude to take—considering that you haven't been exactly forthcoming with your own movements after your run-in with Chissel last night.”

Massini glared, speechless. Liza took that as an excellent cue to run away. Obviously both men had forgotten she was even there.

She tiptoed out of the office before either man even noticed she was gone and walked back to her car.

She drove out of town, to the satellite office of the
Oregon Daily
—a pretty grand title for a fairly cramped organization shoehorned into a second-floor office at a strip mall.

Ava Barnes greedily seized the disk with Liza's story and fed it into her computer. “Not bad,” she said, reading the piece over. “Maybe it could use a little pizzazz—”

“I think you should save that for the editorial page,” Liza told her boss.

“What, you don't like wild speculation in large type? What kind of newspaper professional are you?” Ava reverted to managing editor mode. “Now, what about your column? We only have a couple days' worth of material in the can. You've got to start building your cushion back up, Liza.”

“I know,” Liza said. “I'm working on it.”

“Don't let this mess distract you,” Ava cautioned, gesturing toward the story on her screen. “We're on the verge of getting your column syndicated. Papers from Arizona to Connecticut are seriously considering it.” She scratched her head. “You may not know how serious that interest is. It's a shame you couldn't come to the convention in New York and see firsthand the way that people were lining up for it. You're an attractive young woman—”

“You left out articulate,” Liza told her. “Although most conventioneers would probably be more interested in my cleavage than my conversation.”

“Don't laugh it off,” Ava insisted. “If we pull this off, it will be a big deal for you, not just for your status in—what do you call it? Sudoku Nation—but financially as well.”

“I could use a little cushion there, too,” Liza admitted.

“Who couldn't?” Ava said, then made shooing gestures. “So go! Work!”

“I'm going, I'm going.” Liza headed for the door of Ava's glass-bowl office. But she hesitated for a moment. “One more thing. What can you tell me about Ray Massini?” she asked.

Ava looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“I met him yesterday for the first time in almost twenty years,” Liza responded to the unspoken question. “Just now, when I was over at the sheriff's office, Massini was crabbing at Clements. I was just wondering what kind a guy Ray had grown up to be.”

“Successful,” Ava replied. “I suppose you could even say dynamic. Ray came back from the army after Desert Storm as a war hero—killed a bunch of Republican Guardsmen with his bare hands or something. Everyone was surprised when he took a job at Tuttle's Insurance. The agency was on its last legs, but Ray completely turned it around. When old man Tuttle retired, Ray bought him out. Massini Insurance is one of the town's success stories.”