Stillwater
The alley where Rollie’s body had been discovered had been cordoned off, and the back door of the restaurant had been securely taped up. They passed the old, hand-painted green and white sign above the front door, proclaiming the name of the eatery: The Gardenia. As they parked at the curb and proceeded around to the back of the restaurant, Leo’s nose detected the smells of a deep fat fryer. It made him realize that he hadn’t eaten since about four o’clock that morning.
But he couldn’t eat now. This was too important. He could eat – and sleep comfortably – when they found Rollie was okay.
In the full light of the morning, the alley looked smaller. Now that Rollie’s body had been removed there didn’t appear to be any obvious signs that it was a crime scene, other than the thick yellow crime scene tape that snaked around the area.
Not that passerby seemed to take much notice of the area. There were only a few pedestrians out on the sidewalk, and none of them seemed to pay any attention to the crime scene. Leo wondered if they were just not interested, or whether it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for them.
It was a chilling thought.
“So, this is where you discovered Tyler?” Shawna asked, surveying the scene through narrowed eyelids.
“In the garbage bags over there,” Francis added, nodding at the dumpster farther down the alley.
“And which one of you called for the ambulance?”
Francis raised his hand nervously. If it had been any other investigation, Leo would have laughed. Francis looked like a kid in school.
“Any possible evidence in the immediate area could be contaminated,” Shawna said matter-of-factly.
“I only touched the bag over Rollie’s face,” Leo said.
“But there was a bunch of medics in here too, correct?”
Leo had to give her that one. The bags of the garbage that Rollie had been laying amongst had been shoved out of the way so that he could be lifted onto the stretcher that would carry him out. Any traces left behind by whomever had dumped Rollie, such as fingerprints or footprints, could have been damaged or destroyed.
A sharp clattering sound from the kitchen of the restaurant made Leo jump. He crossed to the window, which was open just enough for him to see inside the kitchen. He could hear a heavily accented voice cursing as he bent down to pick up the fallen metal strainer.
“Excuse me!” Leo called.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then a face appeared through the half open window. It was a small oriental man, his face shining from grease. “Go away,” the man said, rubbing his hands on his dirty white apron.
Detective Albert stepped forward, removing her police badge from her coat pocket. She opened up her badge and flashed it in the man’s face. “We’re from the police, sir.”
He squinted at the badge, then took a step away from the window, eyeing them nervously. The man’s words were sharply accented. “Go away. I did not see anything.”
“Was anyone here last night?” Leo asked.
A small wispy cloud of steam blew through the window as the oriental man turned on a tap of hot water. “I … I was here.”
Shawna frowned, and decided to push him harder. “Then you must have seen something.”
“I not see anything.”
Leo sighed. This line of attack wasn’t going to work. Time for plan B. He took a large step forward, and put on his most sympathetic face. “Then I’m sorry, sir, but we’ll have to shut this establishment down.”
The man’s eyes widened, and his face paled. Francis looked up, and his eyes narrowed as he watched Leo. Detective Albert stared at Leo in surprise. “McCarthy, you can’t … ”
“Oh, I can,” Leo said to the oriental man, nodding sympathetically. “I hate to do it because I know what your boss would say, but, you know….” Leo shrugged, refusing to elaborate further.
The man nodded slowly, his mouth open wide. His voice was high-pitched. “You –!” He dropped a dish into the sink, and it splashed enough water that Leo felt a few drops hit his own face.
“Did you see something?” Leo repeated, his voice hard.
“All right, all right, I see something!”
Leo exchanged an amused look with Francis, as Shawna Albert glared at him, her mouth half-open. “What did you see?” Leo asked.
“Th – three men,” the man said. “Here after midnight – in early morning.”
“Were they carrying someone?” Leo asked.
“Yes,” the man said. He continued to wash dishes anxiously as he spoke. “They dump him in garbage over there. I got scared – ran away. Came back this morning, and saw ambulances leaving.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?” Shawna said.
The man lowered his head. “I, ah … ”
Leo sensed now that the man had something to hide about himself. Was he in this country illegally? That would make him afraid of any contact with the police. But of course, thought Leo, I have no proof of this idea. If the man was helpful, then Leo could find it in himself to overlook whatever background this man was hiding.
“Never mind,” Leo said, holding up his hand. “Did the men say anything?”
The man shook his head. “I not hear much.”
Leo cocked his head to one side, and leaned a little closer, almost poking his nose through the grimy window. “Come on, buddy! You must have heard something.”
The man hunched his shoulders defensively. “I – I hear men say man will be dead soon. And they use word….” He paused, trying to remember the word. “Sca … scape …”
Leo scowled. “Scapegoat?”
The man’s face brightened slightly. “Yes, yes! Scapegoat!”
Leo glanced back to Shawna and Francis. Shawna shook her head slightly.
Leo turned back to the man. “Did you hear anything else?”
The man turned back to the dishes he was washing. “No, no, nothing else.”
Leo grimaced, then resignedly pulled himself away from the window. “Thanks a lot,” he said, turning to walk away.
The window slammed shut only seconds later.
Leo turned to Francis, who had been eyeing the dumpster as Leo had been talking. “Find anything?”
“Nothing’s here, Leo,” Francis said. “Maybe if we get a team down here…”
“I don’t think they’ll find anything either,” Leo said. “But at least we have some evidence that Rollie is, as the man said, a scapegoat.”
Shawna moved quickly to his side. “You can’t tell me that some scared immigrant’s account of what he saw convinced you?”
Leo shrugged, and he began walking back to the squad car.
Shawna narrowed her eyes. “You’re not even going to consider that Tyler did take those drugs, and that maybe he did kill Domlin, are you?”
Leo spun around, angrily. “I’ve been up all night, but I’m not going home. You know why? My best friend is in hospital, and people are trying to tell me that he had a drug overdose and is suspect in a murder case!” Leo shook his head angrily. “I know Rollie, and if you knew him as well as I did you’d know that he could never have done any of this! Someone is screwing around with us, and if I don’t find who is doing this, Rollie will die! And I can’t let that happen!”
Leo stormed back to the car. “So you want to know if I’ll even consider that Rollie took those drugs? Here’s your answer.” He pulled the squad car door open roughly. “No bloody way.” He craned his neck to see Francis standing behind Detective Albert. “Francis, let’s go! We’re going to the loft.”
Shawna’s voice was noticeably quieter. “Tyler’s residence?”
Leo exhaled, and he lowered his voice, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. So much for staying calm and cool. “Yeah.”
Shawna nodded. “Okay.”
Is that a hint of a smile on her face? Leo thought.
9:56 a.m.
Lucinda had received the call from a friend. When she had arrived, the nurse had pointed her directly toward Rollie’s room.
The hallway outside the room was blessedly empty – the nurses and hospital guards had ordered the press away. Someone had finally decided to give Rollie some piece.
Lucinda knocked on the door, then discovered it was unlocked. She slowly pushed it open, and found the hospital room was bathed in near darkness. Someone had shut the blinds.
The permeating antiseptic smell of the hospital seemed even stronger in this room, despite the presence of a small vase of flowers, which attempted to give a sense of comfort to the room. But really, nothing could bring comfort to her in this room.
Lucinda’s first glimpse of Rollie sent shivers through her body. He had been hooked up to machines that monitored things such as his heart rate and blood pressure. It scared her to see that Rollie was so weak. His eyes were closed, and if it weren’t for the thin film of sweat on his face she would have thought he was sleeping. She stared at his pale face, and the mask that covered most of it.
Why
can’t you just wake up? Just wake up….
She
could see Angie sitting in the darkness at the foot of Rollie’s bed. She was staring up at him, her face blanched,
her cheeks a faint rose colour.
Lucinda’s eyes were wet, and as Angie turned to look at her Lucinda hugged her tightly. “Oh, Angie,” she whispered, crying.
She couldn’t think of anything to say as she stood there, gripping Angie tightly … desperately. But what was there to say?
10:02
a.m.
Leo yawned as he let himself into Rollie’s loft. He looked at his watch; he’d been going without sleep for nearly eighteen hours. He was going to have to sleep soon, as would Francis. They wouldn’t be doing Rollie any good if they let their exhaustion affect their performance.
Leo went into the loft first, followed by Detective Albert and Francis. Shawna stared in amazement as she moved up the stairs toward the centre of the large room. Her eyes ran over Rollie’s worktable, up the stairs to the clean room, then down into the pit where a couch and a small television were set up. She jumped slightly at the sight of the large dragon head next to her shoulder, then grinned. “This is amazing,” she said, feeling the dragon’s skin.
“Exactly,” Leo said. “This is Rollie Tyler.”
Shawna picked up a model from a shelf. “So he does special effects?”
Leo nodded. “Stillwater was his directorial debut. But yes, he mainly does special effects.”
She placed the model back on the shelf, and moved on. “He works alone?”
“No, he has an assistant. Angela Ramirez.”
“We’ll have to talk to her.”
Leo moved slowly, continuing to search the loft for anything out of the ordinary. Come on, Rollie. What was going on in your life? Give us something to go on. Anything.
Francis
moved toward Leo. “Look,” he said, lifting
a stack of papers on Rollie’s worktable.
He held up the first page. It
had the Tyler F/X logo on it, and below that were another symbol and the word Stillwater.
Leo crossed over to the table and picked up a few of the papers, leafing through them. “Character sketches, back stories … looks like Rollie was working on a new movie.”
“But Leo – the logo on the front page. It’s Domlin Entertainment.”
Leo looked at it and flipped to the next page, interested. “Could this be the TV series Domlin wanted Rollie to produce?”
“I think so,” Francis said.
“Domlin must have really liked the guy,” said Shawna, coming up beside them. She leafed through a few pages in the disorganized pile. “What’s this?” she said, pulling out a page that was different than the others. It was written on a specially watermarked paper, with the Domlin Entertainment logo printed in crisp blue lettering along the top. Matthew Domlin’s name was scrawled at the bottom of the page.
She frowned. “It’s a letter from Domlin to Rollie.”
Leo glanced at Shawna, surprised. For the first time, she had referred to Rollie by his first name. “What does it say?”
Shawna jumped to the final paragraph. She spoke slowly, curiously. “ ‘I marketed your film for you and made sure it was a success. Face the music, Rollie, mediocre movies can be made to look great with the right advertising. So maybe your loyalties should be with Domlin Ent. from now on, and you should take this series while I’m still being generous.’ ” Shawna looked up, impressed. “Sounds like Matthew Domlin feels Rollie owes him for the success of the movie.”
“But here,” Francis said, indicating Rollie’s notes on the other pages. They were written in red pen, and appeared frequently, large red Xs scrawled across many sections of the booklet. “It looks like Rollie hated the proposed series.”
“So Domlin was angry that Rollie wouldn’t take the show,” Leo said.
“But Domlin approached Rollie with the series idea months ago,” Francis said. “I wonder how many letters Rollie received from Matthew Domlin?”
“And did Rollie ever respond?” Shawna wondered. “Perhaps he got so angry at Domlin that he acted out his frustrations through murder.”
Leo gritted
his teeth. “That wouldn’t be something
Rollie could even consider.”
“I have to suggest it.”
“But what about the man at the restaurant?” Francis added. “He saw Rollie being dumped. If Rollie had murdered Domlin, what was it the man saw?”
“Yeah, Rollie killing Domlin doesn’t make sense,” Leo said, “when you factor in that eyewitness account.”
Shawna sat in the chair. “All right, let’s look at the whole picture. Your friend, Rollie, was found drugged and unconscious in the alley. A man saw him being dumped by two other men late at night. Matthew Domlin is found dead. Since Rollie was holding a knife when you found him there appears to be a good chance Rollie was involved somehow in Domlin’s death. Now we’ve discovered that there was hostility between Rollie and Matthew Domlin.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t look too great for Rollie right now, unless we can find more evidence.”
“Then we’ll find it,” Leo urged. He turned away. “There’s gotta be something more here.”
“His messages,” Francis suggested.
Leo spun around. “What?”
Francis pointed to the computer screen next to him. In the corner a tiny message flashed:
CHECK MESSAGES
“Jesus, Francis!” Leo exclaimed approvingly. “Bluey, play Rollie’s messages.”
Shawna frowned. “Who’s Blue – ”
The robotic dog barked, interrupting her. From the speakers surrounding the loft there came the soft sound of tape hiss, then a short electronic tone. A cold computerized voice spoke.
“One message. May 20, 5:43 p.m.”
Leo exchanged an interested
glance with the other two detectives as the message began to play. It was a woman’s voice. “Hey Rollie, it’s Valyne. You still coming over tonight? I’ll have dinner ready for when you
arrive. Call me if you need to change
plans. See you soon.” Beep.
“End of
messages.”
“Any idea who this Valyne is?” Shawna asked.
Leo shrugged. “I thought I knew all of Rollie’s friends. I don’t know anyone named Valyne.”
“Would Rollie’s assistant know?”
The sound of Leo’s ringing telephone made them all jump. Leo flipped the tiny phone open. “McCarthy.”
It was Angie. Her voice was cold and angry. “What’s going on?”
Leo’s eyes widened. He covered the phone with his hand for an instant, to whisper “Angie” to the others. Then he raised the phone to his ear again. “What do you mean?”
“Rollie’s
room is being put under guard. He’s
under arrest.”
“What? I haven’t heard anything about – ”
A second phone rang. Shawna’s. She picked it up – listening, nodding. She hung up, and looked grimly at Leo. “They’ve done preliminary tests on the blood on the knife Rollie was holding. It was Domlin’s. Rollie’s under arrest for Domlin’s murder.”
“Now with a breaking news story, here’s Jennifer Yakomo.”
“Thanks, Theresa. I’m here with more news regarding the Matthew Domlin murder case. We’ve just received word that Rollie Tyler, who was discovered drugged and unconscious in an alley this morning, has been put under arrest for the murder of Matthew Domlin. Tyler is the director of the smash hit movie Stillwater. Details are still sketchy at this point, but it is believed that his hospital room, where he is still unconscious, has been put under guard after the bloodstains on a knife Rollie Tyler was discovered holding matched Matthew Domlin’s. Unfortunately there are no other details at this point, but I’ll keep you folks at home posted as I get more. Back to you, Theresa.”