Diagnosis Murder 3 - The Shooting Script (19 page)

Although there was no date or time stamp on the video, the scorpion tattoo on Lacey's back made it clear when the footage was shot. It had to have been produced some time during or after the making of
Sting of the Scorpion
, her second movie.

"When did this video come out?" Mark asked.

"About two years ago," Jesse said.

"How long after
Sting of the Scorpion
was released?" Mark asked.

"Around the same time," Steve said, glancing at his dad. "I know what you're thinking. Everybody thought it. The video couldn't have been stolen, distributed, and released at a better time. The publicity was huge."

"That scorpion on her back is like an ad for the movie," Jesse said. "It's also really sexy. What do you think Susan would say if I suggested she get something like that?"

"I don't think she'd say anything," Steve said. "It's what she might
do
that should worry you."

Mark took the remote from Steve and paused the image on the screen, Lacey's back arched in passion. He studied the image.

"You'd think Lacey would have insisted on a temporary tattoo rather than a permanent one," Mark said. "Doesn't it get in the way in her other movie roles?"

"Sure it does. Every time you read an article about one of her movies, the directors complain about having to hide the tattoo or airbrush it out," Jesse said. "Lacey made a big deal out of getting the tattoo at the time. She did all these interviews where she said it was essential to have a real tattoo to genuinely inhabit the role and portray all its complexity."

"She still talks about it in all her interviews. You'd think she was the first person to ever get a tattoo," Steve said. "She made it sound like she'd had open-heart surgery."

Mark gazed quizzically at Steve for a moment, then aimed the remote at the VCR and turned it off.

"Seen all you can stand?" Steve asked.

"Could you grab
Sting of the Scorpion
for me?" Mark asked.

"Apparently he hasn't," Jesse mumbled to Steve.

Steve found the DVD in the pile on the coffee table and tossed it to his dad, who put the disc into the player and picked up the appropriate remote control.

The movie's main menu appeared on the TV screen. Mark clicked his way to the scene selection menu, then moved quickly through the vidcaps of the various sequences, settling on the first lovemaking scene. He selected the scene and hit PLAY.

Jesse turned to Steve. "See? We aren't the only guys who go straight to the sex scenes."

Steve ignored Jesse and studied his father. The expression on Mark's face had changed. The sense of frustration and resignation Steve saw a few minutes ago was gone. Now Mark had the look of a hunter engaged in pursuit, eyes intense, focused on his prey.

Mark watched the stylized love scene unfold, full of quick cuts, percussive music, and dramatic lighting. The scene wasn't nearly as explicit as the home video. The camera lingered on Lacey's face, on the muscles tensing in her bare back, and on her hands gripping the sheets.

He stopped the playback, ejected the DVD and stared for a moment at the black screen, feeling the flush of realization. The millions of scattered pixels in his mind came together to become one dazzlingly sharp picture.

When Mark turned around, there was a sparkle in his eyes and a cunning smile playing on his lips. Steve and Jesse had seen the look before and knew exactly what it meant.

"Lacey McClure is a killer," Mark said. "And I can prove it."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The deck of a penthouse apartment, several stories above the glittering Los Angeles skyline, had been recreated on the Pinnacle Studios soundstage.

The nighttime cityscape was an immense photograph hung like a curtain and draped in a half-circle behind the set to create the illusion of height and distance.

Smoke filled the air to diffuse the light and heighten the illusion. Fans blew to mimic a night breeze, so the leaves rustled on the potted plants arrayed around the penthouse deck.

Lacey McClure, dressed in a black leather jumpsuit, climbed over the railing, as if she'd just scaled the side of the building. She crouched, catlike, and spotted a man in a tuxedo standing with his back to her at the opposite edge of the patio, smoking a cigar and admiring the view. She crept up behind him, removing a large knife from a sheath on her belt as she advanced.

In one smooth move, she grabbed his chin with one hand and slit his throat with the other. As the blood seeped out of his throat and spilled over her hand, she whispered in his ear: "You can't escape justice."

She released him, and as his body fell, the director yelled "Cut!"

A bell rang, signaling that the shot was complete, and that it was safe for people to move around and talk. The murder victim got up, opened his shirt, and removed the "blood bag" that fed his latex wound. A prop man took the rubber knife from Lacey while other crew members began to wipe the fake blood off the floor for the next take.

"That was great, Lacey," the director said, rising to meet Lacey, pulling his headphones off and letting them rest around his neck. "A wonderful starting point."

"Starting point?" she asked.

"I think you have the chops to give it even more levels of intensity," he said. "I want to see the rape of your sister, the firebombing of your house, and the kidnapping of your son on your face when you slice that bastard's throat. I saw the rape and the firebombing, but I didn't sense the kidnapping."

"We've already done six takes," she said.

"Think of your performance as a staircase and each take as one tiny step," he said. "Each step gets you closer to the top, to where you want to be."

"And with one shove you could tumble all the way down those stairs and land at the bottom," she said. "With a broken neck. If were you, I'd hold on to the railing, and think about moving to the next shot. I'll be in my trailer."

She pushed past him and left the soundstage. He looked after her for a moment, and suddenly saw a horrific vision of himself freezing in a soundstage in Canada; directing episodes of
Sue Thomas
F.B.Eye
, trying to get intensity from a deaf FBI agent and her hearing-ear dog.

He cleared his throat and turned to his assistant director.

"She really hit it out of the park with that performance," the director said. "I think we're ready to move to the next shot."

Lacey's trailer was parked right outside the soundstage door. She rushed in without even noticing the two uniformed police officers standing a few yards away, or the bland Crown Victoria sedan parked behind her vintage Mustang.

Perhaps if she had, she wouldn't have been so surprised to see Mark Sloan sitting on her couch, his feet up on her coffee table, watching television. Or his son, Steve, standing in her kitchen, helping himself to one of her Glacier Peaks bottled waters.

"Look who's here. It's Lt. Sloan and Dr. Sloan, too. I don't think I've ever seen the two of you apart," she said, turning to Steve. "Tell me Lieutenant, is this relationship reciprocal? Do you go into the operating room with your dad and offer him pointers during surgery?"

Steve shook his head. "I don't have an interest in medicine. But my father has a definite interest in homicide."

"I bet you're thrilled about that, aren't you?" she said to Steve, a malicious twinkle in her eye.

"It depends," Steve said. "Sometimes he sees things everybody else missed."

"I've seen something on Stryker's tape that might interest you," Mark said, holding up her remote. "I've got it cued up for you."

"Sure, why not?" She walked over and stood beside the couch. "This is the only film of mine I haven't seen."

Mark aimed the remote at the TV and hit PLAY. They watched the screen and saw Lacey driving up to the Slumberland Motel and parking in front of room 16. He paused the playback.

"That's a very nice Mustang. It's a classic, isn't it?" Mark said. "I couldn't help noticing it parked out front the first time we visited your house. It really stands out."

"I'm glad you like it," she said. "Is that why you're here, to talk about my car?"

"No, no," Mark said. "I just thought it was interesting that you'd chose such a distinctive car to go on such a discreet rendezvous."

"It's my car," she said. "It's how I get from place to place."

"Of course," Mark said, starting the tape again.

The film showed Lacey getting out of her car, embracing Titus Carville, and then tumbling into the room in his arms.

Mark paused the film again. "I should warn you: The next scenes may make you a little uncomfortable."

"I think I can handle it," she said.

He shrugged and hit PLAY. The next scene up was shot through the window of the motel room, showing Lacey straddling Titus, her back to the camera. Mark paused the film.

"That's a pretty distinctive tattoo you've got there," Mark said. "It really stands out."

"Is there a point to this, Dr. Sloan?" She said.

"There are a few little things that bother me about this shot," he said. "For one thing, I understand you like sheets that have at least 600 threads."

"I have sensitive skin," Lacey said. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"The sheets at the Slumberland have maybe five threads," Steve said. "On a good day."

"When you're caught up in passion, Lieutenant, you don't notice little discomforts," she said. "Are we done here?"

"Did you know your TV has a split-screen feature?" Mark said. "And multiple inputs?"

"No," she said. "I didn't know that."

"It's a wonderful feature, especially if you have two things you want to watch at once, and two VCRs." Mark hit a button on her remote. The screen split in two, with the image from the Slumberland Motel on one half, and a still image from her stolen sex tape on the other. "We can watch two videos at the same time. I never understood why anyone would want to do that until now."

"Do you get off watching me have sex, Dr. Sloan?" she asked.

"I didn't notice the sex, to tell you the truth," Mark said. "I was paying attention to other things."

"Don't tell me," she said. "You were admiring my performance."

"I was thinking about how clearly I can see your face in this home video you shot," Mark said. "And how I can't in this bedroom footage at the Slumberland Motel. You're photographed from behind. I can see your unique tattoo, but your head is turned in such a way that I can't quite see your face."

"Now you know why Stryker is a PI instead of a cameraman," she said. "But you know that's me. You saw me go into the motel room."

"And I saw you leave an hour or so later. But you know what I kept thinking about? Your harrowing brush with cancer. And the benign tumor you had removed from your shoulder. I read all about it, and your brave struggle," Mark said, motioning to a magazine he'd brought along and set on the coffee table. "The thing is, I can see the scar on your shoulder in your home movie, but not in the video of you at the motel."

She stared at the screen. "That doesn't prove anything."

"It proves that's not you having sex in the motel room," Steve said. "Add that to the fact that Titus Carville rented adjoining rooms and it's pretty clear what happened."

"You knew your husband hired Stryker to follow you, and you used that to create your alibi. Your body double, Moira Cole, was in the other room Carville rented, waiting for you to show up," Mark explained. "You allowed yourself to be clearly seen arriving, then you slipped out of the adjoining room in disguise while your double and Carville made love. You used the car she came in, drove to Malibu, and shot your husband and his lover with a silenced gun."

"You wanted to be sure they'd be there and that they'd be helpless," Steve said. "You drugged their champagne so they'd just be laying there for you, waiting to get shot."

"You also made a sixty-minute recording with four gun shots at the end, burned it on a CD, and left it to play in Cleve's stereo system after the murders," Mark said. "You returned to the motel, slipped into the adjoining room, and took off your disguise. You made absolutely sure you were clearly seen on film coming out of the room with Carville and driving away at the same time the shooting was reported. Your double stayed behind in the adjoining room until she was sure Stryker was gone."

Lacey glowered at Mark. "I suppose you expect me to break down and confess."

"I'd rather you waited until I read you your rights," Steve said, getting out his handcuffs. "You're under arrest for the murders of Cleve Kershaw and Amy Butler."

While Steve cuffed her and informed her of her Miranda rights, Lacey stared at Mark, her eyes blazing with fury.

"This isn't over, Dr. Sloan," Lacey said as Steve led her to the door, her arms cuffed behind her back. "It's only the beginning."

When Lacey stepped outside, she was shocked to see the entire crew standing there. From the expressions on their faces, it was obvious that they knew what had happened. That's when she realized she was still wearing the wireless microphone for her scene. Everything that was said in her trailer was heard by the sound engineers, the director, the assistant directors, the producers, and everyone else who had a headset on the stage to monitor her performance.

The director stepped up to Lacey and smirked. "Now you've got the intensity on your face I was looking for."

Lacey was handcuffed, but she wasn't defenseless. She kneed the director in the groin with all her might.

The director crumpled to the ground, clutching himself in agony.

Steve hustled her through the crowd to a black-and-white squad car, where Lacey saw her stunt double, Moira Cole, was already sitting in the backseat, hands cuffed behind her back. She'd been arrested, too.

Everyone's eyes where on Lacey, so when Mark stepped out of the trailer, the only one who seemed to notice him was the director, who was still doubled over at the steps.

"Great performance in there," the director said through gritted teeth.

"Thanks," Mark replied, helping the director to a seat on one of the steps. "Take a deep breath and try to relax. There's really nothing else you can do. The pain will pass in a few minutes."