Final Cut (6 page)

As Joe picked up the phone there was another knock at the door. Frank opened it, and there was Trish again.

"Guys, how come you're not on the set? They're going to be looking for you."

"We have to call the garage," Frank said quickly. "About the van. It won't take long."

Joe put the phone down. "Couldn't get through," he explained to Frank. "Trish, if you have a minute, we'd like to ask you about something. Come on in, it won't take long."

"Well, okay, but this better be quick." As she stepped into the trailer she examined the scrapes on Joe's face. "What happened to you?"

"I had a little accident last night," said Joe quickly. "Tripped and fell in the driveway."

"Yeah, Joe's always tripping over his feet or something" - Frank smiled - "but we put up with him anyway."

Trish didn't look convinced.

"Frank and I have been wondering about this guy who got killed," said Joe.

"Fairburn?" asked Trish.

"Right," said Frank. "We heard Jerry Morrall talking about how Fairburn and Mel Clifford didn't get along, and then Mel and Jim Addison almost had a fight going in here - "

Trish grinned. "Jerry Morrall told you that, huh? He should talk!"

"What do you mean?" asked Frank.

Trish obviously enjoyed a little gossip, too. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Everyone on this project knows that Jerry and Fairburn hated each other's guts for years."

"How come?" asked Joe.

"They went to court once over who had the rights to a story they both wanted to film, and Fairburn won. He always teased Jerry about it to get him steamed up."

"That's one bit of information that Jerry would never have told us about himself," Frank said.

"This Fairburn sounds like a real sweet guy," Frank observed.

Trish shrugged. "I didn't really know him, but everyone says he was a creep. He had a nasty sense of humor and always knew how to get at people, knew just how to needle them and drive them crazy."

Joe looked at Frank thoughtfully. "Sounds like people would've stood in line for a chance to murder him."

Trish gave the brothers a suspicious look. "Why are you so interested in Fairburn anyway? I thought you were here to learn about TV production?"

"Oh, yeah, we are," Frank assured her. "But a murder is pretty exciting stuff, you know. We just figured you'd know some of the inside dope, since you've been working here, around all these people, that's all."

Trish stood up. "Well, we should really be back to work. This isn't the time to be - "

A nearby truck started up with a roar and drowned out her voice. Trish went to the door and turned the knob.

The door wouldn't budge.

She pushed harder, but it remained firmly shut. She turned to look at the Hardys.

"What's going on with - " She stopped talking suddenly as she began to cough. Harsh fumes were beginning to fill the trailer, and Frank and Joe were coughing now, too.

Joe pulled back the curtains covering the windows, but instead of a view there was an expanse of wood that completely sealed off the view - and any chance of ventilation.

"Someone's boarded over the windows!" Frank snapped, his voice breaking into coughing spasms. The fumes grew heavier.

Frank went to the door and pushed it, but nothing happened. He kicked at it beside the knob, but it didn't budge. The heavy gas was quickly flooding the room.

Joe gasped. "We're suffocating!"

The trailer had been turned into a comfortably furnished gas chamber!

"Help! Somebody, help us!" screamed Trish, and then she lapsed into a fit of helpless coughing.

"No one'll hear," gasped Joe.

Frank saw Trish panting for breath. "Lie down flat, the air's better near the floor," he said hoarsely.

Joe grabbed a chair and smashed at the window. The glass shattered, but the boards remained in place. "No good," he wheezed.

Frank saw that Trish, lying on the floor, was barely conscious. His lungs ached as he labored for enough oxygen to keep him conscious. "Not much time," he said faintly. "Try the phone!"

Joe staggered over and picked up the receiver, then dropped it. "Line's dead. Must've been cut."

Desperate, Frank looked around. Suddenly he looked up and saw, in the roof of the trailer, a small plastic skylight. It was too high for him to reach without help.

He dragged a small coffee table directly under the skylight and picked up a heavy brass Emmy statuette from a shelf. Jumping on the table, Frank hammered as hard as he could with his oxygen-starved muscles. With his second blow he cracked it and with the next he smashed his way through.

"Joe! Get Trish up here and I'll pull her out!" Frank hoisted himself up and onto the roof. Reaching back, he took hold of Trish's semiconscious body and dragged her up beside him. Joe quickly followed, and all three sat there silently, inhaling lungfuls of fresh air.

After a few minutes the three dropped lightly to the ground. They examined the windows, which had been covered by half-inch-thick plywood. The wood had been held in place by the heavy-duty silvery adhesive tape used on TV and film sets by gaffers and referred to as "gaffer tape."

"No wonder you couldn't knock that wood loose from inside," Trish said to Joe. "That tape is made to hold heavy stuff in place."

Joe looked at the trailer door. A wooden wedge had been stuck between the door and the frame. The harder they shoved and kicked, the firmer the wedge had gotten lodged in place.

Frank had led the way around the trailer. Now he called to the others, "Come here and check this out."

A length of hose had been run from the exhaust of one of the huge tractor rigs that the studio used for hauling equipment into a vent in the wall of the trailer. Both ends of the hose had been held in place with the same silvery tape that had secured the plywood.

"Someone sure worked fast to get this set up," Joe said. "Or maybe it was more than one person."

"It would almost have to have been more than one," Frank responded. "It was done fast and silently."

"All right, you two!" Trish stood facing the brothers, and her eyes were angry as well as frightened. "I want to know what's going on here! Last night when we lost our brakes, you told me it was an accident. I suppose this was an accident, too!"

Joe focused over her head. "We aren't supposed to - "

"Hey, don't tell me that!" Trish yelled. "I could've died last night, and I could've died just now! You owe me the truth!"

Joe's eyes darted to Frank, who shrugged a reply. Then they focused on Trish once again.

"You're right," he said to her. "We couldn't be sure before, but after this - I'm going to tell her," he said to Frank. "If Dad asks why, it was my idea."

"Go ahead." Frank nodded. "I agree."

Quickly Joe outlined to Trish why they had come to work on "Thieves' Bargain." As she listened, Trish's anger gave way to fascination.

"So whoever killed Fairburn may be trying to get to you before you can find out the truth," she said. "Is that it?"

"It's a good bet," answered Frank. "Who knew we were in that trailer just now?"

Joe counted them off. "Graham, Norris, Addison, Stuart, and Mel Clifford. Anybody else?"

"No," answered Frank, "unless - Trish, when you were looking for us to tell us to go see Addison in his trailer, did you ask around much before you spotted us? Who did you talk to?"

The girl thought back, and then nodded. "I checked several places before I saw you - Oh, I see, you're right. I stopped by the camera crew, I talked to people in props, wardrobe ... And every time I left word that you should be told to come to Jim's dressing room."

"So, just about anybody on the set could have known that we'd be there," Joe concluded.

"Maybe someone on the set might have seen someone coming from here," suggested Frank.

The three went toward the door of the sound stage.

As they approached the door, Joe said, "There's Jim now! Maybe he saw someone. Hey, Mr. Addison! Jim!"

The figure turned and looked at them curiously as they got nearer. It wasn't Addison but his standin, Vic Ritchey, taking a breather. Red lights flashed around the door, indicating that shooting was going on inside, and that no one could enter or exit until the lights went off. Sitting near Ritchey was Alvin, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, in his usual director's chair leaning against the wall.

"Uh, hi, Mr. Ritchey," said Joe. "Is Mr. Addison working in there?"

The standin nodded glumly. "Yeah, he's in there getting his face on film while I cool my heels out here. Business as usual."

"Mr. Ritchey, did you notice anyone coming from the direction of Jim's trailer in the last ten minutes or so?" asked Frank.

"No, not since Addison did," replied Ritchey. "Of course, I was inside until they sent for him."

"How about you, Alvin?" asked Joe.

There was no response.

"Alvin?" repeated Joe

There was a slight movement from the body in the chair.

"Hello?" came a sleepy voice from under the cowboy hat.

"Did you happen to see anyone coming or going from Mr. Addison's dressing room?" asked Trish.

Alvin slowly lifted a hand to the brim of his hat and raised it so that he could see who was talking to him.

"Sure did," he said, lowering the hat brim again.

"Who?" asked Joe excitedly.

There was a long pause.

"Who what?" asked Alvin.

Frank took over. "Alvin, who did you see around Mr. Addison's trailer? It's kind of important."

The hat brim was nudged up again, and Alvin looked calmly at Frank before replying.

"Lots of folks. There are always lots of people running every which way around here. Don't know what they're in such a hurry about, racing around like they do. I never pay them much mind myself." Down came the hat brim.

"Great," observed Joe sarcastically.

The flashing red lights went off, and the stage door opened. The first one to appear was Hector Ellerby.

"Oh, good. Here you are," he said, leafing through a stack of papers on his clipboard. "Tomorrow is a big day, guys. We're shooting this humongous gun battle at the end of the picture, okay? We'll be on location downtown, and you're going to help with traffic control. Here's a map of where we'll be. Be there by seven a. m. sharp. Got that? Hey, how come you two are hanging around outside anyway? We've been working inside."

"Actually - " Joe began, but Hector stopped him with a hand gesture.

"Sorry, guys, I'd love to stand and chat for a while, but I have to check out the locations for tomorrow and make sure we've got the cars arranged and rigged, and I've got to make a sketch of the location for Mr. Kandinsky. See you."

And off he jogged.

The door opened again and out came Addison and Stuart. Frank caught the actor's arm.

"Something's come up. Can we see you over by your trailer?"

As they walked Addison back to his dressing room, Frank and Joe and Trish explained about their near miss with death. Addison looked grave, and even Stuart, for once, didn't make fun of what had happened.

"Who do you think could have done it?" Jim asked when the brothers had finished their story.

"We don't know yet," Joe answered. "But one thing is for sure. Somebody around here definitely knows why we're working on this project and wants to make certain we're stopped." He cast a quick glance at Stuart, and she looked away.

They rounded a corner and started up toward the trailer. Frank said, "I can't figure how they got that plywood over the windows. They didn't have enough time ..."

" I had those windows boarded up by the crew," said Addison. "I take naps in there and I wanted to block out the sunlight and the noise."

As they came up to the dressing room door, Addison said, "I don't like it. I don't want anyone getting hurt for my sake. It's getting too dangerous for - Hey!"

A stocky figure had popped out from around the corner of the trailer and blundered straight into Addison. His arms were loaded with gaffer's tape and lengths of hose. It was Sam Freed.

Freed threw the hose and tape in Addison's face and took off surprisingly fast, with Frank, Joe, and Trish on his heels. Freed did have a ten-yard lead, which Frank quickly whittled down to two. But before Frank could bring him down, Freed sidestepped a stagehand pedaling a studio bicycle and threw the man and bike down in the boys' path. By the time they had disentangled themselves, Freed was racing toward the crowded main street of the lot.

"He'll probably head for the front gate. We can't lose him in the city," Frank said as he and Joe sprinted in pursuit, Trish close behind.

They reached the main street and looked around. Joe tapped Frank's shoulder. "There he is!" Following Joe's finger, Frank saw the gaffer turn a corner and run down a narrow alley between two large buildings.

"What's down there?" asked Joe as they dashed that way.

"We'll see in a second," Frank replied as they dodged the traffic to reach the alley. It dead-ended and was empty.

Each of the buildings bordering the alley had a door, and the brothers tried both. They were locked. Trish caught up to them just then.

"Freed's vanished," Joe told her. "He ducked in here, but now he's gone."

Trish said, "The building on the left is the scene shop, where they build the sets. I'll bet Freed has a key to that door."

"Come on!" snapped Frank, and he and Joe raced around to the front of the building. The enormous sliding doors in front were fully open. Frank poked Joe in the arm.

"He's over there!" he shouted.

A group of carpenters and painters had just left the building, and Freed was walking with them. He appeared to be trying to blend in so that he could make his way to the main gate. But he whirled around at Frank's shout and spotted the Hardys.

He broke into a run, scattering people like bowling pins, and ducked around the corner of a huge soundstage. Frank and Joe followed him just in time to see a side door of the stage close. Trish came panting up beside them.

"He went in there," said Frank. They opened the door and peered inside.