Oodles of Poodles (5 page)

Take after take, cute poodles dashed everywhere, apparently running away from the bad guy. I could just picture how it would all look up on a movie screen when the film was done, hear in my head how the narrator, in Sheba’s point of view, would describe what was happening. It would be exciting and poignant and great filmmaking, or at least it had that potential.

But then came the last take. It made my blood freeze. Cars were used. And those sweet little poodles seemed much too close to the rolling wheels of at least one of them.

Grant called a halt to the filming. To my surprise, Marford agreed. Or maybe he thought he’d gotten the scene the way he wanted it.

“We’ll resume here tomorrow,” he said. “There are a couple more scenes that’ll be shot on the streets here under our permit.”

“No more endangering the animals, you freak,” Carlie demanded. “That last shot—it was scary. They could have been hurt, or worse. No more of this or even if you get the seal of approval from American Humane, I’ll make sure you’re depicted on my show as the monster you are.”

“None of the animals was hurt,” Marford insisted. “My drivers were careful. Everything is fine.”

“It’s not,” Carlie said. “Don’t even think about doing that again, or you’ll be sorry.”

Her crew, no doubt, got that on camera.

Which turned out not to be a good thing.

Somebody killed Hans Marford that night.

Chapter 4

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t expect that.

I didn’t like it either. In fact, I felt pretty awful about it. Hans was dead.

It wasn’t clear at first whether he’d been murdered or the subject of a hit-and-run accident. I suspected the former, though, and so, apparently, did the cops.

Sure, he hadn’t seemed as devoted to protecting animals as I’d have hoped for a director of the kind of film that
Sheba’s Story
would be, but at least he hadn’t allowed the dogs to be put in danger for most of the day.

Although I’d been concerned that his last take would be a harbinger of others to come…

Maybe someone else had felt the same way. But kill him for it? That seemed much too extreme.

Yet people sometimes murdered with even less motive.

The way I learned about Hans’s demise was rather unexpected, too. Matt told me.

His affiliation with the film production was even more tenuous than mine. But he’d learned about it in his official capacity.

“One of the crime scene investigators from the LAPD called Animal Services around four
A.M.
,” he told me as we spoke by phone early the next morning before I left for HotRescues. We’d postponed our dinner plans the previous night.

Talking on my smartphone at this hour was becoming a habit, one I’d be glad to break. Yesterday’s call from Dante had changed the schedule of my entire day.

So would this one from Matt. I needed to find out what had happened.

Mostly to make sure…“Are all the dogs okay?” I asked Matt, realizing how taut my body had become at the thought they might not be.

Once again I was in my kitchen, Zoey at my feet. She regarded me curiously, and I patted her head reassuringly before planting myself at the table again for this conversation, willing myself to relax.

“That was why we were called in. Far as I know the dogs are fine, apparent homicide notwithstanding. A team of our officers is on the scene, which is why I heard about it. I reported in that I’d been there yesterday observing, so I’ve been directed to go there, too.”

“I’ll see you there, then.” I had to go, for Dante’s sake as well as the animals’. “Any idea what happened to Hans?”

“Sounds as if he was struck by a car on the street where the filming occurred—and where those poodles were endangered.”

It could have been a coincidence. An accident. Or so I tried to tell myself as I headed for the Northridge filming site.

The media had picked up on what had happened, at least part of it. As I drove I listened to the news report of a death at the site of a movie shoot in Northridge, with cops on the scene. But hardly any other details were given. For now, at least, they continued to report that it was an apparent hit-and-run. And maybe it was. Someone could have hit the director and panicked, driving off rather than calling for help. The coincidence of it happening on that street where the dogs had been somewhat in peril could have been just that—a coincidence.

I’d had to talk my way onto the set yesterday when all it had been was a filming location. Would it be harder today as a crime scene? Undoubtedly.

But Matt had gotten there first, in his official capacity. Today, he was the one to vouch for me.

“This is Lauren Vancouver,” he told a uniformed officer at the edge of the cordoned-off area. “She’s involved with animal rescue and is here to confirm that the animals are being handled safely.”

The cop, probably a rookie considering how young he appeared, looked at Matt. “That’s what Animal Services is here for, isn’t it?”

“Partly. But—” Before he could finish, he was interrupted by a voice from behind us.

“The American Humane Association, too.” I turned to see Grant Jefferly behind me, wearing his American Humane vest and a grim expression. “I heard on the news about trouble on this site, so I came right away.”

I met his eyes. I hadn’t paid much attention to their light blue color before, but their angry gleam now took me aback. I felt he was almost daring someone to accuse him of killing Hans—probably a silly reaction on my part.

Even so, I couldn’t help recalling his last discussion with the director, at least the last that I had heard. They had not been at all cordial with one another.

I’d recently figured out the culprits in several murders. That didn’t make me an expert. It didn’t make me a cop or an investigator, or even someone who wanted to be in the position of figuring out a killer’s identity either.

Besides, I liked Grant’s attitude about the dogs. We’d gotten along well at this site before the filming started. I didn’t want him to be Hans’s killer.

“Is there some trouble here?” A man in a suit joined us, holding out a badge. “I’m Detective Maddinger. And you are…?”

In the three other situations where I’d been involved with a murder investigation, the detective on two of them had been Detective Stefan Garciana, and Detective Joy Greshlam had worked on the third. I’d managed somehow to not tread too strongly on their toes, and both had been relatively civil to me—most of the time.

If I got involved in this one—not that I intended to be more than a curious bystander—I’d have to check with Detective Antonio Bautrel to see what he thought of Detective Maddinger. Antonio was with the LAPD Gang and
Narcotics Division and was also the boyfriend of HotRescues’ head of security, Brooke Pernall.

I took a quick scan of Maddinger. He was African American, a bit chubby, and had a thick head of gray hair over a skeptical expression that included a quizzical frown.

“I’m Captain Matt Kingston of Los Angeles Animal Services,” Matt said before either Grant or I could introduce ourselves. “I was here yesterday observing the filming, and I was told that some other Animal Services officers are already here checking on the dogs’ welfare. This is Lauren Vancouver, who represents one of the film’s producers, and Grant Jefferly, the representative of the American Humane Association assigned to this production.”

“We’re sorry to hear about what happened to Mr. Marford,” I said, “but we’re all concerned with making sure that the animals are still being well treated.”

“Er…right. Okay, follow me. You can’t get near the area under investigation, but the dogs have all been moved into one of the vacant stores in that strip mall. First thing, though—were all of you here yesterday during the filming?”

“That’s right,” I acknowledged.

“I’ll take you first to look in on the dogs. Then we’ll need each of you to answer a few questions.”

I’d been interrogated before in homicide investigations. A young female detective was assigned to question me. Her name was Detective Wast, and she appeared to be all cop with no sense of humor. Nor did she seem to have any love for animals that I could detect. But I didn’t have to like her to cooperate with her.

We stood outside the coffee shop in the busy parking lot, not far from the empty store where the dogs were crated. I’d seen the dogs but hadn’t had time to get close to them. I encouraged the detective to hurry so I could start walking some of them as soon as possible. I hadn’t seen any handlers or anyone else who might have been able to feed or exercise them that morning.

On the other hand, their crates looked clean, so they must have had some accident-preventing care.

“Okay, take me through yesterday, as you remember it, Ms. Vancouver. What time did you arrive here?”

Her voice was shrill, almost childlike, but there was nothing sweet about her attitude. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, with short, black hair and small gold earrings in her earlobes. Her skin was pale, suggesting no makeup, which meant her thick eyelashes were her own.

I did as she asked but answered her questions succinctly, volunteering no additional information. I’d learned how to deal with this kind of situation the hard way.

“And were there any other people there besides Mr. Jefferly, Mr. Kingston, and you who were particularly interested in animals? I assume you’d be interacting mostly with them.”

I pondered that for a moment. I didn’t really want to involve Carlie in this. Though she and the director had exchanged a few harsh words, she wouldn’t have killed him.

But even if I didn’t mention her presence, someone else would. And they’d undoubtedly be less discreet about it.

“You mean besides the film crew types—the trainers and handlers and all?” I wanted to make it clear that there were others involved with the dogs in case they zeroed in on
concern for the animals’ welfare as a motive to kill the director.

“That’s right.”

“Well, the American Humane Association did urge that there be a veterinarian on the set at all times. A vet from The Fittest Pet Veterinary Hospital was here yesterday.”

“And who would that be?” The detective poised her pen over her notebook.

“Dr. Carlie Stellan.”

“You mean the star of that reality show
Pet Fitness
?” Detective Wast smiled for the first time, and I smiled back. She might like animals after all if she knew about the show.

“That’s right,” I said.

Since she knew who Carlie was, surely she wouldn’t suspect—

“If she thought some dogs were potentially in danger, I doubt there’s anything she wouldn’t do to save them. Some people I’ve talked to said there were concerns about how yesterday’s filming was handled. I need Dr. Stellan’s contact information, if you have it.”

As soon as I could get away from the detective, I stood on the main street with a finger in one ear to ward off the sound of traffic. With my smartphone at my other ear, I called Carlie.

She didn’t answer so I left a message. “It’s about the filming of
Sheba’s Story
. Hans Marford was killed near where the movie was filmed yesterday. Call me. We need to talk.”

I wanted to give her a heads-up about what was going on and that she was as likely to be interrogated as I’d been. I hoped she’d return the call soon.

Meanwhile, I stayed near the crime scene. I wouldn’t look for clues or interfere in the cops’ gathering of evidence. But I wanted to make sure that Sheba, her miscellaneous poodle versions, and the other dogs were well cared for.

When I saw Detective Maddinger walking inside the yellow crime scene tape, I motioned for him to join me. To my surprise, he did.

“Yes, Ms. Vancouver? Did you think of something else to help our investigation?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I’d really like your okay to take the dogs out of their crates and walk them. We humans may hate what happened here but at least we know what it was and its seriousness. All the dogs know is that something is going on, and they’re being ignored.”

“I’ve got a pit bull mix at home,” said the detective, and his usually skeptical face went all gooey. “A really nice guy, never been used for fighting, of course. Ebby is really gentle.”

Ah, another animal lover. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to take advantage of that—and actually hoped I wouldn’t need to. I had no intention of getting involved in this investigation.

But realistically? I already was involved.

I made a mental note about Ebby in case knowing about him came in handy someday.

At least the detective cared about animals enough to give me an okay to help take the dogs for walks. Apparently the initial interrogation of the animal handlers was also complete, since they, too, were in the building where the dogs were crated when I got there.

I threw the strap of my purse over my shoulder and borrowed an extra leash from Jerry. He, Elena, and I set off down the noisy main street with the dogs—not the quieter side street where Hans had been killed.

We passed the row of huge white trucks used to transport filming equipment. Evidently the show must go on—or at least no one had told the film crew to remove its stuff. Maybe filming would resume sometime soon. I’d heard mention of an assistant director to whom Hans was giving orders. Maybe whoever that was would take over.