CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The police cruisers converged on Magnolia Gateway Films, their light bars dark to avoid drawing attention. Riley brought the sedan to an abrupt halt behind them.
When four officers emerged from their vehicles, Riley recognized the lead—Rodriguez, she thought his name was—from the station.
“Agent Paige, Agent Esmer,” he acknowledged. “Detective Hayes briefed us. You believe the suspect is inside Stage Six with a hostage?”
“That’s our working theory,” Riley confirmed as she and her partner got out of their car.
The buildings in front of them were like mismatched blocks—some vintage redbrick structures from the 1970s, others sleek and modern. Stage Six was windowless, giving no hint of the horror that might be unfolding inside.
“We need to approach with extreme caution,” Riley said. “Sarah Brooks has killed twice already.”
Before Rodriguez could respond, the main doors of the complex burst open, and Gillian Sinclair hurried toward them. Her usual polished appearance had frayed at the edges—her blouse partially untucked, her hair escaping its careful styling.
“Agent Paige,” she called, slightly breathless. “Thank God you’re here. Security’s confirmed that all the exterior doors to Stage Six are either locked or barricaded from the inside. They can’t get in without heavy equipment, which they’re reluctant to use without your authorization.”
Riley gestured for the officers to follow as she moved to meet Gillian halfway. “Ms. Sinclair, thank you for meeting us. We have to move quickly. I need to get into to Stage Six. Can we use any of the adjacent buildings?”
“The production office for Stage Five,” Gillian suggested, already turning to lead the way.
They moved swiftly into the studio complex, past curious employees who paused in their work to watch the procession of law enforcement.
Once through another door, they came to a halt in a room dominated by scheduling boards and production stills.
Gillian closed the door behind them, shutting out the murmurs from the hallway.
“I need you to understand something that may be difficult to hear,” Riley began.
“We have strong reason to believe that Sarah Brooks is responsible for the murders of both Veronica Slate and Crystal Keene. We also believe she’s currently holding Lucy Morgan captive inside Stage Six, with the intention of killing her. ”
Gillian’s face drained of color. She gripped the edge of a nearby desk. “Sarah? That’s... that’s impossible. I’ve known her for years. She’s brilliant, dedicated—”
“And the granddaughter of Weston Black,” Ann Marie interjected gently. “The film director who also used the name Chip Raines. He was blacklisted after Roberta Rimes named him to HUAC in 1955.”
“The murders are re-creations of scenes from her grandfather’s films,” Riley explained. “Veronica Slate was poisoned like a character in The Night Walker. Crystal Keene was strangled and chained to a projector like a scene from The Broken Window. And now, Lucy Morgan...”
“Is going to be killed in a way that mirrors a scene from Shadows at Dusk,” Ann Marie finished. “Strangled on a church altar.”
Gillian’s hand moved to her mouth. “The church set on Stage Six...”
Riley nodded grimly. “That’s why we believe she’s there. But how did she get Lucy onto the soundstage without being noticed?”
“The back of Stage Six faces the old auxiliary lot,” Gillian explained. “It’s not part of our main security circuit. There’s a loading dock for larger set pieces and equipment, with a personnel door beside it. It’s rarely used now that we handle most deliveries through the main gates.”
“Would Sarah have access to that door?”
“As production designer? Absolutely. She’d have keys to every stage and most storage facilities.
” Gillian paused, her brow furrowing. “Actually, she was the one who oversaw the construction of the church set in the first place. She pushed for it to be built with extraordinary attention to detail, far beyond what the script called for.”
Ann Marie exchanged a meaningful look with Riley. “She was planning this all along.”
Riley turned to Officer Rodriguez, who had been silently absorbing the conversation. “We need to get eyes on that back entrance immediately, but with absolute discretion. If Sarah realizes we’re surrounding the building, she might accelerate her timeline.”
Rodriguez nodded sharply and stepped outside to dispatch two of his officers to the location Gillian described.
“Is there any way we can communicate with whoever’s inside Stage Six?” Riley asked Gillian. “Some kind of intercom system or audio connection?”
Gillian considered for a moment. “There’s a communication system installed in all the soundstages. It’s essentially a sophisticated PA system with two-way capability.”
“Can it be activated from outside the stage?”
“Yes, from the sound booth here in the production office.” Gillian moved toward a glass-enclosed booth in a corner of the room. “It might take me a minute to get it set up.”
“Do it,” Riley instructed, following her. Ann Marie and the remaining officers trailed behind.
Inside the sound booth, Gillian began flipping switches on a complicated-looking console. The equipment hummed to life, lights blinking across the control panel. She adjusted several dials before speaking into a desktop microphone.
“Stage Six audio check, this is Gillian Sinclair. Do you copy?” Her voice echoed slightly over the speakers.
Silence stretched for several long seconds. Riley held her breath, watching Gillian hover over the controls. Then, unexpectedly clear, a voice replied.
“Ms. Sinclair. What an unexpected interruption.” Sarah Brooks’s voice came through the speakers, eerily calm and controlled. “I’m rather busy at the moment. Perhaps we could reschedule this conversation?”
“Sarah,” Gillian began, her voice faltering slightly. “What’s happening? The police are here—they’re saying—”
Riley gently moved Gillian aside, taking position at the microphone. “Sarah Brooks, this is Special Agent Riley Paige with the FBI. We know you’re holding Lucy Morgan, and we know why.”
A soft chuckle filtered through the speakers.
“Of course you do, Agent Paige. I imagined it wouldn’t take the FBI long to piece it together.
My grandfather’s films, Roberta Rimes’s testimony, Myrtle Carroway’s betrayal—it all forms such a clear pattern, doesn’t it?
The kind of narrative symmetry my grandfather would have appreciated. ”
They needed to keep Sarah talking, needed to buy time. Riley stepped away from the microphone, letting Ann Marie take her place.
“Sarah, this is Agent Ann Marie Esmer,” Ann Marie began, her voice carrying the carefully calibrated tone of a hostage negotiator. “I understand you feel your grandfather was wronged. Would you tell me more about that?”
As Sarah began to respond—her voice taking on a lecturing quality as she expounded on the injustices her grandfather had suffered—Riley pulled Rodriguez aside.
“I need to get to that back entrance,” she whispered, ensuring her voice wouldn’t carry to the microphone. “If Ann Marie can keep her engaged in conversation, I might be able to get inside before she realizes what’s happening.”
Rodriguez frowned. “That’s extremely risky, Agent Paige. We don’t know what’s waiting inside. She could have booby-trapped the entrances.”
“I don’t think she’d have had time,” Riley countered. “Lucy Morgan disappeared this morning. Sarah had to abduct her, transport her to the studio, and set up her scene. She’s good, but she’s not superhuman.”
The officer still looked unconvinced. Riley continued, her voice low. “Sarah Brooks is recreating scenes from her grandfather’s films. Every minute we wait brings Lucy Morgan closer to that fate.”
Rodriguez held her gaze for a long moment before giving a reluctant nod. “I’ll have one of my officers escort you to the back entrance, but I want it on record that I advised against this approach.”
“Noted,” Riley agreed. “Your officer should remain outside as backup.”
Riley returned to Ann Marie’s side. Sarah’s voice continued to flow through the speakers, engaged in what sounded weirdly like a film studies lecture about the innovative cinematography in her grandfather’s work.
“I’m going in through the back,” Riley murmured, her mouth close to Ann Marie’s ear. “Keep her talking as long as you can. Ask about specific scenes, technical details—anything that might appeal to her pride in her grandfather’s work. Or … well, anything else you can think of.”
Then with a smile, Riley added, “Use your people skills.”
“But how are you going to get through the door?” Gillian asked.
Riley reached into her handbag for a familiar leather case—a lock pick kit.
“Funny,” she murmured. “The same way the killer got into The Velvet Screen to kill Crystal Keene.”