Chapter Sixteen
I wasn’t sure why I’d bothered going to bed.
My brain was much too active. When I wasn’t worrying about my niece and wondering who that young woman was who practically accosted Howard on the pier, my brain was spinning, trying to make sense of every detail we’d learned and every theory we’d proposed, attempting to form a clear picture of what happened to Ray.
The best mental image I could summon, however, reminded me of the old television set of my childhood, a black-and-white model with a rabbit ears antenna—and bits of aluminum foil crumpled on the ends in a futile attempt to eliminate the static.
I flipped on the lights and finished reading Marco’s screenplay, but even the sentimental ending wasn’t enough to bring on slumber. Eventually, I gave up and headed downstairs for a cup of chamomile tea.
As I neared the kitchen, I could see the lights on already, and I caught Seth rummaging through the refrigerator.
“Trouble sleeping?” I asked.
He startled, then turned, one hand on his chest, the other with a firm grasp on a take-out box. “Don’t do that to me, woman. And for your information, I slept like a log. Unfortunately, I may have gone to sleep too early. My body now thinks it’s morning and wants its breakfast.”
I looked at the box. “Chocolate cake?”
He shrugged. “Eggs are a good source of protein. Antioxidants in the chocolate…”
I laughed. “So it’s basically health food, right? Maybe get two forks.”
I put the teakettle on to boil and joined him at the counter.
While waiting for my tea, I nibbled at the cake and filled Seth in on what we had learned the evening before.
“I suppose we could consider it flattering that we’re now the favorites in the trivia tournament,” he said, “but I don’t know that I like that people are betting on us.”
“That feels like it’s secondary,” I said. “The most crucial question that remains unanswered is who killed Ray, and I have a real fear it’s one that might never be answered.”
“I thought you had such a high opinion of this Lieutenant Caceras of yours.”
“Oh, I do,” I said. “I guess it seems more urgent because tomorrow—rather, today—is the last day that we’ll be in the studio and can be of any help.”
“He’s no rookie, Jessica. Surely he’s solved cases on his own.”
“Of course,” I said. “But he did ask for our help, and I’m not happy with the idea of returning to Cabot Cove having left a promise unfulfilled or letting down a friend.”
“Ayuh, and it doesn’t seem fair to Ray either.
” He rubbed the white stubble on his chin.
“Jess, you know I don’t like losing patients.
It’s hard enough when it’s natural causes: cancer, heart disease, even old age.
And even though I didn’t really know him, Ray had no business dying that day.
” He looked up at me, and I could see the pain in my friend’s weary eyes.
“To feel powerless to help and to know that there’s someone still out there who did this awful thing to another human being… ”
He clenched his jaw, fighting his emotions, and I placed what I hoped was a comforting hand on his.
He squeezed my hand. “What I’m trying to say is that I want to find who did this too, and I’m not going to count us out yet. Sure, we’ve only got one day left, but a lot can happen in one day. And you, Jessica Beatrice Fletcher, I’ve seen you do marvels.”
The whistling teakettle interrupted my friend’s embarrassing vote of confidence.
I took the kettle off the stove and then turned again to face Seth.
“You know, I still can’t shake the feeling that Ray’s murder was motivated by something he heard.
I’d like to watch the video again, maybe see if there’s anything we missed in the audio tracks. ”
Seth slid down from his stool. “How about I go warm up the projector while you make the tea. Maybe bring me a cup?” He reached back and picked up the take-out container. “We can take the cake too.”
When I arrived in the theater room carrying two cups of tea on a small tray, Seth had already managed to fire up the projector and had the video paused at the beginning of the taping.
“You know how to work that?” I asked.
“The projector doesn’t seem much different from the one in the hospital conference room, and that studio software was already set up. Mateo also left a thorough set of instructions.”
I sat down on the sectional while Seth set the split screens in motion, then dimmed the lights and joined me, taking a sip of his tea before he dug back into the cake.
As the images paraded across the screen, I shifted my focus from the other contestants to the times when the cameramen repositioned the cameras. That’s how we had learned of the conversation between Ray and Sandi Flores. Perhaps something else had been caught unintentionally.
We were about two-thirds of the way before I spotted something interesting.
As a camera pulled away from our team, not only did it capture a blurry, rather unflattering close-up of me, but it turned dark briefly.
I had originally thought the camera had turned off, but the screen wasn’t totally black.
“There, Seth!” I jumped up and pointed to that segment of the screen. “Can we go back and look at just this camera again?”
He closed the empty take-out container and set it on the coffee table, then hoisted himself up with some effort. “I think I can.”
He flipped on the lights temporarily to squint at Mateo’s cheat sheet through the bottom lenses of his bifocals, then tentatively touched a few keys. The people in each of the screens inched backward.
“Okay,” I said when he had gone far enough.
The images froze, then Seth resumed squinting at the paper. “I think I got it.” He pressed a few more buttons and the other images disappeared and the one I was interested in grew to take up the whole screen. He reached over to turn out the lights, and the image came to life.
“Pause!” I called out when the camera shifted and the image turned mostly black.
“What are we looking at?” Seth asked.
As my eyes adjusted to the newly darkened room, more details came into focus on the screen. Three faces were faintly reflected in a glimmer of light. Since they were all dressed in black, their bodies disappeared into the darkness and they looked more like floating heads.
Evelyn Grider had a hand up to her ear, and her mouth was open. The other images, slightly behind her, were Gaelan and Jake.
“Can you let it play?” I asked.
The camera was probably pointed in their direction maybe three seconds. I could see Evelyn’s lips moving, and at the end, Jake turned to leave, then the camera shifted to another group.
“She’s saying something,” Seth noted.
“Perhaps into her headset,” I said. “Do you see the audio tracks from the crew in the program?”
Seth squinted at the screen, then shook his head. “I’m not sure how that works. I think you might have to get Mateo.”
“Oh, I couldn’t call Lieutenant Caceras at this hour.” I looked at my watch, which was reading a little after two a.m.
At that point, Mort staggered in rubbing his eyes. “Call Caceras about what?”
“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this house?” I asked.
“Call Caceras about what?” Mort repeated.
“Could you play it for him?” I asked Seth.
“That I can do,” Seth said.
Mort sat down as Seth replayed the recording in slow motion, starting just before the screen went dark.
“Pause,” I called out at one point, then gestured toward the screen. “Evelyn Grider is saying something, probably into her headset, then a moment later, Jake walks away. I wonder if the headset picked up anything, but we’re not sure how to access those audio tracks.”
“Call him,” Mort said.
“You sure?” I said. “It might be nothing.”
“This is what I know,” Mort said. “I can only begin to anticipate what the marvelously twisted, creative mind of Jessica Fletcher might decide to do in any particular situation, so I can’t answer ‘what should or what would J. B. Fletcher do?’ But I can say that if I were Lieutenant Caceras, and it were my case, and you had one of your little inklings, no matter what time of day or night, I’d want you to call me.
Homicide investigators work twenty-four seven. ”
I must have still looked hesitant, because Mort took his own phone from his bathrobe pocket, hit dial, then handed it back to me.
It was already ringing by the time I lifted it to my ear, then it connected.
“Metzger, it better be good.”
“Actually, Gabe, it’s Jessica. Sorry to call so late, but Mort thought you’d want me to.”
“What do you got?”
I explained what we’d seen on the video and how I thought maybe there might be something on the director’s audio track.
“Mateo just got in from a gig a little while ago, so how about we swing on over?”
“Now?”
“What’s wrong with now? Now’s great,” he said. “No traffic.”
When I disconnected, Mort said, “See, I told you.”
He spotted the closed take-out container on the coffee table and rubbed his hands together. “That’s what I came down for.” He picked it up, grimaced at its lightness, then opened it, revealing nothing but a smear of frosting on the bottom. He sent Seth a look.
* * *
Lieutenant Caceras didn’t appear any worse for wear, even arriving in the middle of the night, something at which I suspected he’d had plenty of practice in his long career as a homicide detective.
He was dressed far more casually than I thought I’d ever seen him, in jeans and a faded tee.
Mateo, clad all in black, including a chain-adorned leather jacket, still bore traces of hair gel and black eyeliner and smelled of sweat—among other things that I suspected his father likely didn’t approve of—after his evening gig.
Betraying this intimidating stage appearance was his familiar easygoing smile.
Mateo went right to the computer, and Seth joined him to explain what we wanted to see, or rather hear, while the lieutenant greeted the rest of us. “I’m surprised to see you all awake, with the big final coming up.”
“Don’t remind me,” said Mort.
“I think we’re all a little too keyed up for sleep,” I said.
“There is some audio on the director’s track,” Mateo called out. “Not a whole lot, but it actually begins a little before that snippet. You want to hear the whole thing?”
I nodded and Seth cut out the lights, and the brief video clip appeared, this time without any audio except the director’s microphone.
Evelyn’s voice was strong and clear. “Camera two, switch to table B.”
At this point, the camera left our table and caught Evelyn briefly. There was a low rumble, then Evelyn said, “Do it now.” Then the camera refocused on another table.
“That’s the end of that track,” Mateo said.
“Dagnabbit,” Mort said. “I thought we had something there, but it’s just normal studio stuff.”
“Hold on,” I said. “What did Evelyn mean when she said, ‘Do it now’?”
“Move the camera?” Mort said.
“But the camera had already moved,” I pointed out.
“Mateo,” I said, “could you please play that again, and a little louder this time?”
The clip replayed, and my eyes were glued on Gaelan and Jake behind Evelyn. I could barely make out their lips moving during the low rumbling, and when Evelyn said, “Do it now,” Jake turned and left.
“She was talking to Jake,” I said. “And that rumbling noise is them talking behind her. I can’t quite make it out.”
“Is there a way to boost that background conversation?” Lieutenant Caceras asked Mateo.
“I’d have to clean up that track a bit,” he said. “It would take some time.”
The lieutenant scrubbed his chin with his hands. “I should probably get our boys to do it, in case it turns into evidence.”
“How lucky would it be,” Mort said, “if they’re saying, ‘Hey, should I go poison Ray now?’ ”
“I don’t know how things work in Cabot Cove,” Caceras said, “but that would be luckier than I’ve ever been.”
I stared at the frozen screen for a moment, then turned to Mateo. “Could you play all the headset tracks from the crew members?”
“From the whole show?” he asked.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” I said.
At this point, Victoria poked her head in, and seeing all the activity in the room, clutched the neckline of her bathrobe tighter, then said, “I’ll go put on the coffee.”
Caceras took a seat on the sectional, stretching his long legs in front of him. The camera images flew by while infrequent directions were voiced over the headsets. I strained to hear anything that might have gotten Ray killed.
Right after Evelyn called for a mundane camera switch, another voice whispered, “Ready on the blocking.”
I turned with a raised finger toward Mateo, and he paused it before I could get the words out.
“Ready on the blocking,” I repeated.
“So,” Seth said, “it’s just a stage term, right?”
“Yes, but…” I’d been involved in enough amateur productions of the Cabot Cove Community Theater to know that blocking was the director’s oversight of the actors’ movements around the stage. “They surely wouldn’t be stage-directing a live show, would they?”
“Ready on the blocking,” Caceras repeated, then turned back to Mateo. “Whose audio track is that on?”
“It’s on the director’s track,” he replied, staring at the laptop.
“If that was Evelyn, why whisper?” I said. “Or could it have been someone else close to the microphone whispering it to her? Someone unaware that her headset mic was still active? If that’s the case, Ray would have heard it.”
“But if not stage direction, what is blocking?” Seth asked.
“I’ve had to block people on social media,” Mateo said.
“But nobody had their cell phones,” Mort said. “Oh, wait. Could they mean cell-phone blocking?”
“Jenny explained on the first day that the whole building was equipped with a cell-phone blocker to prevent contestant cheating,” I said.
Lieutenant Caceras raised a finger. “Not just contestant cheating,” he said. “Marty Wardell bragged that it was part of their whole airtight security system to prevent answers from getting to the audience playing on their apps at home.”
“That would also keep oddsmakers from getting the results of the live show ahead of time, wouldn’t it?” I said. “So, what if ‘ready on the blocking’ meant that they had contrived a way to turn the cell-phone blockers off?”
There was silence in the room as that idea sank in.
“So,” Lieutenant Caceras finally said, “what we might have is some kind of conspiracy, an organized attempt to leak the questions or maybe the results of the show for the purpose of either winning the online competition or ensuring the oddsmakers don’t take a bath in online betting on the outcome.”
“And Ray heard it,” I said.