Death of a Blue Movie Star

"Well, we took the TNT out first."

He turned back to Rune and to fill the silence she asked, "You ever happen to talk to that witness?"

Healy drank most of his soda but left half his sandwich. "What witness?"

"The guy who was hurt in the first bombing? The first angel?"

The wind came up and whipped smoke from a burning pit toward them.

"Yeah."

"Ah," Rune said. "Was he helpful?"

Healy hooked his thumbs into his thick belt, which really made him look a lot like a cowboy.

"Aren't you going to tell me what he said?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Doesn't concern you."

"You just filed it away, what he said. And that's it?"

"No, that's not it." Healy debated for a moment. Finally he said, "The witness wasn't helpful."

"So there're no leads."

"There're leads."

"But nobody's following up on them," she said cynically. "Because of the word, right? From downtown."

"I'm following up," Healy said.

"What?" she asked quickly. "Tell me!" And she guessed he was wondering whether the date had been a good idea.

"I checked the fingerprints from the phone where the killer called her the night of the bombing."

"And-"

"Nothing. I'm also tracking the explosives. The wrapper I mentioned. I think we can trace the inventory."

"So, you going to get fired for doing all this? Because of the word from headquarters?"

"Way I figure it, the ops coordinator or precinct commander's got my phone number. They want me to stop, they can always give me a call."

Her hand closed on his shoulder. She felt a sizzle. Part of it was gratitude that he was going out on a limb to find out who'd killed Shelly. Part of it was something else.

But she concentrated on the detective part at the moment. "Look, Sam, how 'bout I help you?"

"Help me what?"

"Find the killer."

"No."

"Come on, we can be a team!"

"Rune."

"I can do stuff you can't. I mean, you have to do things legally, right?"

"Rune, this isn't a game."

"I'm not treating it like a game. You want to catch a perp." She emphasized the word to let him know she'd been around crime and criminals. Then added, "And I want to make a film." Her lips were taut. "That's not a game."

He saw that fire in her eyes. He didn't say anything else.

After a moment she asked, "Just tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Promise you'll answer."

"No."

"Please."

"Maybe," Healy said.

"What about the fingerprints?"

"I told you. They were negative."

"Not on the phone," Rune said. "On the letters? The ones from the Sword of Jesus, about the angels?"

He debated. Then said, "Whoever wrote them used gloves."

"Where was the paper from?"

"I said I'd answer one question."

"You said maybe you would. Which means you haven't ruled out answering two."

"I make the rules. I answered you. Now promise me you'll just make your movie and stay out of the investigation."

She brushed her bangs out of her eyes, then stuck her hand out. "Okay. But only if you give me exclusive press coverage."

"Deal." His large, tough hand enfolded hers. He didn't let go. For a moment the only sound was of the wind. She knew he wanted to kiss her and she was ready to kiss him back-in a certain noncommittal way. But the moment passed and he released her hand. They gazed at each other for a moment. Then he turned toward the pit.

"Come on," he said, "I'll let you throw a hand grenade, you want."

"Yeah?" she asked excitedly.

"Well, a practice one."

Rune said, "That's okay. I'll work my way up."

*****

Through the huge backstage doorway Rune saw a construction site, not a theater.

The aroma was of sawn wood and the nose-pinching, sweet smell of paint and varnish. Lumber was in constant motion, carried by husky men in T-shirts printed with the names of long-gone Broadway plays. Cables snaked along the dusty, battered stage.

Shouts, theboom, boom, boom of hammers, the shrill screech of electric saws, routers, drills.

She walked into the wings of the stage. True, she'd painted backdrops for one high school play, as she'd told Arthur Tucker. And she had been in several pageants. But she'd never been backstage at a real theater. And she didn't realize how much space there was behind the curtain.

And what an ugly, scuffed, beat-up space it was.

A huge cavern, a massive pit in the Underworld. She made her way unnoticed to the front of the stage. Three people sat in the front row, bent over a script. Two men and a woman. Their discussion was animated. They were having a disagreement.

Rune interrupted. "Excuse me… Are you Michael Schmidt?"

A man about forty-five looked up and his first motion was to remove his reading glasses, which had half lenses in the bottom of the frames.

"Yes?"

The others-a heavy man in a work shirt and a woman inhaling greedily on a cigarette and looking grim-had not looked up. They stared at the script as if they were identifying a body in the morgue.

Rune said, "Your office told me I could find you here."