The Next to Die

“I’m a big girl,” Sean said. “I can take it.”

“Well, you probably heard that the two guys had been stripped naked, tied up, and killed. Looked like a gay- bashing.”

“Yes, that’s what I heard.”

“Well, Tony and his friend were abducted and taken to that forest. We know this, because both men had come to the gay bar by taxi. They didn’t have a car to drive fifty miles to that forest preserve. Some of the more gruesome details were kept out of the papers. This part’s on the hush-hush. Tony Katz was found with a whittled- down tree branch shoved up his butt. And he’d been sexually mutilated. The other guy died execution style, shot in the head. But he also sustained sixty-one stab wounds and a slit throat.”

“My God,” Sean muttered.

“Now get this. The coroner is pretty sure he was already dead when they went to work on him with their knives. Which brings me back to what I was talking about earlier: planning.”

“What do you mean?”

“The excessive stabbing occurred after they killed the boyfriend. Shows they didn’t so much want to prolong his agony as they wanted to make a sensational impression. Like I say, planning. Next. From checking out the tire tracks and footprints, the FBI estimated anywhere from six to ten people were there in the woods—in two or three cars. Yet not a beer can or cigarette butt in sight. This wasn’t the work of some drunk teens who let a gay-bashing get out of hand. No, this is a tight-knit group. Possibly eight people participating in one of the most grisly, sensational murders here in recent years. Headlines every day for well over a week—”

“Until Leigh Simone’s suicide,” Sean interjected.

“And despite all that sensationalism, none of those six, eight, or ten participants talked. No one bragged to anybody about it. That’s unheard of. No leaks. Tight as a drum. As freakish and insane as this double murder appeared, in actuality, it was carefully orchestrated and performed without a flaw. A bunch of people got together and planned it, Shawny. You can bank on that. And they’re still together, you can bank on that too.”

“So you think these same people killed Leigh Simone, and made it look like a suicide?”

“As I said, seems like deliberate planning there too. But I’m flying solo on this. I’m the only one around here who thinks Leigh’s assistant is a liar.”

“Listen. What if Estelle Collier stepped forward and said she’d been forced to lie about Leigh’s—drug and sexual problems?”

“Are you trying to strike a deal for her?”

“I’m hoping she’ll change her story. Knowing she can do so without incriminating herself might make it easier for her to tell the truth. Might make it easier for everyone.”

“Well, Shawny, if anyone can swing a deal for this gal, it’s you.”

“Thanks. Listen, Vinnie. What if I told you that I believe this same group is now after Dayle Sutton?”

“Then I’d say Dayle Sutton is a dead woman.”

Eleven

“So—do you recognize us with our clothes on?” Joanne asked the audience at the beginning of The Tonight Show. She and Avery came across as good sports, and the host clearly enjoyed exchanging zingers with them:

INTERVIEWER: What’s the deal with this home movie? So you just decided one night to set up a video camera, and get the whole thing on tape, huh?

AVERY: Well, it’s not like we were the first couple to come up with the idea. I just figured it might add a little spice to things.

JOANNE: I like being married to a guy who, after four years, is still interested in spicing it up. The fact that he’s still interested is wonderful. Though I must admit, had I known the damn thing would end up being seen by hundreds of thousands of people, I’d have insisted on better lighting, a good makeup person, and a stunt double.

When the interviewer asked who might have stolen the video, Avery became serious, yet not too solemn. He said it was a police matter, but he suspected the responsible party didn’t agree with Joanne’s and his politics.

“I think someone was trying to humiliate us,” Joanne added. “And it’s embarrassing this video—we made for ourselves—has been seen by so many people. But you know, I’m not sorry we made it. What’s the big deal? Why the scandal? We’re an old married couple, for God’s sake.”

They applauded her. Avery had forgotten about Joanne’s ability to connect with a live audience. She instinctively knew what to say, when to be serious or irreverent, when to shut up, and when to shut him up.

Braving a barrage of intimate questions, she’d held up through an insane schedule the last three of days. And the phone calls wouldn’t stop: film offers, and a long list of magazines wanting to shoot cover stories, including Vanity Fair, who asked for them both in a sexy Herb Ritts portrait.

The producers of Expiration Date couldn’t have been more pleased that Traci Haydn’s costar had grabbed the media spotlight. They talked about moving up the film’s release date, and giving Avery top billing over Traci. Suddenly he had clout. Dayle Sutton e-mailed Avery to use his influence with their director to hire another writer to rework the gay-bashing script and make it more honest. On her recommendation, he also phoned Gary Worsht, the gay man he’d be playing—a nice guy, but definitely not the milksop saint from the script.

Gary had high praise for Sean Olson: “That lady really went to bat for me.” The least Avery could do was go to bat for her and Dayle Sutton. To his utter amazement, the director listened to him, and a new screenwriter was hired. Almost overnight, he’d acquired that kind of pull.

If someone had been out to sabotage Avery’s career by releasing that video to the public, their plan had backfired. Proof of their failure might have been gauged by the loud applause for Avery and Joanne as they strolled off The Tonight Show set. Holding hands, they waved to the audience.

Joanne ducked behind the curtain, and her grip on Avery’s hand became tighter. A few members of The Tonight Show staff, two NBC pages, and the reporter and photographer from People waited for them backstage. Blinded by camera flashes, they made their way toward their dressing room. Joanne’s hand remained like a vise around his.

Avery opened the door for her. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

Joanne shut the door behind them, then suddenly bent over. “Oh, God, Avery,” she gasped. “Something’s wrong.”

He sat her down in a chair. All the while, Joanne trembled and clutched her abdomen. Avery grabbed the phone and got through to the studio operator. “This is Avery Cooper calling from my dressing room in—in Studio B. We have a medical emergency. We need an ambulance or a doctor here at once. Can you help us?”

“Yessir, I can.”

He noticed blood seeping down Joanne’s legs. “Tell them to hurry.”

Tom was fed up. He’d left three messages on his agent’s machine, and the son of a bitch still hadn’t called back. In fact, the phone hadn’t rung all day, not one lousy call since the one he should have answered around noon. Now he was about to videotape Entertainment Tonight, assuming they’d have a tribute to Maggie McGuire. But like an idiot, he’d forgotten to buy blank videos. He had to tape over one of his old movies from The Late, Late Show. He was frantically trying to find some leftover time on the tape of his 1950 western, Trigger Happy, when Entertainment Tonight started.