Larry’s default setting was righteous indignation. It was so ingrained in him that if he was asked anything vaguely accusatory, he turned on the pained expression and sad-eyed look that even the last puppy in the pet shop window couldn’t match. McNulty knew Larry too well to fall for that.
“Don’t give me that lost-dog look. I’m not suggesting he was selling your sister or anything. What was his other job?”
Larry visibly relaxed. “You mean like you with the stunts and security? Like that?”
“I mean apart from Second Unit.”
“We can’t afford to shoot Second Unit.”
Second Unit was a separate crew who filmed action that didn’t involve the principal cast, although it sometimes used the main actors, but not in dialogue scenes. Titanic Productions cut costs by doing everything with the main unit. McNulty held up his hands. “Second Camera then.”
“The handheld stuff?”
“Apart from the Arriflex, what else did he do?”
Larry’s face lit up. He got it now. “You mean behind the scenes?”
McNulty nodded. “I know he’s not the official stills photographer, but yes.”
Larry looked more at ease now that he knew McNulty wasn’t accusing him of anything. “Candid behind the scenes photos. Cast and crew. That kind of thing.”
McNulty thought he knew the answer to this next question. “But you didn’t give him an extra camera.”
Larry feigned shock. “Do you know how much a good stills camera costs? Christ Almighty. I’ve only just upped the budget for an Arriflex.”
McNulty kept his voice calm despite feeling excited. “So he took them on his phone, right?”
Larry nodded. “Ideal for just snapping away in between scenes.”
McNulty looked at the producer. “And he was snapping away on the courtroom set.”
Larry’s face froze as realization dawned. “Reverse angles.”
McNulty nodded. “Toward the back doors.”
Larry almost whimpered. “When the gunman came in.”
McNulty felt a wave of inspiration. “On a sim card you could hide in your pocket. Or the spine of a hotel Bible.”
THIRTY-TWO
McNulty appeased the owner of The Chateau with a promise that the faux-courthouse shooting was a case of mistaken identity and that nobody was going to attack a restaurant renowned for Italian Family Dining. The Italian with the Boston accent seemed more worried that the movie assassin coming out the toilet might offend Al Pacino. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s gonna mistake him for Pacino.”
With the location secured, preparations for filming got underway. Lights were set up and reflectors moved in place. The crew placed squibs on the victim at the table and the armorer loaded blanks into the snub nose Smith & Wesson .38. Amy Moore touched up the victim’s makeup.
Larry was ecstatic. McNulty took him to one side. “Okay. I’ve done my part. Now it’s your turn.”
They went in McNulty’s car, Larry fidgeting like a nervous schoolgirl at the thought of lying to the police.
“You’re not lying. Just not explaining fully.”
McNulty pulled into a visitor parking slot on the side of police headquarters and turned the engine off. He shifted in his seat so he could see Larry and the main entrance. “Think of it as an elevator pitch. You’ve got thirty seconds to sell your story. Your story being, as Severino’s boss you’ve come to claim his property.”
Larry didn’t look convinced. “They’ll let me do that?”
“No, but we’ll find out if they’ve got his phone.”
Larry looked at McNulty. “You’re coming with me though.”
“Sure. I’m your police liaison.”
Larry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He linked the fingers of both hands and flexed them until the knuckles cracked. McNulty kept his voice calm and reassuring.
“That’s it. Get in character.” He took the keys out of the ignition and opened his door. “Let’s go to work.”
The officer at the front desk didn’t have the authority to release the deceased’s personal belongings so he called the only person who did. After fifteen minutes of Larry fretting in the waiting area it was no surprise who came through the door.
“You just can’t keep away can you?” Jon Harris stood in the doorway. “They stopped serving breakfast two hours ago.”
The Detectives Bureau was busier today. McNulty was beginning to think Harris was the only plain-clothes cop working, but two other detectives were leafing through files at the far end of the office. Another was on the phone when Harris escorted the producer and his technical adviser to the desk near the window. There were no marked units in the parking lot. Everybody was out working the streets except the detectives who were trying to solve the multiple homicide and the bombing.
“Can I get you a coffee?”
Larry sat down. McNulty pulled up a chair from the next desk. “It’s good. But add plenty of sugar.”
Harris paused at the coffee machine. “It’s passable, but it keeps you awake working the nightshift.”
Larry shook his head. McNulty held his hands up. No. Harris didn’t make one for himself and sat opposite his visitors instead.
“So? You want Randy Severino’s property.”
Larry transformed into the confident studio head that he was. “He was a tragic loss.”
Harris pulled a manila folder toward himself and squared it front and center on his desk. He didn’t open it. “You mother everybody who works for you?”
Larry puffed out his chest. “Titanic Productions is a very close-knit community.”
Harris tapped the folder. “What I’m getting at is, unless you’re his mother, only relatives can claim his personal possessions.” He shrugged. “His father, I meant. You’re not his father are you?”
Larry proved why he was so good in studio negotiations. “I have power of attorney for everybody working at Titanic Productions.”
Harris flipped open the folder and sifted through the papers before stopping at the property list. He looked at the producer, not McNulty. “That’s fine if your mother passed away and you’re after her diamond earrings. When a guy has his neck broken and gets dumped in the river.” He raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s a murder investigation. And nobody gets nothing in a murder investigation. Until I find out who did it.”
He glared at Larry. “You’re not
