Eleventh Hour

“Certainly everyone’s reputation is on the line here,” Flynn said.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Wolfinger said. “I trust you gentlemen will try to encourage everyone interviewed to keep quiet about this?” He laughed. “Hey, it won’t matter. This is far too juicy to keep quiet about. It’ll be out before the day is over.” Wolfinger looked down at his pen, frowned a moment, then said, “Then there’s Joe Kleypas, the star. Interesting man. A bad boy, but nonetheless, an excellent actor. Maybe you want to put him up there on your suspect list.”

“Why would he kill people to ape the show he’s starring in?” Delion asked. “He has to know the show will be shut down.”

Wolfinger shrugged. “He’s a deep guy, never know what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s got mental problems.”

Flynn said, “All right. We’ll be speaking to you later, Mr. Wolfinger. Thank you for your time and your ideas.”

When they left exactly seven minutes later, Nick said, “He’s an interesting man. I didn’t think he was a shit. Well, all that pen tapping was obnoxious.”

“That’s vintage Little Shit,” said Pauley.

Frank Pauley stopped to frown at a framed black-and-white photo of Greta Garbo on the wall. He carefully straightened it, then nodded. “You’re right. He acted like an adult. I’ve seen him do it before. But I’ve also seen him throw a soda can-full-at somebody who said something he didn’t like.”

Dane said, “Mr. Pauley, are they still shooting any of these episodes?”

“No. Eight shows were shot last summer and into early fall. The way it works is that if the show is picked up, that is, if the network decides to continue with more shows, they get everyone back together and shoot six to thirteen more. They usually make this decision after three, four shows. If the ratings are good, they pay for us to write more episodes. If it’s a huge success, everything is given the go-ahead and things move really fast. Oh yes, I called the AD-assistant director-Jon Franken for you.”

“This is the guy Wolfinger thinks is the psychopath?”

“Yeah. Wolfinger is cute. Can you believe the damned head of the studio was talking like that? Making accusations? But again, Wolfinger does just as he pleases, usually the more outrageous the better. As for Franken, the man has both feet firmly planted on the ground, knows how to squeeze money out of the sidewalk, and if something needs to happen yesterday, he’s the guy you go to. He’s trusted, something so unusual in LA that people come up to pinch him to see if he’s real. He also works his butt off.”

“Exactly what does he do on the show?” Dane asked.

“Actually, it’s Franken who has to know more about the actual show than just about anyone, including the line producer. He’s in charge of setting up off-studio sites, getting everyone together who’s supposed to be shooting, setting up the actual shooting schedule, holding everyone’s feet to the budget fire. He listens to the stars whine about the director or sob about their latest relationship gone bad, stuff like that. He’s got the big eye. Oh yes, Franken’s really big into anything otherworldly; he goes for that stuff. He and DeLoach are really in sync on this one.”

“Did they develop the idea together?” Dane said.

“I’m not really sure about that. I do know that they’ve always got their heads together.”

Delion said, “I hope he’s older than twenty-four.”

“Yes, Jon’s been around for a long time. He might even be forty or so. An adult. He started out sweeping off sets when he was just a kid. He’s expecting us.”

They found Jon Franken on the sound stage for a new fall sitcom that wasn’t doing well titled The Big Enchilada. He was talking to one of the actors, using his hands a lot, explaining something. From twelve feet away, they could see that he was buff, tanned, and dressed very Hollywood in loose linen trousers and a flowing shirt, his sockless feet in Italian loafers. He looked to be in his forties.

Pauley waved to him, and in a few minutes he joined them. He was polite, attentive, and when they asked him about the order of the episodes, an eyebrow went up. “I’ve been hearing some rumors, something about some murders that are similar to an episode of The Consultant. Is this true?”

Delion said, “Well, so much for discretion.”

Jon Franken was incredulous. “You honestly believe that this could have remained a secret? This is a TV studio. There isn’t a single secret anywhere within two miles of this place.”

Dane said, “Yes, you have it right, and we need your help. Frank Pauley said you know everything and everyone.”

Franken said, appalled, “The higher-ups must be shitting their pants. A murderer who’s copying a TV show? Incredible.” He shook his head. “Only in Hollywood. I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you,” Dane said. “We understand you’re close to DeLoach. How much of the actual writing was his?”

“Depended on the episode. The first two, however, were ninety percent Weldon, since it was his idea to begin with. Oh, Jesus, I can’t believe that.”

Nick said, “Are the episodes to be shown in a certain order?”

“Yes, that’s usually the way it’s done. There’s not too much week-to-week carryover, so it really doesn’t matter, but yes, the episodes would remain in the order they were filmed.”

“Have you seen him, Mr. Franken?” Flynn asked.

“No, he isn’t working right now. He called me a couple of days ago, said his brain was tired and he was taking some time off. He said not to expect him anytime soon. He’s done this before, so no one gets cranked about it, but he never calls in and I don’t think anyone knows where he went. Listen now, even though the first two episodes are Weldon’s, that doesn’t mean he would do something this heinous. It just isn’t him.”

Dane asked, “Is the same episode shown all over the country on the same day at approximately the same time?”

Franken said, “The first two Consultant episodes were shown on Tuesday night everywhere, but Wolfinger slotted them a little differently, depending on the demographics, or maybe because of it, so they’ll probably okay some more scripts. Beginning with the third one, it’s not that heavily Weldon’s work. Do you agree, Frank?”

“You’re right,” Pauley said.

Delion said, “Who can tell us what Weldon’s travel schedule’s been the past month?”

“That would be Rocket Hanson. She makes all the arrangements for the writers, and for everybody else for that matter.”

“Rocket?” Nick said. “That’s a wonderful name.”

“Yeah, she was trying to break into films thirty years ago, thought she needed something unusual to get her through the door. It stuck.”

Flynn said, “Has Weldon DeLoach been out of town a lot very recently?”

Franken just shook his head. “I haven’t been working directly with him for several months now. You’ll have to speak to other folks. We e-mail a lot and speak maybe once a week if we’re not working together on a show. I heard someone say he was off to see some relatives, maybe in central California, but I’m not sure about that.”

Dane said, “I don’t suppose the relatives are near Pasadena?”

“I haven’t a clue. Listen, believe me, you’re wrong about Weldon. I know it looks bad, but you’re way off course here.”

Dane asked, “What is Weldon writing now?”

Franken said, “He’s been writing for Boston Pops for about four months now.”

Delion looked pained.

Franken nodded, said, “Yeah, I agree with you, Inspector. It’s a dim-witted show that has somehow caught on. Lots of boobs and white teeth, and one-liners that make even the cameraman wince. It’s embarrassing. Weldon keeps trying to sneak in some weird stuff, like some Martians landing on the Boston mayor’s lawn, just for an off- key laugh, but nobody’s buying it.”

Frank Pauley nodded.

They spoke to a good dozen writers. Nothing promising on any one of the group, just a bunch of really interesting men and women who didn’t have a life, as far as Dane could tell. “Oh yeah, that’s true,” one of the