Try Try Again Page 27

  “Brent added our information into a few databases, but really that’s a dead end, too.”

  The Agonists were silent for a moment, looked at each other dolefully.

  Liv continued. “And then I met with JTJ. She was still in Grantwood, still looking for the gold ring. I asked her everything she could tell me about the trial, any ideas that didn’t make it into her nightly news reports and so on. She was eager to help, but I didn’t get anything useful from her. She remembered the trial very well, though. In fact, she remembered what we’re calling The Clue, but hadn’t thought anything about it at the time.

  “She never believed Charley had acted alone, by the way, and even thought for a while Charley wasn’t the actual killer.

  “I asked her for copies of all the filming her students did at the trial, all three cameras and five days. She said the tapes had been tossed in a locker at the JC after Bigstone Productions returned them, and had probably been thrown out. But she said she’d look.”

  Liv took a deep breath. “So, no joy. Anyway, given what we saw about The Clue, I don’t think the original tapes would add anything.”

  The three sat in silence, then ordered another round.

  “Remind me why we want them,” said Hub finally, “these tapes, I mean, and who’s going to look at all that footage if we get it, and why.”

  “Just a chance. Something,” said Liv. “Something we don’t know enough to look for.”

  “A hundred twenty hours of trial tape?” Hub persisted.

  “Two cameras were in back,” Liv said, “and shot pretty much the same scenes, JTJ told me. So at least one camera – a third of that hundred twenty hours – can be ignored. And we can ignore testimony, because all of that was shown in ‘Try Try Again’ and we’ve seen it already.

  “Anyway, if JTJ comes up with the tapes, I’ll look at them myself and let you know if there’s anything interesting. Don’t hold your breath.”

  Jill and Liv looked at Hub. “That leaves you,” said Jill.

  “Right,” said Hub. “I drove over to WizWhiz and spoke with Stan Collins, who manages the place as well as owning it.

  “’Yes,’ Stan told me, ‘Frankie said we had to take out a few seconds here and there to make room for longer ads in season two, so we did.’

  “I asked Stan how he selected which cuts to make, and he said something like ‘where it made sense,’ which didn’t tell me much.

  “Stan remembered a nosy woman named Stephanie Bloomberg, who’d asked about the cuts he was making for season two and offered to make suggestions. He only put up with her because Frankie had insisted on the ‘star’ treatment – some rich family he thought he’d heard about from back East. So WizWhiz had to make nice with her.

  “Stan let her speak with the tech staff and make whatever suggestions she wanted to. Of course, he intended to ignore whatever she said.

  “So this ‘Bloomberg’ looked at all of it, all of what was in process of becoming season two of the show. It took her two days, and then she selected three or four places where WizWhiz should make some small additional cuts, she said.”

  At this, Jill and Liv sat up straighter and glanced at each other.

  “Then,” Hub continued, “Bloomberg found Stan and thanked him and left. And just as happened with Frankie, the woman disappeared and hasn’t been heard from since.

  “So I thought I was really on to something there,” he continued, “and I asked if Charley’s startle-moment in episode four, where Jill had won all that money, was one of the places she’d asked WizWhiz to cut. Bingo, I thought. But no – the cuts she asked for were in episodes two and five – nothing in episode four at all.

  “But just then, Stan’s assistant, who’d been taking notes for him, said ‘We’d already made that episode four cut, y’know, hadn’t we?’

  “And Stan didn’t remember but asked his people and yes, that was right; ‘The Clue’ had been cut three days before Bloomberg showed up.

  “So we don’t know if she saw the cut she wanted had already been made, or if she had no interest in it at all. Either this woman was very clever, or what she did was completely innocent. Too bad The Clue cut had already been made – now we’ll never know what she would have told Stan if it hadn’t been.”

  “So where are we?” asked Jill.

  “Dead in the water,” said Liv.

  “Curtain,” said Hub.

  They looked at each other. “There’s nothing to do now,” said Liv. “Not unless something new turns up, which doesn’t seem likely.”

  The three drank up, hugged each other goodbye, and went their separate ways.

  Three weeks later and to her surprise, Liv received a portable hard drive in the mail, with a note. “We found them! Have fun! – JTJ”

  There were fifteen lengthy files on the drive: one for each trial day for each camera, but the files weren’t labelled except for cryptic names like “D483-te-JohnnyandMax3r.mp7.” Liv separated the files by trial day and camera by viewing them and trying to remember what had happened at the trial, and when. She didn’t know which camera’s film of which day had been used on the show, and had to rely on her memory to play back the parts of the trial she wanted to see – most importantly, day four nearing the end of Chief Gardner’s testimony, just before her own cross-examination had begun.

  What with the filename confusion and her own work at Fogle Harsh Weaver, it took her a week to sort all the files by day and camera, and another five days to view the three different takes of day four from three cameras. Not having Hub’s elaborate computer setup, she was forced to move forward and back by guess and hunch until she found the right spot in each file.

  Camera One showed nothing of immediate interest. Camera Two’s shots were similar to Camera One’s, but with a wider focal length. Both cameras had been focused on the witness box, with occasional pans to judge or jury, the prosecution or defense. Camera Two showed Charley’s startle at the defense table, just on the left side of the frame, while Camera One was showing Judge DuCasse. Liv concluded Camera Two’s footage of day four had been passed on to Frankie’s organization and used, not footage from Camera One. Both cameras had been stationed at the back of the courtroom, she recalled.

  But Camera Three was different; it appeared to have been placed along the courtroom sidewall to the left of the judge and slightly forward of her and, with a wide-angle setting, took in the spectators and people coming in and out of the room. She had forgotten where that third camera had been two years before. Camera Three didn’t pan or zoom. Every few minutes the picture shook slightly, as if someone had bumped into its tripod.

  Liv needed to see what Camera Three saw at the exact moment of The Clue and the following few seconds, which wasn’t easy. First she viewed Camera Two’s footage, catching the startle and noting the exact elapsed filming time. Then she ran the Camera Three file up to the same filming time. But that didn’t look right. Hell, she thought, the cameras wouldn’t have been turned on at exactly the same time, might have been paused, might have been stopped for a battery change, and so on, so the elapsed times wouldn’t match.

  She ran Cameras Two and Three footage back and forth to and from The Clue-point several times, with no result other than frustration. She took a break and had a gin and tonic even though it was mid-winter and not warm outside. Then reverting to Camera One’s version of reality once again, about five minutes before The Clue, she heard a cough on the tape. A deep cough. Male. She stopped the file playback exactly at the point of the cough but couldn’t see who had coughed.

  She knew the cough was a false scent. Who had coughed, and when, didn’t matter – but the sound could be used as a reference point, like the clackers used in filming a movie.

  Leaving the Camera One file at the point of the cough, she carefully inched forward in the Camera Three file until she heard a cough that sounded the same. Then, noting the elapsed time on Camera One, she moved forward in the file second by second until she could see Charley’s startle,
which appeared in a little over a minute. She moved forward in the Camera Three file the exact same amount of time, looking out for any gaps in time that could throw her efforts off.

  Stopping the image there, she studied the frame. Nothing out of the ordinary; just your typical courtroom. She moved the Camera Three file forward a half second, then one second. Nothing. Then another half-second.

  There! One of the spectators, a woman, had suddenly jerked her head upward and widened her eyes. Forward a little more. The woman’s face calmed and resumed its original pose, although her expression now seemed strained.

  Liv studied the face in freeze-frame. Yes, she could be ‘Stephanie Bloomberg’, as Frankie had described her to Hub: about fifty-five years old, slim face, dark complexion but definitely white with an expression ,that seemed to Liv, to connote impatience and a certain cruelty. But now, Liv realized she was doing amateur psychology, and she shouldn’t.

  Excited, she printed the grainy frame and then tried to enhance it with PhotoShop. Knowing little about the software, she had to call a friend, and then another friend, before a technician at her firm talked her through the process. After a few minutes there it was: enhanced, vivid, stark shadows mellowed, washed-out whites detailed.

  Not wanting to make too much out of something that might be a false lead, Liv emailed the photo to Hub, asking him to check with Frankie or Stan and see if it was the same woman.

  Five hours later, Hub replied to Liv cc Jill: “THAT WOMAN IS STEPHANIE BLOOMBERG. CONFERENCE CALL 8PM TODAY MY TIME,” followed by a dial-in number and access code.

  Just after eleven o’clock Eastern time, Liv dialed in. Hub and Jill were already on the call. She explained how she’d got the photo. Hub said he’d checked with Stan at WizWhiz and the photo indeed matched the mystery woman. Stan had been positive enough, Hub hadn’t bothered Frankie for a confirming ID.

  “Now,” said Jill, “all we have to do is let the FBI or the cops match her face and we’ve got her. She has to know about Barnes’ death and who ‘George’ is.”

  “Piece of cake?” asked Hub.

  “Sure; why not?” asked Jill.

  “You’ve been watching too many of Frankie’s movies,” said Hub. “Face-matching is pretty chancy, as we discussed previously. And because of the camera angle it’s a three-quarter shot in the courtroom, while law enforcement databases contain mostly full-face or profile. Besides, we don’t know for sure that she’s done anything illegal, and can’t even make a plausible case for it. It would be difficult to mobilize the FBI to face-match here; and I don’t think your friend Brent could do much for you.” He thought a minute. “But Frankie has pull in this town, and he can probably get the L.A. police to get into all those face-match databases and see what they can find.”

  “Great!” said Jill and Liv in unison.

  “But you’ve got to remember,” Hub continued, “even if her face is a bunch of electrons in cyberspace somewhere, we’re not apt to get a match. So don’t get your hopes up.”

  “We’d know her by sight,” said Liv. “We could match her face to that trial screen-grab, just by looking.” There was silence on the line as Liv understood how unlikely the opportunity to see “Stephanie Bloomberg” in person really was.

  The conversation ended on that note.

  And indeed, the Los Angeles police, even with great enthusiasm to make Hub Landon happy since he’d wrecked so many police cars in his movies, were unable to come up with a name, a location, or any associates from their own resources or those of the FBI.

  “Whoever she is,” Hub explained to Jill and Liv on a call the following week, “she’s a mystery, and it looks like she’ll remain a mystery.”

  “Wait,” said Jill, “I’ll do it. I don’t want to give up now.”

  “Do what?” asked Hub and Liv, almost in unison.

  “I’ll spend some money here. If you, Liv, can do some research and give me the names of the top handful of PI firms in the U.S., I’ll pay one to investigate. We have a face now, a photo. All those investigators network with each other, so maybe there’s a chance.”

  “Y’know,” said Hub, “I think we’ll get farther sooner if I’m the contact point for a PI – Hollywood director and all that. They’ll be thinking immortality in film. But of course I appreciate your offer to pay for it, Jill.”

  Jill was annoyed. No, pissed off. She’d just been conned out of what? One or two hundred thousand dollars and some glory? But she didn’t object out loud. “Fine,” was all she said.

  “I’ll get on it tomorrow,” said Hub, “said PI to report to the three of us once a week or whenever there’s any news.”

  On a snowy January 20th, Thomas James Conning was inaugurated President of the United States. He gave a speech that news sources referred to as “cautious and guarded, but optimistic.”

  Some sixteen days previously, Brent Nielsen had been sworn in as Member of Congress for the seventeenth district of Pennsylvania. He was too busy orienting himself to the arcana of Congress to think deeply about Thomas James Conning.

  Chapter 26: Two Years and Four Months After the Assassination

  As arranged, Malcolm Chukash of Chukash Associates, the Los Angeles PI Liv recommended and Hub hired, reported every Monday afternoon via conference call. Amid Chukash’s recitation of his efforts, no results were apparent. One by one, he had queried his contacts in the underworld, international criminal gangs, spy networks, foreign governments, insurgent movements, and so on. The ‘Stephanie Bloomberg’ photo had been spread far and wide. No one had claimed to recognize it.

  Liv told Malcolm to watch out. “You know, I think this woman was mixed up in at least one murder.”

  “Cheer up,” Malcolm said, “If I’m killed, it means I was on to something – just take a look at my last report.”

  After four weeks, Malcolm reported failure. “But,” he said, “What I’m looking for is out there. I think that if your mystery woman turns up, someone might call me. They’ll ask for money, so be prepared.”

  Jill felt her bank account silently draining just at the moment Hub said, “Money’s no problem.”

  “So that’s it for now,” said Malcolm. “If anything turns up, I’ll call you.”

  Jill sent Malcom a final check, and that was that. The next day, she received a call from a number she didn’t know. Her pulse heating up, she answered; but the call didn’t have anything to do with the mystery.

  “Hi,” a voice said. “It’s Roger.”

  Coldly, Jill answered “What’s ‘it’?”

  There was a moment of silence on the line. Jill imagined Roger’s traditional furrowed brow.

  “Ah –,” said Roger, “I’ve been talking to my lawyer and I think we can settle for one million. You keep two thirds of the three million. I think that’s fair.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Make me an offer.”

  “I’ll offer to have you arrested for extortion and wire fraud.”

  More silence. Then “Ah – what wire?”

  “The one you’re speaking to me on.”

  “There isn’t any wire, Jill, we’re on cellular.”

  “It’s still a crime to harass someone on the phone, wire or no, Roger. And what counts as harassment is up to the harassed, not the harasser.”

  “What?”

  “That means if I say it happened, it happened. Ear of the beholder. Guilty until proven innocent. So let’s say I won’t do that, and you send me a thousand dollars right now to keep me from turning you in.”

  Jill heard Roger’s breathing becoming faster.

  “Aw, Jill, I’m just trying to get back together with you!”

  “Funny way to show it,” she said, hanging up.

  Jill laughed. She’d just made up her own new civil code, and Roger had swallowed it. “For now,” she said, thinking that maybe she’d eventually have to pay him something to go away – but nowhere near a million bucks.

  Amid the swirl of a White House reception for the
president of Angola, few noticed the slim, mature woman in black who disappeared with the President into a small anteroom, and asked him why the administration’s Mid-East policy had shown no major initiatives, no change of direction.

  “I’ve made up my mind,” Thomas Conning blurted, “I don’t care what you do; I’m not going to risk American lives or American power. They’re my responsibility now.”

  To Conning’s surprise, Sybille Haskin didn’t frown or even blink. “I appreciate that,” she said. “We have no wish for you to take any actions against your country. To do so, of course, would endanger your power to do what we want you to do. So you can relax about that.”

  Thomas Conning did not relax.

  “I don’t expect to see you again,” she continued, “for obvious reasons of keeping my face away from any more lurking cameras or Secret Service questions. And I certainly didn’t want to be here today. But I will appear if I need to – if there is some hesitation on your part.

  “What we require is action on our goals via the State and Defense departments, your influence in Congress, and your ability to persuade or threaten countries around the world to do your bidding. And in the UN, of course, where the US veto will be wielded if needed. To meet our objectives in the Mideast, that is.”

  “Israel!” gasped Conning.

  Haskin smiled. “Not Israel. No matter how much my employers would like to see the last of the Israelis and all their ways, any move to do so would rain destruction on – my employers. And you couldn’t stop it.”

  “So then…?”

  “We are re-establishing the Islamic Caliphate, and you will help us by working for our aims in the Middle East and North Africa.

  “One: you will not assist Russia in maintaining control of its majority-Muslim regions, as we increasingly support their national rebellions and suicide bombings.

  “Two: Before the end of your second term, there will be one great Islamic nation reaching from Morocco to Pakistan, and you will not oppose its formation and growth. In fact, you will welcome this sign of the kind of long-overdue unity that has proved itself in Europe.