Final cut, p.30
Final Cut, page 30
His words sliced through Joey, and all pretense was abandoned. The ghastly truth lay between them like a piece of bloody meat.
“She was a fool, but Marcus was the one with the power, so he’s the one I blame. It’s his fault she’s dead.” Eli’s jaw set in that stubborn look Joey knew so well. “Everything that’s happened since day one is his fault.”
In a flash of insight, she understood, and the rest of the puzzle fell into place: Eli was behind all the trouble from the beginning. He’d known about Courtney’s affair with Pray and decided to take revenge, to torpedo Pray’s next big blockbuster. So he rigged the power outage that exploded the light on set, sabotaged the brakes on the picture car, and poisoned Pray.
Maybe he didn’t plan to murder Courtney, but their jealous confrontation in Pray’s trailer had spiraled out of control. After he killed her, he had to cover himself, so he planted the flashlight in Stuart’s truck to throw suspicion on the older man. Eli didn’t like leaving things to chance, so the anonymous tip to the cops made sense.
If she hadn’t been so frightened, sorrow would have flattened her; it was all such a tragic waste.
“What do you want from me?” Her voice sounded as hollow as she felt.
“I told you, I want to know why you went to the Campbells’, but we can come back to that.” He held up her cell phone like a prop. “I’m even more interested to hear what you and Caleb Lisle talked about this morning.”
She still hadn’t moved from the doorway. Despite the civil tone of their conversation, she hadn’t misunderstood the underlying menace. But whatever playlet they were performing for each other, she didn’t want to be the one to break character.
“There’s really nothing to tell. I said I was sorry about Courtney, and Caleb thanked me for the call.” She watched him, wondering what he’d do if she simply turned to leave. “May I have my phone now?”
He looked at her coolly, then at the phone in his hand. She read the expression on his face and knew what he was thinking, and what she had to do.
She took a step back and slammed the door to the office, then charged down the hall, legs pumping at top speed. She sprinted through reception past the main entrance, secured at night by a padlocked grate, and hooked a right down the side hallway.
Eli would be on her tail in no time. If she could make it into the main warehouse, she’d have the advantage of knowing every inch of the humongous space like she knew her own home. With its narrow aisles and towering racks stuffed with costumes, it would give her plenty of places to hide and achieve her immediate goal: survival.
She flew through the women’s stock of clothing, past the crinolines and hoop skirts, heading for the men’s section on the other side of the building. She dove under a rack of clerical vestments like a rabbit into its burrow and pulled the long skirts of the robes around her for a curtain. So far, she hadn’t heard a sound from Eli.
Doubtful he’d give up that easily, but he’d have his work cut out for him, trying to search every nook and cranny of the costume house. In addition to the central warehouse, there was a labyrinth of smaller storerooms, toggling erratically off the main space. There were endless corners and cubbies; the place was just too big.
Then again, maybe he’d decide to wait for her outside, stake out her car. If that was the case, she could stay put. People would begin to arrive for work by seven AM. All she had to do was spend a few hours breathing years of accumulated dust trapped in the hems of the garments providing her shelter. Not a bad trade-off. The rest she’d think about later. For now, she was safe, and she had to be grateful for that as she settled in to wait out the night.
Then she heard a noise. She knew from experience the building was full of sounds at all times, day and night. There were creatures that made their homes by tunneling into the walls or nesting in the wooden storage bins overflowing with shoes and accessories. She also knew these permanent residents were most active when they had the place to themselves.
She listened, hardly daring to breathe. Then she heard it again, closer this time. A soft sound, but not the skittering of small claws across the cement floor: this was a bigger rat on the prowl.
“Joey, whatever’s upset you, come out, and let’s talk about it. I swear, that’s all I want to do, just talk to you.”
He was getting warmer. Panic swelled in her chest, sending her heart rate through the roof. The urge to move, to flee, was almost unbearable. Moments later, she saw a ray of light move past her cocoon, tracing a narrow path on the floor, a small keychain flashlight he was using to try to ferret her out. It took every drop of willpower to remain still. The point of light disappeared, and she allowed herself to breathe again.
Sweat pooled at the small of her back. She had no sense of how much time had passed, but she didn’t dare make even the slight movement required to look at her watch. Maybe the building wasn’t big enough, after all. He’d already come so close to her hideout.
Why hadn’t she taken her phone to the bathroom? That trifling choice could seal her fate. There were landlines stationed throughout the warehouse, but most were mounted in the open to provide easy access. She couldn’t risk that kind of exposure. Even if she went for the phone in Henry Burchette’s cubicle, the cover would be minimal, and if Eli found her there, she’d be trapped.
Then she heard him again. “Joey, come on. Give me a chance. We’ve always been there for each other. Nothing’s changed; we’re still the same people.”
His voice was getting louder. She wanted to scream with frustration—tens of thousands of square feet of real estate to search, and he was doubling back. Because he was smart and playing the odds, knowing she was terrified and hadn’t had much time to find a place to hide, and that she’d want to stay in an area where she wouldn’t be cornered, where she could still run for it and have a shot at reaching the back door.
All was quiet for a time, and Joey rested her cheek on the stone-cold floor, trying to find a more comfortable position. Even if he’d killed Courtney by accident in a jealous rage, now the die was cast, and she had no illusions about Eli’s intentions. He didn’t have any options unless he chose to give himself up, and that didn’t seem to be part of his playbook.
She shuddered, remembering the wild look in his eyes that awful night she locked herself in the bathroom before he went to rehab. She’d caught a glimpse of that same look when he grabbed her wrist on set, triggering her suspicions about the truth she didn’t want to see. That wildness was in his eyes again tonight—it’s what sent her running from the office. She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her, just as he’d hurt Courtney.
“This is it, Joey. If you won’t come out and talk to me, I’m done.”
His voice hit her like an electric shock, the plaintive tone he aimed for earlier replaced by irritation.
“I tried to do this the easy way, but you wouldn’t listen, so this is on you.” He sounded aggrieved, as if she was at fault.
She closed her eyes, trying to get a bead on his location. Her best guess put him near the threshold that served as a boundary between the men’s and women’s sections of the main warehouse, smack in the middle of the space. She strained to hear any sound that would provide some clue about what he was up to.
Then, just as she was about to risk a peek from under the rack of clothing, she caught a whiff of something pungent, a stench that bit the back of her throat.
She smelled smoke.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
She poked her head out from beneath the curtain of vestments. Sharp snapping sounds from the flames floated through the air as she lay there, rigid with fear. The sheer recklessness was beyond belief. Coils of smoke began to gather around her; the acrid stink was stronger now and building fast. Time to move; if she stayed where she was, she risked suffocation by smoke inhalation or even worse, being trapped by the fire.
But the idea of running blindly through the maze of clothing toward the back door filled her with dread. The pale glow from the work lights scattered throughout the warehouse did little more than cast a tangle of shadows, and Eli could be hiding anyplace among them, waiting to intercept her.
There was one other possibility: the catwalks, the grid system of metal bridges suspended high above the warehouse floor, used to reach the uppermost racks of costumes.
Best case, she’d climb up without being spotted and make it to the back door before he even knew she was there. It would also give her a bird’s-eye view of the warehouse below, so she wouldn’t have to worry about him leaping out at her from behind a rack of clothes. She’d caught a break because one of the ladders that accessed the catwalks was located at the end of the row where she lay, only about twelve feet away.
She scooted from under the row of heavy garments and popped up into a squat to balance herself, then dashed to the base of the ladder. She scaled the metal rungs that tinked softly with her climb. In a few seconds, she reached the network of narrow bridges twenty-five feet above the warehouse floor and felt a surge of relief. For the moment, she was beyond his reach.
The distance she had to travel to the back door was roughly two hundred yards, just two football fields, not so very far to go. She kept her focus on her immediate path to be sure of her footing in the dark; a stumble could be deadly. The racks of clothing provided her some peripheral cover until she reached the end of a row. Then she’d pause to gather her courage before moving through the no man’s land between racks that left her without any screen except the open metal structure of the catwalk.
After what felt like an eternity but was closer to two minutes, she came to the end of the main warehouse where all the clothing was stored. The walkways extended over the cages and shipping area at the back of the building, but from this point forward, she lost her cover. No more racks of costumes to hide behind.
The air was now thickly clotted with smoke. She tore a man’s peasant shirt from a hanger and wrapped it across her nose and mouth before starting across the exposed metal track above the cages.
She dared a look across the top of the rack beside her, searching for any sign of Eli, but there was no way for her to see past the billowing curtain of smoke and flames spreading across the warehouse. The masses of vintage clothing provided excellent fuel, and fire jumped up the full height of the racks with alarming speed. Terror gripped her as she realized the smart play would be to stake out the back door and wait for her there.
But she had no choice.
She couldn’t see the back wall through the smoke. It occurred to her that might be an advantage, screening her from view as she crossed the final span. And the full-throated roar of the fire should cover the clatter of the metal walkway under her feet.
A thunderous crash sounded in the women’s section as part of the roof collapsed, and she launched herself onto the open catwalk as if she’d been shot out of a cannon. Below her, the cages were filled with smoke, but she didn’t see any flames. Within seconds, she covered the distance to the back wall and the access ladder that led down to the door.
She paused to get her bearings. Behind her, smoke poured from the main warehouse into the back of the building. Through the enormous doorway she saw towers of fire twenty-five feet high lick across the roof in a rush to consume the acres of clothing hanging on the multitiered racks, waiting to feed the beast. Some piece of her deep inside hurt over the loss she was witnessing—the history, the beauty and cultural artifacts from other periods that were being destroyed. But there was no time to stop and grieve.
The shirt she’d tied over her face was gone. The air around her was hot and dense, blistering her lungs with every breath. Tears stung her eyes as she squinted through the veil of smoke, searching for Eli. If he wasn’t below, he’d be waiting outside for her unless he’d gotten careless when he set the fire. Part of her wished for that.
And then there he was, gazing up at her from the shadows at the base of the ladder.
“Joey, come on.” He beckoned to her, extending his hand.
She shrank from the edge of the catwalk, but there was nowhere to go. Her shoulder banged up against the back wall, connecting with something sharp.
“Don’t be stupid.” Eli stepped onto the bottom rung of the ladder. “We need to get out of here.” He began to climb toward her.
“Stay back!” She whirled, desperate for escape and saw she’d slammed into a metal bracket that held a fire extinguisher.
In one swift movement, she pulled the cylinder free and hurled it down the ladder as hard as she could. It caught Eli square in the chest and sent him pitching backward, arms flailing, to the warehouse floor.
Without thinking, she vaulted down behind him, taking the rungs two at a time. He lay sprawled on his back at the base of the ladder, gasping for breath. She used the last rung as a platform to leap over his body, clearing him like a hurdle, and hit the back door at a dead run.
She gulped fresh air like a drowning victim, then doubled over in a spasm of coughing as her smoke-filled lungs worked to expel the poison. Flames spouting from the roof of the building lit the night sky, the giant facility now fully engulfed. Any second she expected to hear the wail of approaching sirens.
Feeling dizzy and spent, she limped across the parking lot to her car, unpinned her keys, and then saw the signs of Eli’s tampering with her driver’s side door. The lock was broken. She couldn’t even work up the energy to be upset about the vandalism; she was just glad to be alive. She felt a shred of remorse that Eli was still inside the burning building, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry about anything she’d done to put him in that position. She pulled the driver’s side door open and dropped into the front seat of her car to wait for the fire department. If they didn’t show up in the next five minutes, she’d drive to the nearest gas station and place the call herself.
A fog of smoke hovered above the parking lot. The power of the fire blew out windows as it ripped through the costume house. Then, like a phoenix literally rising from the ashes, Eli stumbled out the back door and fell to his knees.
Backlit by the inferno, he dragged himself across the asphalt, then staggered to his feet. He looked as if he’d been through a battle, his clothing torn and stained with soot. Joey could hardly believe her eyes, and she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or frightened.
She watched as he stood swaying like a punch-drunk fighter, gazing at his handiwork while the blaze devoured the building. Finally, he seemed to come back to himself and turned to stare directly at Joey sitting in her car. The look in his eyes settled the matter of how she should feel. She fumbled her keys into the ignition and dropped the car into gear, tires chirping as she sped out of the parking lot onto Vineland Avenue.
Still no sign of emergency response. The costume house was located at the intersection of two major surface streets; she couldn’t understand how the huge conflagration had gone unnoticed. There was a twenty-four-hour off-brand gas station/convenience store combo on the southwest corner of Vineland, and Joey braked, wondering if she should stop to put in a call to 911.
Bright light flashed from behind, and she reached up to adjust her rearview mirror. A set of headlights was gaining on her, high beams that caught the mirror and bounced straight into her eyes. Eli’s black Range Rover. Joey flinched and gave the gas pedal more pressure, but the high beams kept coming and sat on her tail, bathing the car’s interior with a harsh, flat glare that made her eyes water.
“Hey, where are we going?” A sleepy voice called from the back seat.
She swerved and almost lost control of the car when Malo’s head popped up. She gaped at him in the rearview mirror. “Where’d you come from?”
“I must’ve fallen asleep.” He picked up on her distress. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right!” she fumed. “What are you doing in my car in the middle of the freaking night?”
“I wanted to see if you were still at the office … Then I saw your car was broken into, so I decided to wait.” He turned to look through the back window. “Why is that car—”
“Sit back and buckle your seat belt,” she snapped. Suddenly she was glad to see him. “Do you have your phone with you?”
“Well, sure.”
“Call nine-one-one.”
At that instant, they felt a solid bump from the rear. Malo made a sound that was part protest, part shriek. The car did a little shimmy but kept to the road. Joey flicked another look in the rearview mirror; all she got was another blinding eyeful of headlights.
She heard Malo scrabbling around in back. “Operator, we’ve got an emergency. We’re heading south on Vineland Avenue in North Hollywood, and there’s some crazy person ramming us with their car.”
“Tell them the other driver is Eli Logan!” Joey shouted.
“For real?” Malo cried.
“Tell them!” she insisted.
She leaned over the steering wheel, straining to scan the road ahead. There was little traffic on the big thoroughfare, but she worried about the intersections. She couldn’t afford to stop at the lights.
“The other driver is Eli Logan,” she heard Malo say. “He just slammed into the back of us on purpose.”
A pause, then he wailed, “No, we can’t pull over!”
Joey pressed down on the gas pedal, but the Range Rover stayed with them and bashed them again, a little harder this time. The bone-jarring jolt threw her against the steering wheel and sent the car sailing through a red light at the big intersection of Vineland and Victory. Malo moaned in the back.
“Are you okay?” she called to him frantically.
“I dropped the phone. I think it bounced under your seat.” He sounded foggy.
“Forget the phone and buckle your seat belt,” she ordered.
She kept her hands clamped on the steering wheel, heart in her throat as she checked the speedometer: seventy-two miles an hour and climbing; insanity on a surface street, even at this time of night. They flashed through the red light at Vineland and Burbank, narrowly missing a Pepsi delivery truck. Joey wished she could signal the driver.
