Chapter Seven
ANTHONY CAPOLLI WAS a big man on campus – literally. His trademark vehicle was a large white van. He liked to cut deals just like he cut steaks – big and bloody. And he cut those deals shamelessly in the pursuit of his goals. More importantly, however, he did so with great humor. Politics was just one form of entertainment that he relished; like any college-age driver, Anthony loved pissing off the University Police Department, or as he labeled it, the DUH-PD.
His favorite anecdotes from college always involved a blend of those two entertaining activities – politics and the UPD. To his credit, Anthony did have, on one occasion, a very interesting night.
The Senate President had, in the weeks leading up to the Academic Council filibuster, seen his license suspended for too many traffic tickets; everyone knew this fact and made fun of the otherwise imposing figure for it. Anthony’s job that night, for his Gator party friends, was to take as many incriminating pictures as possible of the politician driving around campus. And whenever he could, Anthony would call the UPD out against him. That was the fun part, and the part that made it worth remembering.
Mixing politics and the police is often funny. However, in more serious matters, that is a completely different story...
DETECTIVE RICHARD MARX had a beer belly. At least, that’s the only conclusion Mike could draw, after noticing relatively scrawny arms and legs jetting out from the massive ball of fat that was hanging over the belt. It probably did not help that the detective’s brown-plaid sports coat and blue Oxford dress shirt were littered with what clearly were crumbs and stains. The former criminology professor had clearly spent far too long on the police department.
Letting loose his loud southern drawl, Detective Marx asked, “Dagnabbit! You boys mean tell me you messed with my crime scene?!?” he screamed.
“You sir may be some fancy Yankee gov-ment guy, but I ain’t gonna hesitate to throw you in jail for messing around my job!” he said defensively and angrily at Mike. “And you, you pinko Hollywood type, don’t even get me started!”
“Detective, that doesn’t change anything. Facts are facts. We need this investigation to move faster than Southerners usually move in the dead of summer. Innocent lives are being threatened if this goes on any further,” Mike said patiently as he squirmed nervously on his small, wooden chair.
Marx plopped down in his larger, more comfortable chair behind his cheap gun-metal desk. The only thing sweating more than he was in the cramped office was his tall glass of sweet ice tea. He took off his hat, and threw it on his desk before pulling his pocketed handkerchief from his shirt to wipe the streams of sweat from his face and neck, both of which were slightly reddened by the relentlessly burning sun.
“Well…” Marx said as he cleared his throat and sipped the tea. “You boys are in quite a pickle, eh? You say that everybody was told the filmin’ schedule. You say no one would have made such a stupid mistake. And yet, you have no proof that something’s happenin’ to my town.”
“Actually, Detective,” Mike said reluctantly, “that is not entirely...accurate.”
“It’s not?!?” Adam said, his eyes widening and then shrewdly narrowing again.
“No, I’m afraid it’s not.”
WHAT COULD THIS mean? What does Mike know? Adam’s thoughts began to drift. Who would take the time to go after the cast like that? The only people who even knew about our schedule for the day were the cast and crew...
Before Adam realized it, the detective and Mike had stood up and were beckoning him to follow. The door shut behind them. He followed as Mike and the detective made their way out of the police station
MIKE POPPED THE storage compartment of his vehicle. He quickly grabbed what he was looking for and returned the storage lid to its usual locked position. In his hands were the film’s face-book, a directory of the cast and crew, along with quick profiles on the principal members of each.
“You might find this useful, Detective Marx,” he said, handing the package over. “If I only knew what pain there was going to be the morning after I got that message, I would have told all of you much sooner.”
“Excuse me for being the odd man out, boys, but ah need to visit the ex-congressman’s apartment this afternoon, if it suits yall just fine,” the detective said, as he noticed more doughnut crumbs and brushed them off his coat.
“What’s going on? What happened?” Adam asked.
“I got a letter last night. It was really unnerving. Anyway...it might be evidence. The detective may also need to look at my apartment.”
THE CARAVAN MADE its way from the police department’s headquarters in a strip-mall in south-east Gainesville to the well-to-do condominiums in Gainesville’s northwest corner. Mike was reminded of just how much care his hometown took in preserving nature amid the high pace of urban life and burgeoning state university.
I nearly forgot how beautiful this town is. Why was it that I left here for Washington so many years ago? Hmm... Mike thought as an alarm began beeping on his vehicle’s navigation system.
They were nearly there.
“IT’S NOT MUCH, but it’s a home away from home, I suppose,” Mike said with a shrug, as if he needed to explain to the two visitors something about his Gainesville condo. Of course, given the Spartan use of the place, perhaps the concern was warranted, if just a bit self-conscious. There were few furnishings, almost no personal effects or pictures on the wall. The condo nearly had the look of an expensive but impersonal hotel suite.
Detective Marx and Adam hung back in the foyer area between the living room and the bedroom while Mike went off to grab the letter. “Come on, guys, make yourself at home,” he said as he picked up the letter.
“You know, what’s so strange about this letter is that I was given a digital message asking me to open it after I got home,” Mike said.
“Do you have any idea who could have sent either message, Mike?”
“No. I just know the guy knew about the hazelnut incident, which had not yet been reported to the press,” Mike said after handing the letter to the detective. All three of them settled onto the sofa and chairs in the living room.
“Hmm…”
Three low sounds – blurp, blurp, blurp – broke everyone’s concentration. The detective stood as he pulled out his beeper. “The forensic people have the results for y’all. Excuse me while I step outside,” Marx said.
Finally, someone can give us a better idea of who might have set up that accident. Mike thought as he followed the detective’s movement. Mike’s gaze fell to see Adam’s ghost-white face.
“What’s wrong, Adam? Are you okay?”
“It’s just the thought of it all. Hopefully this will all be resolved soon and we can get back to filming after we arrest the guy who has been doing all of this.”
“You know, it might just be a series of innocent pranks gone bad.”
“Maybe.”
“Forensic science is pretty damn impressive,” Mike added. “Who do you think could have done it? How about the janitor who asked us about the clean up?”
“Nah, he’s just a janitor. Why would he want to hurt anyone?”
“Why not the guy who plays Matt Nadler?”
“Nah, too predictable as a bad guy.”
“I got it! Professor Clue is the murderer, in the kitchen with a butter knife!”
The two of them laughed heartily until they heard the outside door shut, and found that the detective was back from his brief conversation with the forensic team.
“What’s the verdict?” Mike asked, only half interested in knowing the final truth, and the other half fearing it.
“Yall won’t like to hear it.”
THE DETECTIVE WAS right. Thankfully, he left them shortly after delivering the news, allowing them some time to think over the implications and debate with each other about what to do next.
“I just can’t believe it, Mike!”
“Neither can I. First, hazelnut coffee triggers an allergic
reaction. Then I receive a threatening letter at my home. Finally, one of our main actors trips down the stairs.”
“The only real question I have, Mike, is...”
“Right. Whether to suspend filming.”
IF THE DETECTIVE was tall and fat, his assistant was short and scrawny. James Madison Rover didn’t like his job as the assistant to the detective, but did thoroughly enjoy the investigative work. As a little boy, he loved solving riddles, and playing with the Clue board game. Today’s mystery was definitely going to be hard to solve. Who would want to hurt these people or would have the opportunity to do so? Was their goal to stop the filming?
Jimmy looked over his boss’s shoulder as the two of them scanned through the film’s cast and crew. The list was quite long even after ruling out the two victims.
“Ahh… I know watcha thinkin’, Jimmy.”
“You do, sir?”
“I know ya strategy.”
“What’s that?”
“This being a crime, we need to treat it as such. As in, the suspects aren’t likely to be the janitors – too predictable.”
“And…?”
“The victims couldn’t have done it to themselves, nor could anyone that wasn’t here on location.”
“But sir…”
“What?”
“That doesn’t eliminate anyone.”
“That’s right, Jimmy,” as the detective rolled around, ignoring the scrolling images that were now behind him. “To solve this crime, we’ve got to do the unimaginable.”
“What’s that?”
“Consider everyone a suspect, yet no one is safe.”