You Can't Stop Me. Max Allan Collins
Читать онлайн книгу.
understand.”
“I do have to say this, though.”
Harrow was returning to his chair as Byrnes said, “Do you have any idea what you’re proposing, how much a production like this would cost?”
“Actually, yes,” Harrow said. “That’s frankly part of why I sprang it on you the way I did. Dennis, it was an ambush—I make no pretense otherwise.”
Byrnes was unprepared for what happened next. Harrow handed him a fat spiral-bound document—a budget proposal.
The exec began flipping through the pages—the numbers were large, but actually less than he might have anticipated. Still, tomorrow the UBC board would be giving the exec the kind of bad time he’d just given Harrow.
After another endless sigh, Byrnes said, “All right, J.C.—we’ll do it your way. You’ll get your toys. I’ll even go to bat for you with the board. I’ll tell them you told me your plan ahead of time, and take the heat that should be yours.”
Harrow frowned, confused. “Why would you do that, Dennis?”
“Because I back my people. We’re a team. We’re a family…and I’m Daddy.”
He waved the budget at the host.
“But if this half-assed scheme fails, and ratings fall? It’s your ass, and your whole crew’s.”
Harrow’s mouth made the thinnest line of a smile. “Sounds like ‘Daddy’ is strict.”
“Daddy spanks, yes. And Daddy also has chores for you. We’ll do things your way, J.C., just as you’ve requested.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You do things your way, hire who you want within these budget parameters…but you will also be available for any and all publicity we deem necessary.”
Harrow’s face tightened. “You know I find that distasteful. My contract—”
“Screw your contract. This is another unpleasant means to an end that you’re going to have to put up with.”
“Any and all publicity,” Harrow said hollowly.
“Any and all—if this is going to work for both of us, I’ve got to be able to pump the ratings as much as possible.”
Harrow sat silently for several long seconds. Then he shrugged. “You’re right, Dennis.”
“All right, then.” Byrnes slapped his thighs. “If we’re going to do this, let’s make Crime Seen! a bigger hit than it is already.”
The exec rose and moved toward the door, and Harrow said, “There’s one more thing, Dennis.”
Turning back, the network president said, “Don’t you think you’ve been greedy enough?”
“Not a matter of greed,” Harrow said. “But I want a new segment host.”
“Why?”
“I need to reward the talented PA who found the clue that set this in motion.”
Byrnes smirked. “Funny, you want to reward him—I’d just as soon throttle him.”
“It’s a her,” Harrow said. “Carmen Garcia.”
The exec frowned. “Isn’t she Nicole’s mail girl?”
“Yes.”
Byrnes closed his eyes. “Brother—Nicole’s going to love that.”
“Why, Dennis, are you suddenly afraid of Nicole?”
“…I have to ask, J.C.—is this personal?”
Harrow looked at him blankly. “What?”
“Jesus, man. Don’t make me pull teeth—are you sleeping with her?”
His eyes narrow, Harrow said, “Christ, Dennis—she’s young enough to be my daughter.”
Shrugging, Byrnes said, “Which in Hollywood is a plus.”
Harrow shook his head glumly. “You’ve been out here too long. You think everybody is an amoral scumbag.”
“Hollywood gets to us all, J.C. Just tonight, for example, you screwed me over….”
Harrow had no response to that.
Byrnes threw up his hands. “All right. I’m tired. You win. I’m going home and see my wife and two daughters, who are just fine, thanks so much for asking. I’ll let Nicole know that you have a new segment host.”
“Thanks, Dennis.”
“You’re welcome, J.C.” He beamed at his star. “Screw me again, and you’ll find out just how amoral a scumbag I can be.”
Chapter Seven
The room was stuffy, the weather warm for May, the humidity heavy, the smell of rain hanging in the still air as the Messenger (as the killer thought of himself) found the spot on the videotape and cued up the ending of Crime Seen! yet again. He had not prayed in years, but he did now. Maybe, finally, someone was getting the goddamned message!
“Recently, a member of the Crime Seen! staff found what she thought might be a clue tying another crime to the deaths of my wife and son.”
Watching in his living room, the Messenger smiled.
“Next season,” Harrow was saying, “we will be following this clue, and working hard to uncover other evidence, in a concerted, focused effort to track down the killer or killers of my family….”
About damn time, the Messenger thought.
“And we’ll be doing it right on this show. You will be with us every step of the way—helping us track down the murderer of my wife and my son.”
He took in Harrow’s words like clues that each needed close examination, and he wondered if it was possible that after all this time, the dumb shit-kicker he’d transformed from a retired county sheriff into a national celebrity was finally, finally getting a clue himself.
If so, maybe there was even more work to be done than he had planned on.
That was all right. He had been waiting years for someone to raise the stakes, and, thus far, no one had. He had sent message after message over the last ten years, and, until now, no one had discerned their meaning.
It wasn’t as if Harrow had been the first. Far from it. By August of 2002, the Messenger had already delivered two other communications without anyone understanding what he was up to; and since Harrow’s family, there had been more.
Many more.
He wound the tape back slightly.
Harrow said, “You will be with us every step of the way—helping us track down the murderer of my wife and my son.”
If you’re smart enough, he thought, going back to his plans for his next message. If you can read the writing on the wall….
Chapter Eight
First thing Saturday morning, J.C. Harrow was on UBC’s small corporate jet, heading to Waco, Texas.
He hadn’t slept well. On some level, he supposed, he had won, but Byrnes had been right to liken what his host had done last night to hijacking the show and blackmailing the network. Had he gone to the exec with his “catch a serial killer” road-trip concept, Harrow might have been embraced as a visionary…or rejected out of hand.
And he had not been experienced enough in the business of show to calculate the odds. Just going for it, on live television, seemed the best way to acquire the wherewithal to track down the bastard who had stolen Ellen and David’s lives.
So he had stooped