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A caterpillar of ash fell onto his shiny pants and he brushed it away to join the other fractured, gray bodies at his feet. "I have tenure, you know, but still, every bit helps. Now, if you still have some tape left would you like to hear about the Sioux Sun Dance ceremony?"
In his most cheerful Down Under lilt, Larry was saying, "What it is, we're go
Rune was unplugging the tungsten lights. They'd just finished interviewing people for a documentary on day-care centers. Rune was exhausted. She'd been up until three that morning poring over books about cults-and finding nothing about the Sword of Jesus-and rewatch-ing Professor Miller's less-than-helpful tape. Now she paused and stifled a yawn. Looked at her boss.
This was Larry, wasn't it?
Occasionally, when she had a hangover or was tired or it was early in the morning, she had trouble telling them apart. Bob, she had to remember, was a little smaller, with a trimmer beard and a tendency toward beiges and browns, while Larry wouldn't be found south of Dutchess County in anything but black.
"A raise?"
He said, "We figure it's time you took on a few more things."
Her stomach gave an excited lurch. "A promotion? I get to be a cameraman?"
"Something like that."
"Howmuch 'like that'?"
"We were thinking: an administrator."
Rune began coiling the electric wires into loops. After a moment she said, "I worked for an administrator once. She wore her hair in a little bun and had glasses on a metal chain and her blouses had little embroidered dogs on them. I got fired after about three hours. Is that the sort of administrator you have in mind?"
"Serious work is what I'm saying, luv."
"You're firing Cathy and you want me to be a secretary. Oh, this is, like, too gross for words, Larry."
"Rune…"
"Forget it."
His face was a massive grin and he would have been blushing if he knew how. "Cathy's leaving, right. That part is true."
"Larry, I want to make films. I can't type, I can't file. I don'twant to be an administrator."
"Thirty bucks more a week."
"How much are you saving by firing Cathy?"
"I didn't bleedin' fire her. She's going on to a better opportunity."
"Unemployment?"
"Ha. Tell you what, we'll give you forty more a week and all you 'ave to do is 'elp out a little in the office. When you feel like it. Let the files stack up, you want."
"Larry…"
"Look, we just won the bid for this big advertising job. That company we were going after. House O' Leather. You 'ave to 'elp us out. You'll be first production assistant. We'll let you shoot some footage."
"Advertising? You shouldn't do that crap, Larry. What about your documentaries? They're honest."
"Honesty 'as its place, luv, but what it is, this agency's paying us a two 'undred thousand fee plus fifteen percent markup on production. Please… Just 'elp us out for a bit."
She waited a moment while she muscled up some coyness. "Larry," she said. "You know I'm working on this documentary. About the bombing-but not about the bombing."
"Yeah, right." His mouth curled a portion of a millimeter.
"Maybe, when it's finished, you could talk to some of the programming people you know. Put in a good word for me."
"Rune, you think you're go
"Pretty much."
"Lemme see it first. Maybe, you got some good footage, we could go in and work with it."
"Not it, me. Work with me."
"Sure, you's what I meant to say."
"You can introduce me to some distributors?"
"Yeah. Might 'appen."
"All right, fair enough. You want an administrator, I'll do it."
Larry hugged her. " 'ey, way to go, luv."
Rune finished coiling the wires. She made sure the coils were even but not too tight. That was one thing they'd taught her at L amp;R, and she appreciated it-how to take care of your equipment.
Larry asked, " 'ey, what kinda hook d'you come up with for that film on the bombing? A bio of that girl got killed?"
"That's what it was going to be about, but not anymore."
"What's it's about now?"
"It's going to be about finding a murderer."
Rune sat on Nicole D'Orleans's couch, sinking so far into the luxurious leather that her feet were off the ground.
"This is very embryonic, you know. They oughta sell these to therapists. Get right back, you know, to the womb, sitting here."
Nicole wore a purple minidress with a scooped neck showing six inches of taut cleavage, purple glittery stockings, white high-heel shoes. When she walked she loped forward awkwardly. Her concession to mourning was a huge black bow in her hair. She'd just come back from a memorial service for Shelly, an informal event that the people at Lame Duck had arranged. "I've never seen so many people crying at one time. Everybody loved her."
That brought back the tears but this time she was able to control the sobbing. Rune watched her wander through the living room. Nicole had started-obsessively, it seemed-to pack up Shelly's belongings. But since the actress had no close family she didn't know what to do with them. Moving cartons lay half-filled in the bedroom.
Sunlight streamed through the open-weave drapes and fell in bright patterns on the carpet. Rune squinted against it as she waited for Nicole to finish aligning the boxes, folding the lids over. Finally Nicole sighed and sat down.
And that was when Rune said to her: "I think Shelly was murdered."
Nicole gazed blankly for a minute. "Well, yeah. The Sword of Christ."
"Sword of Jesus."
"Whatever."
"Except that it's fake," Rune said. "It doesn't exist."
"But they left these notes about angels destroying the earth and everything."
"It's a cover-up."
"But I read it inNewsweek. Ithas to be true."
Rune looked at the centerpiece on the table, hungry and wondering if the apples were too ripe; she hated mushy apples. But if she started to eat one she couldn't very well put it back. She said, "Nobody's every heard of them. And I can't find any reference to the group anywhere. And think about it-you want to kill someone, okay? You make it look like a terrorist thing. It's a pretty good cover."
"But why would somebody want to kill Shelly?"
"That's what I'm going to find out. That's what my movie's going to be about. I'm going to find the killer."
Nicole asked, "What do the police think?"
"They don't. First of all, they don't care she was killed. They said… Well, they don't think much of people in your line of work. Second, I haven't told them my theory. And I'm not going to. If I do, and it's true, then every-bbdy'll get the story. I want it for me. An exclusive…"
"Murder?"
"What do you think, Nicole? Was there anybody that would've wanted Shelly dead?"
Rune could sense the gears turning beneath the teased, sprayed hair that glittered with tiny silver flecks, a living Hallmark decoration.
Nicole shook her head.
"Was she going out with anybody?"
"Nobody serious. The thing is, in this business, it's real-what's the word?-incestuous, you know? You can't just meet some guy at a party like anybody else. Sooner or later he's go
Date a lot. Maybe move in with a guy and finally get married. But Shelly didn't do that. There was one guy she was seeing recently. Andy… somebody. A fu