Брайан Фриман - Alter Ego

“Well, it bothers me ,” Cat snapped. “How could they say those things about him?”

“It’s what those jerkwads do.”

She threw another chunk of ice, but she couldn’t hear a splash or see where it landed. “Dean Casperson. I can’t believe I ever liked that man. I’m never going to see one of his movies again.”

“Yeah, that’ll show him,” Curt replied with a sarcastic smirk. “He’s really going to miss your ten bucks at the box office.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Curt said. “I just came over here to stare at that pretty face of yours.”

At any other moment, Cat would have blushed to hear Curt say that, but not now. She picked up another sharp, dirty nugget of ice, then threw it back at her feet and kicked at the snow. “I’m just so mad.”

“Hey, I’m mad, too. I love the lieutenant no matter how many times he busts me. But if you’re talking about a guy like Dean Casperson, Stride has met his match. It’s just about impossible to take on a zillionaire, particularly when most of the world thinks he’s Saint Dean.”

“He’s not,” Cat snapped.

“Saying it doesn’t change anything. You’ll never convince people otherwise.”

“I know that, but I want to do something.”

“Yeah, like what?” Curt asked.

Cat shrugged. “I have no idea.”

The two of them strolled along the beach with the lake beating and thumping against the high wall of ice beside them. The winter noise always unnerved Cat, because it sounded like an invisible beast pawing at the bars of its cage. She expected to see a huge wave coming over the wall to carry them away.

They got colder and colder. Her lips were numb. The only thing keeping her warm was the anger she felt.

“Men like that think they’re invincible,” Cat said. “They think they can do whatever they want and no one will stop them.”

“Yeah, and they’re pretty much right about that,” Curt replied. “That girl, Haley Adams, she spied on him, right? And she wound up dead.”

“At least she tried. It’s better than doing nothing.”

“Yeah, well, not for her.”

Cat stopped on the beach and grabbed Curt’s sleeve. “Hey, we could do that, too.”

“Do what?”

“Spy.”

Curt waved his hands in protest. “Whoa, whoa, not a good idea, kitty cat. Are you crazy?”

“No, Casperson thinks he’s safe. The other girl’s dead. He doesn’t think anyone’s watching him now.”

Curt blew out a cloud of steam from his mouth. “Do I need to tell you what Stride and Serena would say about us doing that?”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to sit around while they smear Stride. No way.”

“And what exactly do you plan to do?” Curt asked.

“Exactly what Haley Adams did. Get dirt on Casperson. That telescope she used, do you think it’s still in the house?”

Curt shook his head. “Nah, I snuck in and checked. Police took it.”

“Well, I’ll find another way.”

Cat turned around and headed for the dunes as fast as her short legs and the deep snow would allow. The cottage was invisible on the other side of the sand.

“Hey, where are you going?” Curt shouted at her over the wind.

Cat looked back over her shoulder. “To find a pair of binoculars,” she called. “You coming with me or not?”

“Save me,” Aimee Bowe murmured.

She was on her back on the dirty floor of Art Leipold’s hunting cabin. Her arms and legs lay limply on the ground as if she didn’t have the strength to move them. Her blue eyes squinted up at the face of Dean Casperson. She blinked, because the barest light was too much after days of darkness.

“It’s okay,” Casperson reassured her, sliding his strong arms under her shoulders and pulling her closer. “It’s okay, it’s over, I’ve got you.”

“Save me.”

“You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Aimee cried.

The whole scene was nothing but actors playing parts, but Stride’s heart was wrenched because it felt so real. No matter how many other people milled around the set, it was as if Aimee and Dean were alone. They were very, very good.

“Who did this—” she began.

“It doesn’t matter now. We have him. He’s not going to hurt anyone else.”

“I can’t move. What’s wrong with me?”

“Give it time,” Casperson said. “You’re okay.”

“I’m so cold.”

“You’ll be out of here soon.”

“I killed it,” she murmured in a fit of grief as Stride struggled to hear her. “I killed it. I killed the little girl.”

“Shhh,” he hushed her. “Don’t talk. You don’t have to say a word. You’re free.”

Cut .

The actors relaxed.

Aimee Bowe detached herself quickly from Casperson’s arms. She stood up and paced nervously back and forth on the set. Her expression was distressed, as if she had difficulty leaving her character behind. Casperson was the opposite. He immediately began joking with the crew with the casualness of someone who had done this a million times. A green screen glowed behind the small patch of ground on which the interior of the hunting lodge had been built. They were all gathered in the cold rental warehouse near the harbor. It was the fifth take of the rescue scene.

Stride stood next to Chris Leipold at the back of the set. He cocked his head and whispered. “Aimee said she killed the little girl. What does that mean?”

Chris chuckled. “Honestly? I have no idea. Aimee is one of those actors who improvise each take to see how the scenes play out. She’s been reworking the monologues for her character to make it more authentic. It’s a little different every day. Most of the time I like the spontaneity, but it drives Dean crazy because he doesn’t know what’s coming next. He’s a by-the-book actor.”

It was late afternoon, but Chris gulped coffee from a travel mug as if it were early morning. The two of them wandered toward the warehouse door, which was cracked open to let in cold air. The wind felt good to Stride after he’d spent half an hour under the heat of the movie lights.

“The chief says someone called the mayor to complain about police interrupting the filming,” Stride said. “‘Harassment’ is the word she used. Is that true?”

Chris studied him over the top of his coffee. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It was you?”

“I had no choice. I was getting major pushback on the set.”

“Let me guess. Casperson.”

Chris shrugged and didn’t deny it. “Dean’s a pro, and he likes things to go a certain way. If he’s unhappy, the studio’s unhappy, and that means I’m unhappy. I had to formally pass along our displeasure.”

“You could have talked to me directly.”

“That’s not how it works, Lieutenant,” Chris replied. “No offense, but these things are over your head. And it’s not just Dean who complained. Your people have been talking to everyone. It hurts morale and slows the whole process down. Every day we waste, every hour we fall behind, hits our budget.”

“You realize this is a murder investigation, right?” Stride asked.

“I do. And you realize this movie has a budget of more than $100 million, right?”

Stride shook his head in resignation. He and Chris were on opposing sides now, and nothing was going to change that. The investigation of Peach Piper’s murder was a threat to Dean Casperson and a threat to the movie. The people putting up the money weren’t going to stand idly by and let him derail their investment.

Chris sensed Stride’s coolness and tried to repair the schism between them. “Listen, I saw the article in the Gazette . That was way over the line. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”