DD Warren 00 - The 7th Month

D. D. Warren ever allowed herself to behave so cowardly? When had she ever tolerated fear?
    Beside her, Joe cleared his throat. Belatedly, D.D. and Alex turned to him.
    Alex stuck out a hand. “Alex Wilson.”
    “Joe Thieriault,” the FBI agent said.
    The men didn’t exchange titles or departments, given that in the dark it was difficult to know who else might be listening. They finished shaking hands, then Alex enveloped D.D. in a quick hug. “How are you feeling?” he murmured in her ear.
    “Jazzed. Cranked up. Ready to rumble. Oh, and if anyone says anything about me possibly chasing a vampire through the cemetery . . . total exaggeration. Joe did all the heavy lifting, right Joe?”
    “Right,” Joe agreed.
    D.D. decided the federal agent was a good guy after all.
    Quickly, she and Joe brought Alex up to speed. The idea of crime bosses using major film projects to launder money didn’t faze him the least. D.D. explained about Chaibongai’s murder, and movie producer Donnie Bilger’s prime suspect status. Alex had a couple of questions, then he was ready to go. Joe nodded his approval. D.D. got out her cell phone and arranged for Donnie to meet her back at his trailer. She’d never signed the initial contract, she reminded him. Of course, they should get that done.
    Donnie had grumbled, but agreed to see her there.
    Then D.D., Joe, and Alex climbed into D.D.’s car, and she drove them over to base camp.
    This time of night, with just the dim parking lot lights illuminating the space, D.D. found the endless rows of twin white trailers to be eerie. Like a bad science experiment. Pod after pod after pod. She shivered as she pulled into the rear of the parking lot, then killed the car lights.
    Five minutes later, the set van pulled up, and Donnie B. stepped out. He never glanced their way. Just climbed the metal step to his trailer, yanking open the door. One more minute, then D.D. looked over at Alex and nodded.
    D.D. and Joe went first. D.D. rapped three times hard on the trailer door.
    Don opened it almost immediately, nodding at her, frowning at Joe.
    “Just escorting a pretty lady,” Joe said easily. “Didn’t want her to walk over alone, you know.”
    “You
walked
over,” Don exclaimed, the idea of a pregnant woman using her own two feet distracting him.
    D.D. smiled at him, then pushed her way in, Joe following quickly behind her. Door closed, then the three of them stood in a space designed for six people max. Given the rounded bulk of D.D.’s stomach, it made for tight quarters.
    Don had the contract out on the table. He handed her a pen, tapped the signature line impatiently.
    “Director is hoping to resume within the next fifteen minutes,” he said crisply. He stared at Joe. “Shouldn’t you be in makeup? We’ve had enough of a delay tonight. Time is money, you know!”
    D.D. made a big show of fiddling with the pen. It was blue ink, did Don have black? Wait, she had the perfect pen in her coat, just let her find it. She started patting down her coat pockets.
    Her stomach was still bothering her, she registered vaguely. In all the excitement, she’d forgotten about dinner. Maybe she should check out this whole craft services business. Chinese food at one A.M. Except just the thought of pork chow mein made her feel suddenly nauseous.
    She focused on looking for just the right black pen, as Donnie B. grew twitchier and twitchier.
    A fresh, loud knock on the trailer door.
    Don frowned at Joe and D.D, as if they knew something they weren’t telling. Both made a big deal of shrugging.
    Finally, with an exasperated sigh, Donnie marched across the small space to the door and yanked it open.
    Alex Wilson stood there.
    “Don Bilger? Boston PD.” Alex flashed a badge, D.D.’s credentials, actually, but snapped the black leather billfold shut before Don could react. “Got a couple of questions for you, Mr. Bilger. If I may?”
    Don looked over at D.D. Standing beside the table, she shrugged again.
    The producer stepped back uneasily and Alex joined them in the tight space, door banging shut behind him.
    “Do you two know each other or something?” Don asked, his gaze going between D.D. and Alex.
    “Detective,” Alex said formally, nodding in her direction.
    “Dr. Wilson,” she replied, her tone equally proper. “Dr. Wilson is one of our experts,” she informed Don. “What’s your specialty again? That’s right. Blood spatter.”
    “Blood spatter?” Donnie’s eyes grew