Death of a Blue Movie Star

shrugged.
    “Guess.”
    Two minutes later the ops coordinator came back on the line.
    “Got yourself a bad boy, homes. Thomas A. Savorne, private first class, LKA Fort Ord in California. Present whereabouts unknown. Dishonorably discharged a year and a half ago as part of plea bargain with JA’s office for an agreement to drop court-martial proceedings. The charge was theft of government property. A codefendant was court-martialed and served eleven months on one count of theft and one count of weapons possession. Sam, the codefendant still lives out there and is believed to be dealing in arms. FBI hasn’t been able to nail him yet.”
    “Damn … What’d Savorne do in service?”
    “Engineer.”
    “So he knows demolition.”
    “Something about it, I’d guess.”
    Healy spun to Rune. “Where is he? You have any idea?”
    “No …” And then she remembered. “Oh, Jesus, Sam—he was going over to Shelly’s friend’s place tonight. Maybe he’s going to hurt her too.” She gave him Nicole’s name and address.
    “Okay, Brad, listen up,” Healy said. “Got a possible Ten-thirty in progress, one-four-five West Fifty-seventh. Apartment?”
    He looked at Rune, who said, “I don’t remember. Her last name’s D’Orleans.”
    Healy repeated the name. “Subject probably armed, maybe with plastic, and it looks like a possible hostage situation.”
    “I’ll get ESU rolling.”
    “One other thing … The guy’s probably emotionally disturbed.”
    “Oh, some kind of fucking wonderful, Sam. An EDP with plastic and a hostage. I’ll do
you
a favor someday. Ten-four.”
    “Two-five-five out.”
    Rune was getting her arguments ready—to talk him into letting her come with him. But there was no problem with that. Healy said, “Come on, let’s hustle. I’ll get a squad car at the Sixth.”

     
    West Fifty-seventh Street was lit up like a carnival. Flashing lights, blue-and-white cars and Emergency Service Unit trucks parked in the street. The big BOMB SQUAD truck, with its TCV chamber on a trailer, was parked near the canopied entrance.
    But there wasn’t much of a sense of urgency.
    Two of the ESU guys, holding those black machine guns—like they used in Vietnam—leaned against the doorway, smoking. Their hats were on backwards. They looked awfully young—like stickball players from the Bronx.
    So, Rune understood, they’d gotten here in time. They’d moved fast and caught Tommy. It was all over. She looked for Nicole. What a surprise she’d have had. The knock, the door bursting open, cops pointing guns at Tommy.
    He’d been the one all along, the killer. How had she read him so wrong? How had he looked so innocent? The one in the red windbreaker. Ah, the cowboy hat too. And the ruddy face—not from a tan at all but from the tear gas.
    Jealousy. He’d killed her out of jealousy.
    Healy stopped her as they got close to the building. “Hold up here. This isn’t for you.”
    “But—”
    He just waved his hand and she stopped. He vanished into the building. The night was punctuated with radio messages broadcast over the police cars’ loudspeakers. Lights whipped around in elliptical orbits.
    Rune turned on the camera and opened the aperture to take natural-light shots of the scene of them bringing Tommy out.
    Motion. Men appeared.
    She aimed the camera toward the door.
    But he wasn’t in handcuffs. God, they’d shot him! Tommy was dead, on a gurney, covered with a bloody sheet.
    She felt her legs weaken as she kept the camera on the door, trying hard for a steady shot—the matter-of-fact attendants wheeling Tommy’s body down from the apartment.
    A grim, moving end to the film.
    And Shelly Lowe’s murderer died just the same way he had killed—violently. It is a fitting epitaph from the Bible—fitting for someone who concocted religious fanatics to cover up his crimes: He who lives by the sword dies by the sword
….
    The image through the viewfinder went black as a figure from the crowd walked up to her.
    Rune looked up.
    Sam Healy said softly, “I’m sorry.”
    “Sorry?”
    “We didn’t make it in time.”
    Rune didn’t understand. “You mean to get a confession?”
    “To get him.”
    “But?—” Rune nodded with her head toward the back of the ambulance.
    “Tommy was gone when they got here, Rune. That’s Nicole’s body.”

 
    CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
     

    Another cop stood next to Healy. He wore a light suit that was mostly polyester, and he stood with the tired,