Eleventh Hour

“You mean you believe he’s a coward?”
    “No, nothing like that. It’s just—no, not Weldon.”
    Nick said, “The killer wanted McGuffey to look like him, Dane, and that’s why he hired McGuffey to kill me. So he has to be dark and really pale-skinned.”
    “You’re probably right, Nick.” Dane asked them to zoom in to get a close-up of Weldon DeLoach, which Franken did. Wolfinger had said DeLoach was around thirty. Well, he didn’t look thirty. He looked forty, maybe more. He looked like he’d lived hard, that, or certainly a lot of stress. According to other writers interviewed, he wasn’t a cocaine neophyte. “But those years are over,” one of the lighting guys had told them. “Weldon hasn’t done bad stuff in a long time. He’s been really straight.”
    DeLoach’s dark tan really stood out against his white shirt and white pants. His eyes were a pale blue. He had thinning hair—nearly white it was so blond.
    Dane said, “Do you have anything with Weldon DeLoach speaking?”
    “Why?” Delion said. “Nick never heard him speak.”
    “Maybe she’ll recognize some of the moves he makes when he’s animated and speaking. Besides, I want to hear his voice, too.”
    When Franken ran some more footage, there was Weldon DeLoach at a birthday party being held on a set, giving a toast. He had the softest voice Nick had ever heard, soft and soothing, without much expression or accent. She studied him carefully—the way his arms moved, his hands clenched and unclenched around a cup of booze he held aloft as he spoke, the way he held his head.
    When it was over, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t be sure. But you know, if the San Francisco police can catch Stuckey, maybe he’ll identify DeLoach’s voice.”
    “Good idea,” Dane said, and jotted it down in his small notebook. “Could you give us a copy of the tape?”
    Franken nodded, said, “No problem. You’re really hoping that Weldon DeLoach is the madman who’s copying the scripts for The Consultant , aren’t you?”
    “Fact is,” Delion said, sitting forward, “when we find him, we really want to sit down with him and have a nice cozy chat. We’ll see.”
    “It’s not Weldon,” Jon Franken said again.
    “Now, Mr. Franken,” Flynn said, “you said the first two episodes of The Consultant were Mr. DeLoach’s scripts, almost exactly, right?” Dane noticed that Flynn’s left hand always moved slightly up and down when he concentrated, as if he were dribbling a basketball.
    “Yes,” Franken said, “DeLoach was really excited about the series.” His cell phone rang and he excused himself. When he came back, he said, “That was my assistant. She said one of Weldon’s friends just told her that Weldon was going up to Bear Lake to spend time with his dad. Said he was going to take at least three weeks and he wanted to do some fishing, too. His father’s in a home up there, Lakeview Home for Retired Police Officers.”
    Delion said, “You mean DeLoach’s father is a retired cop?”
    Franken said, “Yeah, I guess so. I do know his dad’s been there a long time. Once Weldon told me that his father was confused most of the time.”
    Flynn said, “We already knew Weldon didn’t ask the people here at the studio or anyone else to make him any airline reservations. If he did fly somewhere, we would have found a record, what with all the security.”
    “Bear Lake,” Delion said thoughtfully. “That’s up in the Los Padres National Forest, isn’t it? In Ventura County?”
    “That’s right,” Flynn said. “Just an hour north on I-5, over the Tejon Pass. Well, maybe more, what with our godawful traffic.”
    “And that means, of course, that DeLoach could have easily driven up to San Francisco anytime he wanted. And Pasadena,” Nick said.
    “Yeah, that’s right,” Flynn said.
    “Thank you, Mr. Franken,” Delion said, rising. “Detective Flynn’s people have interviewed all the other writers and employees of The Consultant. Everyone checks out, at least on the first pass, which is admittedly shallow. Oh yes, Mr. Franken, where were you last week?”
    Jon Franken was gently swinging his foot with its Italian loafer tassel falling to one side, then to the other. He raised an eyebrow, but answered readily enough, and with good humor, “I was right here, Inspector Delion. I’m working on Buffy the Vampire Slayer at present. Very long days.”
    Delion nodded, then turned away, saying over his shoulder,