Love is Murder Story 01 - Grave Danger

puke,” Tony Martini said.
    Puke would really foul up the scene.
    “Tony, go over to Durfey, there. He was the first to arrive, and I think that’s Howard Engel, the director standing with him. Find out what Engel was doing out here alone this late, and how he stumbled on the real body. Ask him about this fellow, Victor Brill. He might work here with the special effects people.”
    Tony nodded and moved away. Greg watched while Doc Mabry hunkered down himself, investigating the corpse.
    “How long has he been here?” Greg asked him.
    Mabry looked up at him, looked around the “graveyard,” and then back to Greg. “Less than an hour. The guy is still warm and pliable, Greg. Hell, he must have died two minutes before he was found.”
    Greg wasn’t sure what suddenly caused such a sharp pain in his gut. He nodded at Mabry, and left him, walking over to the side of the lot where Tony was now interviewing the director, Howard Engel.
    “Mr. Engel, I’m Detective Austin,” Greg said.
    Engel nodded abstractedly, looking past him to the body.
    “Sir, what brought you out here tonight?” Greg asked.
    “Huh?” The director looked at him, obviously shaken and barely registering anything. He was a slim, ordinary-looking man. He’d directed some of the biggest moneymaking films in the business. Not great epics with amazing acting, but rather, low budget films that had made his studio a fortune.
    “Sir,” Greg repeated, “what brought you out here? Were you worried about a shoot?” Greg asked, trying to be patient, but feeling a growing sense of unease.
    “I…no,” Engel said, blinking and then focusing on Greg at last. Greg’s steady gaze seemed to make him snap to the present, and still, the man flushed. “I—I came to visit the graveyard.”
    “Yes, the set,” Greg said. “Was there a rea—”
    “No, not the set,” Engel said, pointing over the brick wall that led to the back and the parking lot of the studios.
    The effects studio, where, by day, Ali worked, creating monsters—and sometimes, things of beauty. Ali had such a talent, and such a smile. She’d laugh when she was talking, and she’d snuggle against him. Sometimes he would think about the real monsters he came across when he worked, but she was always his refuge. He’d feel her against him, they’d make love, and he’d know again why life was worth living, and why his life’s work mattered, as well.
    “The real graveyard. The cemetery, actually. I think it’s a graveyard when it’s next to a church, and a cemetery—”
    “Mr. Engel,” Greg interrupted. He’d forgotten there was a little cemetery right in back of the studios.
    “Why were you visiting it?” he asked.
    “Stupid of me, I guess. I came out tonight because of Blake Richards.”
    “Blake Richards—founder of the effects studio?” Greg asked.
    Engel nodded. He swallowed and looked at Greg sheepishly. “I felt like he wanted me to visit him. I don’t know. It sounds crazy. I came out to visit his grave. He worked with me on the first movie I ever did. I hadn’t been out to the grave in a while, and we were going to be shooting here, tomorrow, so… It felt like he was calling me.” He paused, flushing again. “Well, I guess this is really going to make me look like a murder suspect, but I came out to say a little something at his grave.”
    The odd thing was, it sure as hell sounded as if the guy was telling the truth. Greg had gotten pretty good, through the years, at sifting truth from lies.
    “Hey! Detective!” Mabry called to him, standing by the corpse. “All right if I get him out of here now?”
    “Yes, you may bring Mr. Brill to the morgue,” Greg told Mabry.
    “Brill?” Engel said.
    “The dead man, Mr. Engel.”
    Engel shook his head. “That’s not Victor Brill. I think Brill is still working, up over in the studios.”
    “The studio is closed,” Greg said. The knifing pain in his gut suddenly seemed more vicious.
    “No, they, uh, needed to finish up a few of the zombies for tomorrow.” He looked at Greg, his face as ashen as Tony’s. “Victor Brill is their top finisher on the creatures.”
    “I’m sorry, we found his ID. That was Victor Brill,” Greg said.
    Engel shook his head. “Brill is a dark-eyed fellow of about thirty.”
    “So, he’d be in the studios?” Greg asked.
    “Yeah.” Engel smiled. “Working with Alison. She’s going places, you know. Great girl. I—”
    Greg didn’t hear more. He felt so