Con Job (11 page)

The mobile app guided Jacob to the rear of the hotel’s convention center, where he found a couple of groups of people in stunning costumes chatting in the hallway outside a closed room with a sign taped to the door,
Please Knock
.

An assistant sat outside the room with a clipboard, and Jacob approached her. “Your entry M-18 is going to be late. She had an accident coming here.”

“Oh, no!”

“She’s okay, the costume is not. They’re working on it.”

The assistant looked down at the board. “She’s our last one, but we can wait a bit. You said she’s still coming?”

“I think they’re going to talk her into it.” Sam could be very persuasive, and she’d wanted all day to gush over the costume. The Achenar wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Okay, thanks for letting us know.”

He nodded toward the closed door. “Can I just talk to them for a second? I told her I’d explain to the judges what happened. It’s going to be a little stained.”

The assistant’s eyes widened. “Oh, no!” She considered. “Normally I’d just have you leave a message with me, but this entry will be done in about thirty seconds —” she indicated the stopwatch feature on her phone and rapped on the door behind her — “and since there’s only one entry waiting, you can go in then. Just don’t take too long.”

“I’ll be quick, promise.”

She watched the timer count down and then stood to open the door. Inside, a panel of four costumed judges thanked a fifth person, a young man in a brightly-colored video game costume Jacob couldn’t quite place. He left, and Jacob slipped in behind him.

“Well, that one’s easy,” said one judge, writing a single line and then making an inky slash down the scoresheet.

“His seams were pretty neat,” said another. She was dressed as a Twi’lek Jedi. “And I don’t think it was all commercial.”

“But we don’t know that he did any of it,” said the first. He was Disney’s Aladdin, complete with stuffed monkey on his shoulder. “And he was obviously willing to lie about parts of it. He could have commissioned it all.”

The fourth judge, a member of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, looked perplexed. “Okay, I obviously missed something.”

“You’re the needlework expert, so it probably didn’t stand out to you. But he said he carved and painted that sword, right?”

“Sure. I’ve known a lot of people who did their swords.”

“Yeah, but theirs probably didn’t have a commercial screen-print.”

The fourth judge’s mouth formed into an outraged little circle. “What? Yeah, I don’t do enough with props. Good catch. And wow, what a jerk. Just be honest and it would have been fine, you know? Yeah, even if he did some of it himself, after that, no.”

They finished marking their clipboards and one turned to Jacob by the door. “Um, hi. Can we help you?”

“I’m with Con Aid. There was a costume accident, and I promised I’d tell you what happened so you’d understand.” He explained briefly about the Mole and the white silk. “I think they’re going to talk her into coming anyway, but she’s pretty upset. Obviously.”

The judges wore various expressions of dismay. “Man, these kids are out of control,” said Aladdin. “If you aren’t going to buy proper makeup and learn to use it, don’t use it at all!”

“It’s mostly the younger ones, at least. They don’t know any better.” The Twi’lek glanced down at her own body makeup.

“Destroying the hotel and someone else’s work is not the way to learn.”

“Tell her that of course we won’t worry about the makeup stains,” said a woman in brassy steampunk. “Just get here whenever she can, and we’ll fit her in before the masquerade.”

“Thanks, I’ll tell her.”

“Hey, it just means we get a chance to eat something,” said the Bene Gesserit with a grin. “I’m starving. Unless the rumors of no food are true?”

“The hotel restaurants and food court are shut down,” Jacob said, “but there are energy bars and microwavable foods and stuff for sale in the lobby.”

“Better than nothing,” said the Twi’lek. “Are there any good energy bars, or are they all that crumbly granola crap that tastes like cardboard?”

“Granola can be good,” said the Bene Gesserit.

“When there’s chocolate and fruit on top of it, yeah. Not by itself.”

“I’m with her,” said Aladdin. “Give me some flavor with my fiber.”

“I think there are a variety of brands and flavors,” Jacob said with a facetiously placating tone. “So I have to ask, do people freak out, getting judged by a Bene Gesserit?”

She smiled. “Hey, you recognized it! When I was getting breakfast this morning a guy wanted a picture with me and then said he was going to tweet everyone that he’d found Professor McGonagall.” She rolled her eyes.

“Let’s get some bars, at least, while we wait,” said the woman in steampunk. She shifted a tool apron on her hip. “Don’t look a gift break in the mouth, yo.”

“I’ll go get some after this next entry,” said the Twi’lek. “Anyone opposed to chocolate and fruit? No?”

“Thanks for telling us about the accident.”

Jacob excused himself and left. He hadn’t gotten far down the hall when Sergio’s voice called to him.

He turned, and Sergio came hurrying toward him, his face strained. “Jacob, man, you’ve got to help me. You understand this police stuff. They think I did it — someone told them I’d made death threats against the MEGAN!ME executives in my panel yesterday. I said it was a metaphor, an exaggeration, but they think I’m a suspect.”

Sergio dropped into one of the lobby couches. “Oh, man, what am I gonna do? Yeah, I said a MEGAN!ME exec should get hit by a bus — but that’s not the same thing as killing someone! It’s sarcasm, it’s exaggeration, it’s a lame joke. Probably I shouldn’t have said it, I get that. But now I’m a suspect.”

“They’re not really suspicious, or you wouldn’t be having this conversation with me right now,” Jacob said, hoping he sounded reassuring. “If they were convinced, or even fairly suspicious, they’d detain you. What’d they say? How did they know?”

“I’m guessing someone told them from the panel yesterday. They knew the topic, knew what I said — knew it better than I did, really. I didn’t remember. But good grief, I didn’t mean it to sound like some sort of call to rise and murder the evil distribution overlords! It was just a figure of speech.”

“They know that,” Jacob said. “Again, if they really thought you were the murderer, you’d be at the station right now and waiting to meet your state-appointed lawyer. They’re just being thorough.” He hoped he was right.

“They told me not to leave without talking to them, even after the con tomorrow.”

“That’s pretty standard. They have to tell everyone that.” That was a bit of a fudge, but Sergio was visibly relaxing, so it was likely worth it.

“You sure? Okay. But — man, it’s terrifying, you know?”

Jacob nodded. “Oh yeah. I’m sure it is. I can’t imagine.”

Sergio blew out his breath. “I was trying to think if there’s anything else that would get me in trouble…. I wrote a couple of angry Facebook posts, about
Mr. Doobles
and stuff. Not about illegally downloading or anything, just about MEGAN!ME being a jerk by C-and-D’ing everyone even while not releasing anything from the past decade. Do you think I should take those down? Delete them?”

Jacob shook his head. “I’m pretty sure they can get archives if they want them, and deleting stuff looks more suspicious, I think. If all you said was that the company was jumping on fans and that they haven’t released anything, that’s true, and you’re entitled to your opinion about it. People get mad at companies all the time without going as far as killing anyone.”

Sergio nodded. Now he looked almost normal again. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, man. I didn’t mean to freak out, it’s just — that was pretty freaky.” He looked at the couch. “What’s all this blue stuff smeared on here?”

Jacob sighed. “Probably more Mole makeup. Some of the cosplayers used bad makeup and didn’t seal themselves, and they’re making a mess everywhere. Even trashed a really nice masquerade costume when a girl ran into it.”

Sergio’s eyebrows rose. “Ouch. Did that end in another murder? Because I know a few people who would call it justifiable.”

“Not really funny right now.”

“Sorry.”

Jacob’s phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Where are you? Really need you.

“Hey, Con Ops needs me. Gotta go. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”

Daniel looked harried and weary, as if his Imperial officer persona had just heard the Emperor was coming to personally supervise the con. “Can you cover the office for a while? I’ve got to take a statement from the vendor who had the statue stolen, and someone’s got to hold the fort here.”

“Sure,” Jacob said. He dropped into the chair beside the computer. “I can check on what’s going with the photo submissions, anyway.”

They had several hundred pictures in Flickr, and another hundred or so in the Twitter column. A few were obvious fakes — one of a staged strangulation behind a love seat, and two with llamas edited into the background. What was wrong with people? Humor was one thing, but not during a homicide investigation.

Another fake looked nearly normal but for a Deadpool cosplayer added in the background. Jacob smiled a little at that one. Still unhelpful, but at least thematic.

Mickey came into the conference room. “Hey, is it okay if I just crash in here for a minute? Green room’s been turned into a food booth, to try to cut the lines going through the lobby, and the staff suite is like a mobile police station right now.”

Jacob gestured to a chair. “Feel free.”

“Thanks.” Mickey sighed. “Kind of a roller coaster weekend, right?”

“For the con? Yeah, you could say that.”

Mickey looked at him. “You’re the guy who’s doing the police internship or something, right?”

“I’m studying to go into law enforcement, and I’m applying to the Police Academy soon.”

“Yeah, that’s close enough.” Mickey pressed his lips together and seemed to make a decision. “I’ve got a question for you, then. If something is going to come out, that maybe makes someone look more connected to a murder than he should be — if it’s something that he’s got good reason to keep hidden, previously — should he bring it up himself or wait until he’s asked about it?” One corner of his mouth rose. “I’m asking for a friend.”

Jacob gave the joke a half-smile in acknowledgment. “You know, I’m not really qualified to answer for your friend.”

“My friend doesn’t expect an answer worthy of legal counsel. Just a, you know, suggestion or something. It’s a tough call.”

“If it’s going to come out anyway,” Jacob said, “it might be good to bring it up first, explain it if there’s a good reason. But you certainly don’t have to. Legally, there’s no obligation. And if you — your friend does want legal counsel, my aunt’s an attorney, and she’s here at the con.”

“Really?” Mickey brightened, and then he sagged again. “Nah. Attorneys cost money, and you’re probably right already.” He sighed. “You know how they say that you ask for advice when you already know what you should do and you’re just hoping to hear something different? Yeah, that.”

Jacob wasn’t sure how to respond. “What are you going to tell them?”

“Not that I killed anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just that there’s some stuff that’s going to make me look bad.”

“Hello?” Detective Martin leaned into the pass-through. “Hey, are there any candy bars or anything in there? The lines are a mile long out here.”

“Well, shoot fire and save the matches,” Mickey drawled in a ridiculous accent. “Can’t argue with that kind of timing. You got a minute, officer?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Detective, and yes, but I’m fresh out of matches.”

“I was just wondering if I should tell you something, and here you are. Can I give you some info?”

She raised a finger, and then she left the pass-through and came through the door, closing it behind her. “Always available to hear something helpful, Mr. — Groene?”

“Yes, Mickey Groene.” He pulled a chair nearer.

Jacob fished under the table and found a couple of candy bars. Vince hadn’t sent everything to the vending tables. He tossed one to each of them.

“This has to be on the record, Mr. Groene.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I’m talking to you. I figure it’s better if you hear it from me.”

Detective Martin nodded toward Jacob. “Would you like to go somewhere else to talk?”

“Thanks, but I don’t know how much it’s going to matter now that she’s dead.” He took a breath. “I’m connected to Valerie Kimberton, but nobody knows it. I didn’t kill her, but you always hear that police look for family and friends first.”

“And which are you?”

“I’m dating her sister.”

Sister. Jacob thought for a moment. Yes, Christopher had mentioned a sister, an artist who would design the
chibi
mascot to replace him.

Detective Martin nodded. “And why is this a secret?”

“Valerie and I work in the same industry, not exactly together but in the same circles. I’m a voice actor, she’s an executive in a dubbing and distribution company. I do some voice work for MEGAN!ME, and it could get uncomfortable if people think I’m getting hired for some other reason than my professional talent.”

“Right.” Detective Martin stopped and looked at Mickey. “What did you think of Valerie?”

“Will Sophie ever hear this?”

“Not unless it’s introduced as evidence.”

“And if that happens, we’re probably already done, anyway.” Mickey sighed. “I’m going to be honest with you, Valerie was a fairly terrible person to be around. If someone really did kill her, it was an extreme and horrible action — but it probably wasn’t a random act of violence.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You want specific examples?” Mickey shook his head. “I could give you some, but I’m betting you’re already hearing stories as you’re talking to people. Let’s just say that Valerie wasn’t afraid to throw her weight around. I hear a rumor she was making life miserable even here at the con for Vince, since MEGAN!ME was a big sponsor. She probably thought that gave her the right to be queen or something.”

“What did you hear about Vince and Valerie?”

Mickey spread his hands, gesturing vaguely. “I didn’t see anything specific myself, if that’s what you mean. More of a general vibe among everyone.”

“I saw them, yesterday afternoon, in the dealer hall,” offered Jacob. “She was yelling at him because there was a typo in the program guide, using an I instead of an exclamation mark. Dressing him down right in front of the whole con. She wanted him to recall all the program guides and reprint them — which is impossible, because the program guides were already being distributed and because you can’t just get a run of eight thousand books done as a walk-in while-you-wait sort of thing. Not to mention the cost.”

Mickey was nodding. “Typical. Not that she necessarily cared about the typo that much, but it gave her leverage for something else.”

“Like?” Detective Martin looked between them.

Jacob shrugged. “I heard her say she’d pull her sponsorship if it wasn’t fixed, but I don’t know if that was what she wanted to do or just another threat.”

“Yeah.” Mickey sighed. “That was Valerie. I don’t know if she could have, but she would have threatened to.”

Detective Martin was making notes. “Was that significant to Vince? What would happen if she did?”

Now Mickey shrugged. “Running conventions is not my gig. I don’t know how Con Job is doing, none of my business.”

“Vince said it was tight this year,” Jacob recalled. “That’s why Reg is being done in house with spreadsheets, instead of using one of the event services.”

“Reg?”

“Registration. Everything’s done by hand in spreadsheets, which is slow and makes for mistakes.” He held up his badge. “I wasn’t supposed to have my real full name as my badge name, but that’s what happens when someone enters the data wrong.”

Detective Martin nodded. “Is that typical, do you know? Not the badges, but being tight on funds?”

“This isn’t Comic Con San Diego,” Mickey said. “It’s not a Hollywood love fest. Most of these smaller and mid-size cons are a labor of love, just funding themselves. All the people you’re seeing work Registration, checking badges, even selling the energy bars out there are volunteers, not staff. And the staff at these smaller cons get paid in hotel rooms and food for the weekend. Nobody’s making money off this.”

“Going back to what you wanted to tell me,” Detective Martin said, “how did you meet this — Sophie?”

“Yeah, Sophie. I met her at a bookstore, actually, about two years ago. It was in Delaware, I had a little time to kill after a con, so I went to find something to read on the plane. She was browsing in Historicals, she recommended a couple of titles, and in the end we got some coffee at the bookstore.”

“And you didn’t know who she was.”

“No way. Kimberton isn’t such a unique name, and I — I told her I was in video games at first, which was sort of true. I do a lot of game voices. But you don’t tend to tell people right away, or they just want to hear voices all the time. I told her later, of course, and that’s when it started to come out, when she was all, Oh, my sister’s company does a lot of voice dubbing.”

“And did you tell Valerie?”

“I think Sophie did. She’d already mentioned me to her family, and she didn’t realize that Valerie and I had already worked together. Valerie — she didn’t exactly hold it over my head, that would be unfair to say. We had a kind of unspoken agreement not to talk about it, as it wouldn’t have done either of us any good.”

Detective Martin nodded. “Had she ever threatened you with this?”

“What? No, no, nothing like that. Like I said, she couldn’t bring it out without hurting both of us. It was kind of a nuclear deterrent. There was no advantage in it for her.”

“So you had nothing against her?”

“Well, this is probably stupid to say while her murder’s being investigated, but I can’t honestly say that. She wasn’t a nice person. I’d rather stick a fork in my ear than spend another Thanksgiving with her. But it’s a lot easier for me to just skip Thanksgiving than to kill her — and at a con, full of my colleagues and fans. This would just be stupid.”

“I agree,” said Detective Martin, “but murder is pretty much always stupid, and that doesn’t stop a lot of people.” She closed her notebook. “Still, this kind of honesty doesn’t exactly rocket you to suspect number one. Thanks for telling me about it.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated. “Um, you’d tell me if I should be worried, right? Like, if that’s enough to get me on a suspect list?”

Detective Martin smiled. “Mr. Groene, right now we have a suspect list of about eight thousand people, which is to say we have a suspect list of none. I don’t think your love life is likely to put you in danger, but if that changes, I’ll break the news as early and gently as I can.”

“You’re a good cop,” he said. “Here, lemme buy you another.” He pushed the untouched candy bar over to her.

“Thanks, but I’m on duty.” She grinned. “What about Valerie’s family? How’s her relationship with her parents, any other siblings?”

“Her family’s not so bad, I don’t think. No money issues that I know of, either. I mean, they all know she flies on a broomstick, but she’s been like that forever and they just live with it. They weren’t even really surprised when—” He stopped. “Oh, why didn’t I think of this? Valerie got a death threat.”

Detective Martin straightened. “What?”

“She told everyone about it last Thanksgiving. She was kind of proud of it — which might have been a front, and maybe she was scared, but all she was saying was that it showed how much she was shaking things up in the industry.”

“Who from?”

“Some fan,” Mickey said. “Someone mad about MEGAN!ME’s handling of its catalog.”

Jacob’s stomach tightened. Not Sergio. Sergio wouldn’t have done anything so stupid, surely….

“Do you have a name?” She flipped back a few pages in her notebook, and Jacob was sure she was thinking of Sergio. “Did she tell you who it was?”

But Mickey shook his head. “It was just a kid, I think. She showed us the email, and it looked like a third grader had written it — which I guess is like a high-schooler nowadays, but still. He was just mad, it was obvious.”

“But someone’s killed her.”

“Even given the fact that he couldn’t punctuate, capitalize, or spell, he’d have to be a pretty dim bulb to think that killing Valerie would get
Mr. Doobles
out of the vault.”

“What’s
Mr. Doobles
? Is it valuable?”

“To the fans, maybe,” Jacob offered. “It’s a show, about a bunch of kids who draw stories. Huge fanbase, cute show. It’s been running about fifteen years, but MEGAN!ME has the US license, and they haven’t released any new episodes for over a decade.”

“Why not?”

Mickey lifted a shoulder. “Who can say? But MEGAN!ME sends a cease-and-desist to everyone who scans or rips or previews anything from an overseas release. Which is illegal, sure, but which obviously angers the fans because they can’t legally get anything from the last ten years.”

“Why don’t they just order it from overseas? Or do they need the voices dubbed?”

Mickey shook his head. “
Mr. Doobles
fans don’t need the dub. Hey, I make a good chunk of my living doing dubs, and I’ll admit upfront that most fans prefer
Mr. Doobles
straight and wouldn’t even blink if they just had subtitles. But MEGAN!ME holds the US license, which means it’s illegal for anyone in the US to order it from anywhere else. If they order a DVD from, say, a UK company, they’re breaking international copyright law.”