Con Job (8 page)

“Got the toxicology analysis back on that powder,” Detective Martin announced as she entered the staff suite. “Initial, anyway, it was a rush job. It’s definitely some sort of arsenate or — oh, hold on.” She withdrew her phone and read aloud, “Consistent with lead hydrogen arsenate.”

“So it’s arsenic,” Daniel said. “We really are back in the days of Agatha Christie and inheritance powder. But what’s lead hydrogen arsenic?”

“Arsenate,” corrected Detective Martin mildly. “Apparently it’s a pesticide, or was.”

Jacob pulled out his phone. “The internet to the rescue,” he said. “Lead hydrogen arsenate, right? Wow, it’s kind of a hot topic online….”

“I don’t really care about what 4chan has to say about it,” Daniel interrupted. “We’ve got a homicide involving it. Two homicides.”

“We’ll know more when they’ve got a final analysis,” Detective Martin said. “In the meanwhile, it’s creepy enough. How did a bag of it get into the kitchen? Was it supposed to go into the food for everyone?”

“Hold on,” Jacob said. “Here’s a petition to the FDA to stop import of Chinese apples and apple concentrate for juices, due to high arsenic content.”

“You think that’s relevant?” asked Daniel.

“It might be,” Jacob said. “The petition site says that arsenic pesticides are mostly illegal in the US but are still used in China. And wasn’t there somebody who just got back from China?”

Daniel looked at Jacob. “And you’re suggesting that he bought an illegal pesticide there and brought it back to use as a murder weapon?”

Jacob hesitated. “Well, when you say it that way….”

“It’s worth making a note of,” Daniel said, surprising Jacob. “Weirder things have happened.”

“Who just got back from China?” Detective Martin ran a search on her phone. “Oh, right, that’s Hammer. Greg Hammer.”

Jacob stared. “Greg Hammer? But… why would he?”

“He did have a connection with the victim,” Detective Martin said. “Not close, but there was a business relationship.”

“No way,” Jacob said. “Hammer has fame and fortune already. What would be his motive?”

“Money and passion, that’s the standard line,” said Daniel. “But there can be other things, too.”

Jacob screwed up his face. “Passion with Valerie Kimberton? I mean, yeah, she wasn’t bad-looking, but….”

“But sometimes she might talk out loud and ruin the effect,” Daniel said. “Still, no accounting for taste.”

“Not Greg Hammer. He’s an artist. A really good artist.”

“Really good artists have weird quirks.”

Jacob looked bleakly at the schedule on the wall.
Not Greg Hammer.
“Still, I think we ought to know more about it first.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Do you happen to have an expert handy on toxic pesticides in the food supply?”

Jacob blew out his breath. “No, but — hold on, yes, I might.” He drew out his phone. “Let me text my favorite social justice warrior.”

Jessica might not know much about arsenic and pesticides, but she would certainly know who would.

It was nearing the end of the allotted time for the voice acting contest, and they had two participants left to go. Sam kept glancing at the clock on her phone. Would they have time to review and declare winners? They had all the participants’ email addresses, but if they had to wait….

The last contestant was a girl in her mid-teens. She was good, with a solid classic horror scream which probably turned some heads in the corridor outside. But Sam wondered if she were too young to be able to take advantage of the TruCast offer. And she sounded young, not much vocal range yet.

“And that’s our last entry,” announced the MC. “I think our judges have been making notes as we went, so we’ll just give them a few minutes….”

Beside Sam, Katnak crossed his fingers and gave her a grin. “You and me. Then goat-man. But you and me first.”

A mini-reel sent in from a winner, even a minor winner, would stand out from the dozens or hundreds of submissions TruCast received each week. She was good, she knew she was. She just needed that tiny boost to catch someone’s eye and prove it….

Two men in jeans and black t-shirts appeared to bend over the voice actors’ table, pushing a sheet of paper back and forth. Sandra and Ryan seemed to disagree on something, and then Mickey whispered and they all laughed.

“Are we ready?” prompted the MC. “Do we have our winners?”

One of the black t-shirt men nodded.

“Let me just remind our audience that these contestants are competing not only against each other for fame and glory, but against contestants at other conventions for a chance to be considered for an actual voice role by TruCast,” he said with artificial excitement. “So, whose recording gets sent?”

They pushed the sheet at Mickey, who looked surprised and then leaned toward his microphone. “Um, we have our two winners. They are, Gary ‘Katnak’ Osterman, and Juan Diaz.”

Katnak pumped his fist and hissed, “Yes!” In the next row, the man who’d done the goat-man impression leapt to his feet and cheered.

Sam swallowed and offered Katnak a hand. “Congratulations.”

He shook it. “Man, I’m sorry. You were good.”

“Thanks.”

Katnak and the other winner went forward to claim their certificates and take care of the TruCast paperwork, and Sam rose and started back to the doors. Jessica and Zach met her in the aisle. “Robbed,” Zach declared. “Totally robbed.”

“Don’t be unfair,” she told him. “Those guys were pretty good, too.”

“It’s because there were four men and only one woman judging,” Jessica said. “You got pushed aside.”

“I don’t think that’s what happened.” Sam sighed. “That first line… I should have done something to jazz it up somehow. Nobody writes something that flat without hanging a lampshade on it. I should have played it for laughs.”

“You did fine,” Zach said. “Don’t beat yourself up over nothing.”

Lydia worked her way through the exiting crowd and threw an arm about Sam. “You were awesome. And robbed. And awesome.”

“Told you,” said Zach.

“You okay?” asked Jessica. “Need some frozen yogurt or anything?”

Sam laughed. “I didn’t win a contest,” she said. “It’s not like I failed a class or found a breakup note. It’s cool.”

“I ran out on Jacob, so I’m going to check in with him,” Lydia said. “But you were great.” She headed down the hallway.

“We’re heading to a Marvel Cinematic Universe versus comics panel,” Zach said. “Want to come?”

“Nah, I was thinking about the Ubisoft preview,” Sam said. “Catch you later.”

She hadn’t gone far when someone caught up to walk beside her, and she recognized Ryan Brazil in his tight green polo shirt. “Excuse me,” he said, “what was your name?”

“I’m Sam.”

“Sam, I thought you were fantastic,” he said. “It was that clunker of a first line that really sold you, I think. You gave it all you had, really professional.”

“Thanks.”

“You looked pretty intense in there. Are you serious about voice acting?”

She shrugged. “I guess. If you count that I’ve wanted to be a voice actress since I was eight.”

He laughed. “Yeah, you’re serious. Listen,” he continued, “I really wanted to pick you, but I got outvoted. But I’m willing to speak for you, Sam. I think you’ve got talent.”

“Really?”

“Really. And if I get a chance to mention someone for an unfilled part, I’d be happy to put your name in — if that’s all right.”

“Sure,” Sam said, trying not to grin stupidly. A personal recommendation from an established actor would go much further than a minor contest win. “Sure, that’d be fine. Actually, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Great. I don’t suppose you have a card?” He shook his head. “No, probably not. Not yet, anyway. But here.” He drew out his phone. “You can just friend me on Facebook and we’ll be able to stay in touch that way. Ryan Brazil, see like this.” He tilted his phone so that she could see the screen.

“Sure, thanks.” She pulled out her own phone from her messenger bag and searched for him in Facebook. “Here, I’m liking your page.”

“No, not the fan page — my personal page. So we can actually talk.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks. Here you are, sending friend request now.”

He refreshed and tapped the screen. “And, friends!”

“Great. Thank you. Really, thank you.”

“My pleasure, Sam. We’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks.”

Ryan went off in another direction, and Sam started down the hall again, smiling to herself. This was better than winning. This was networking, a personal recommendation, a straighter shot to where she wanted to be. Her talent had been recognized.

Frozen yogurt didn’t sound bad, after all — not as consolation, but as celebration. She changed her course and headed for the food court. The Ubisoft panel probably didn’t have much that she didn’t already know anyway.

The food court was eerily transformed. A number of attendees were scattered among the tables, but all the food counters were closed, barriers down or lights out. Inside several of the restaurant fronts, uniformed police and at least one K-9 team were moving in the kitchens, while employees stood outside the counters, watching.

A few paces away, a Solid Snake from the
Metal Gear
franchise was scrolling on his phone. Sam looked at him. “What happened?”

“Huh? Oh, food’s shut down. Hotel food, food court food, all of it. Somebody found something. There’s a message on the mobile app, says that the con is working to get more food options ASAP.” He pointed. “There’s still the food trucks outside that way, though I think some of them were starting to run out of things.”

“Thanks.” Sam reflected that she hadn’t had lunch yet, and she probably should hit the food trucks before they were completely sold out.

She thumbed open the con’s mobile app as she walked. An alert message popped up immediately.

As you may have heard, the hospitality services at our host hotel and the food court have been suspended. This is due to the utmost caution as we assist in the investigation of two food-related deaths. It is not known that the victims ingested hotel or food court meals, but to be absolutely safe, all hotel and food court kitchens are being examined closely. We understand that this is a major inconvenience, and we apologize, but we hope you can understand our desire to keep our attendees safe. We are working to find alternate solutions as efficiently as possible. Please avail yourself of the various food trucks in the meantime.

“Oh, no.” They wouldn’t have shut down the kitchens, not with so many thousands of hungry attendees willing to pay for meals, unless there was something suspicious about them.

She got in line at a truck, noticing that half the blackboard menu was already scratched out. While she waited, she sent a message to Jacob.
Just read the message about the food. Yipes! Things okay? I’m about to eat at a food truck. Is that safe?

After a moment, he replied.
Food trucks should be fine. We are really short-handed though. You busy?

I can help out for a bit. Coming as soon as I grab lunch.

She ordered a vegetarian chili in a Bread Pirate Roberts bowl, and then she started back into the hotel, spooning hot chili into her mouth. It was a good day to be wearing a comfortable and mobile costume like Barnstorming Betty, she reflected.

She was tearing the piratical bread bowl into bite-sized pieces by the time she reached Con Ops. “Hey, I’m Sam. Jacob said you needed some help?”

The con chair looked up. “Do you have a car?”

“What? Uh, yeah, we shared a ride here.”

“Fantastic. We’re buried here. We’ve got some volunteers to help out, but no one had wheels.” He turned and pointed to Micky Groene, surprising Sam. “Can you two run and pick up food?”

“For the entire con?” asked Sam. “That’s gonna be a heck of a drive-through order.”

“Head south, there’s a major shopping center there, and I’m pretty sure I saw a wholesale club as I was coming in,” Vince said. “Here’s the membership card, that’ll get you in. Buy energy bars, canned drinks, cup ramen, those individual microwave meals that don’t have to be refrigerated, whatever you can find. Bring them back here, and the hotel is going to set up tables where we can sell the stuff. As long as it’s all pre-packaged, we don’t need a restaurant license or inspection. Got it?”