DD Warren 00 - The 7th Month

Beige carpet, brown built-in sofa, brown and beige benches on either side of a Formica table. As decor went, the trailer fit the man.
    Don produced a twenty-page contract from the top of the table, then a pen. D.D. started skimming.
    “Have you heard from your other cop, yet?” she asked casually. “Chaibongsai.”
    “No,” Don said. He bent over the table, shuffling more piles of paper. He seemed intent on keeping busy.
    “When’d you last see him?”
    “He was on set the day before yesterday. We shot daytime scenes in a local office building that we’ve turned into police headquarters.”
    “How’d he look?” D.D. asked. She stopped skimming the contract. Watched Don.
    “I don’t know. How does someone look?” Don was definitely turned away from her now, shoulders rounded, gaze averted.
    “He interact with the cast and crew?”
    “I guess so. Samuel usually sat at video village—”
    “Video village?”
    “The bank of monitors where you can see what’s being filmed. His job was to look for mistakes. For example, he’d point out that a real cop wouldn’t stand that way, exposing his gun to a suspect. When the director yelled cut, he’d glance at Samuel. If Samuel saw any issues, he’d say so, then have a one-on-one with the actor. Otherwise, filming would continue.”
    “He have any one-on-ones his last day?”
    “Couple.”
    “What about?”
    “I don’t know. He talked to the director, then to Gary, not me.”
    “Gary?”
    “Gary Masters, our star. Perhaps you know him from
Boyz of Bel Air
? Sitcom in the eighties about two white kids from the Bronx who move to Bel Air?”
    Don finally turned around. D.D. eyed him closely.
    “Never saw it. Gary Masters. He good? Easy to work with?”
    “Pro,” Don said immediately. “He started in commercials at six months, meaning he’s literally been acting all his life.”
    “Maybe he didn’t like being corrected by a cop?”
    “No. Gary seemed into it, considered Samuel to be his own personal character consultant. You don’t always get that on a set.”
    “What about the director?”
    “Ron Lafavre.”
    “Sounds like Chaibongsai had final say on some scenes. Did that irk him?”
    “Ron’s who asked for a police expert, so I wouldn’t think so.”
    “Any other issues crop up that last day?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Did you get through your scenes? Cameras worked, sound rolled, cast was happy? No mishaps, however minor?”
    Don’s turn to regard her closely. “No . . . Detective, are you having second thoughts about being our expert? Because we really do need one, so—”
    “Not at all, not at all.” She waved her hand.
    Don continued to frown at her. “Are you worried that Chaibongsai will return? Because if so, I have to admit, we’d go back to him, as he’s familiar with the project. But you’d be compensated for time worked, of course.”
    “I’m not worried about that,” D.D. said immediately.
    “Then . . .”
    “Chaibongsai isn’t coming back.” She took a step closer in the small trailer. Allowed her pregnant bulk to crowd Don a little, force him back against the table. His hands were where she could see them, and while he may not have noticed it yet, she wore her firearm in a shoulder holster underneath her open coat, easily accessible.
    She wasn’t scared of Don Bilger, though. She was curious.
    “Samuel Chaibongsai is dead,” she said, watching the producer’s nervous face. “I got the call on my way here. Landlord found his body. Looks like he was beaten to death by some kind of blunt object. For example, a baseball bat.”

What do you need to get the job done? Murder weapon of choice, of course, based on your preferred methodology. But what else? Gloves, thin latex for maximum dexterity, while limiting evidence transfer. Hat, not a bad idea for containing any shedding hair.
    But what else? Now you must consider your victim choice as well as methodology. Is he or she a fighter? Perhaps you require restraints, or a secondary weapon to stun your victim into submission. Or perhaps the right disguise to help lower defenses, draw your victim in. I recommend a suit; there’s something about a man in a suit that almost always inspires trust.
    Do not love your shoes. Chances are, they will have to be tossed as the soles leave behind imprints. Also, consider the moments after your first strike. If you plan on spending some time with your victim, you will want to gather ancillary items such as duct