Tracking Shot by Colin Campbell (i can read book club .txt) 📗

seat and looked at the faux courthouse, the west wing of Chester Brook Orphanage that had been transformed into a passable replica of the real courthouse. Right now, it even had the same crime-scene tape. The windows had been boarded up after the explosion, but the set dressing was still the same. Larry’s team had done a good job but not good enough to fool a hitman. The same hitman who hadn’t been fooled into following McNulty last night but had used the distraction to blow up the real courts building.

That was the thing sticking in McNulty’s craw. The gunman had been clever enough to use McNulty as a decoy and set the explosives, but he’d used the distraction to commit a pointless act. It was as if the wanton destruction had been an end unto itself. Like shooting a group of strangers for no good reason. McNulty had been a cop long enough to know that some people just got off on being nasty bastards, but his experience was that they weren’t usually this sophisticated. It made McNulty’s subterfuge feel even more stupid, trying to lure the shooter in with a promise of collecting hidden footage.

He took a drink of his coffee but left the donut. He wasn’t really a donut kind of guy, especially after breakfast at the police station. He had another swallow then remembered the recording he’d made while trying to catch the gunman on camera. He took his phone out and prepared to delete his foolishness but decided to have a quick look at it instead. He clicked through the screens until he found the recording, then hit play.

Grainy black and white video sprang to life. It was black and white because he’d started the recording when it was still dark in the back room. The images weren’t widescreen cinema quality. The phone had been wedged into his top pocket so it had filmed in portrait mode, not landscape. The sound was muffled. He turned it down slightly so nobody else could hear.

The picture changed from dark nothingness to show the light through the door, the figure silhouetted against the courtroom. The angle was tilted to one side. The camera wasn’t steady like the Arriflex. There was a distinct click of McNulty’s fingers then brilliant white light flooded the room and burned out the image for a second until the phone adjusted its exposure. The surprise on Jon Harris’s face looked comical but then everything exploded into sharp, juddering movements. The lens was pointing at the ground one second then the ceiling the next. It showed arms and legs and the occasional blurred face, then the room lights came on and Larry Unger said, “Okay Vince, you got him. No need to break his arm.” There were a few more shuddering moves and the video ended.

McNulty clicked back to the file screen and his finger hovered over the delete button. He stopped. Something was crawling about in the back of his mind, but it wouldn’t come into the light. He put the phone on the table and took a bite of his donut. It was quite nice so he took another bite then, swilled it down with lukewarm latte.

What was he missing?

He looked out at the District Court then turned toward the movie set. He wasn’t sure if it was the shooting or the bombing that was playing on his mind. The morning sun baked out of another clear blue sky. Traffic moved up and down Linden Street, regular cars this time, no panel vans.

He thought about the explosion then discounted it. He’d had no involvement, apart from being an unwitting decoy. He closed his eyes and thought about the day of the shooting. His discussion with Larry about superhero movies and their treatment of death as a passing phase rectified with any kind of anti-Kryptonite gizmo to change the story. Amy’s smile and the fire extinguisher. The blood seeping from under the door and the discarded Arriflex.

The Arriflex, a better recording device than McNulty’s phone but not the only thing taking pictures that day. He thought about Randy Severino and his job as First AC. In the same way that McNulty’s job as technical adviser involved several other roles, Randy Severino had done more than handle the Arriflex.

McNulty finished his coffee, picked up his phone and went to find his car.

THIRTY-ONE

McNulty found Larry outside the day’s shooting location, The Chateau restaurant on School Street. He was standing under the wide red awning that read, “Italian Family Dining.” Big red letters down one side of the building offered, “Function Facilities.” There were so many power cables overhead that the telephone poles looked like the rigging on a sailing ship. A transformer high up on the pole outside the front door was so heavy it leaned to one side under its weight. Larry looked like he was sagging under too much weight as well. McNulty parked in the lot next door and joined the producer under the awning.

“What’s up?”

Larry came out of his private thoughts and looked at McNulty. “They’re thinking of pulling the location.”

McNulty jerked his chin at the restaurant. “The owners?”

Larry frowned. “After the shooting.”

McNulty looked at the traditional Italian Restaurant. It was old-school red brick with arched windows and smoked glass. A family place, not a pizza joint. The interior looked dark and busy. “They’re Italian. They’re probably worried Al Pacino’s gonna come out of the toilet and whack some guy at the table.”

“That’s what we’re filming.”

“It’s that scene today? The Godfather scene?”

Larry looked hurt. “It’s not from The Godfather. It’s an homage.”

“Yeah, like the shootout at the quarry was an homage to Dirty Harry.”

“It was.”

“They nearly sued us when that movie came out.”

Larry shrugged. “They didn’t though, did they? Because anybody seeing it was reminded of Clint Eastwood. Ain’t no such thing as bad publicity.”

McNulty waved toward the front door. “How d’you say that in Italian?”

“This ain’t funny.”

McNulty became serious. “Neither is this.” He led Larry around the corner.