this is pretty huge.”
Jessie gave him a sidelong glance.
“You sure you can handle this, Trembley? I can’t have you going gaga over a bunch of celebrities. You need to keep your professional distance. Can you do that?”
He looked mildly offended.
“Of course,” he said.
Jessie wasn’t entirely convinced.
*
When they arrived at Sovereign Studios, Jessie noticed a small memorial had been set up by the gate near the main entrance. It was only four people with a few candles and posters. She didn’t know if that meant Weatherly wasn’t that popular or if word hadn’t gotten out yet.
A portly, kind-faced studio security guard named Paul was waiting for them. He directed them to the guest lot, followed them to their parking spot in a golf cart, and offered them seats.
“We have to cross half the lot,” he said by way of explanation. “It’s a long walk.”
They got in and he sped off along the cobblestone path. Jessie, who had gone to college at USC and spent most of her twenties living in the city, had never been awed by being in the center of the cinematic universe. But she had to admit that it was pretty cool to be spirited through a facility where movies had been made for nearly a hundred years. As they zipped along, they passed a large, sunken, walled-in outdoor parking lot with a huge, sky-colored screen at the back of it.
“What’s that?” Jessie asked, pointing.
Paul the security guard followed her finger and smiled.
“When a production needs to do a water shoot in a secure environment, they can use that. They fill up the parking lot with water so it acts like one huge water tank. Then they can project whatever background they want on the screen and boom, you’re in the middle of the ocean if you like.”
Trembley looked over at her with a “that’s awesome” expression. She gave him a stern glare in return to remind him to rein it in. But he nearly lost it when the cart passed the tank and he saw what was behind it. They were driving through a re-creation of multiple sections of New York City.
A bodega storefront stood next to a pizzeria. They passed a subway station sign and Trembley stood up in the cart to see how far down the stairs really went. Behind the facades, Jessie noticed that there was nothing but scaffolding and empty space. They rounded a corner and the entire look of the new street changed.
“What part of the city is this supposed to be?” Trembley asked, unable to contain himself.
“This stretch is the Lower East Side,” Paul the guard told him as they passed a collection of brownstones. “But other blocks are done up like Greenwich Village, the Financial District, even Brooklyn. We have a Chicago street too. The crime scene is over by SoHo.”
That last line drained some of the zeal out of Trembley’s face. He went quiet. A few seconds later, they pulled up at the back of the faux neighborhood next to a massive soundstage with a “32” painted on it.
“We’re here,” Paul said as if that wasn’t obvious from the crowd of people milling around behind the police tape that had been set up near the soundstage.
“Paul, can I ask you something?” Jessie probed.
“You can ask anything. I don’t promise I have the answers though.”
“I don’t know about that,” she countered. “You seem like the kind of guy who knows what’s going on around here. How long have you worked on the lot?”
“Eight years,” he said. “I was at Sony for seven before that. I guess I’m turning into a lifer.”
“So you know how these places operate,” she said. “What’s the overnight security like here? Hardcore or more relaxed?”
“It depends. There’s always some staff. We typically shut down the side gates around midnight. But the main gate is always manned. And there are guards walking the lot all night long. But if there are active shoots overnight, we obviously staff up more.”
“Were there overnight shoots last night?” she asked.
“Everything was scheduled to wrap by eleven p.m. except the production right here, the Marauder feature. But they ended up wrapping early on that too so we pared back to the standard crew.”
“Do you know why they wrapped early?” Trembley asked.
Paul shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“Come on, Paul,” Jessie cajoled. “You know why we’re here. And you know those studio suits are going to give us the party line. A guy like you, with your ear to the ground, has got