Page 67 of Whispers at Dusk
“Oh, aye, the man keeps his permits shipshape,” Robertson said. “And he’s good.”
“You’re old friends?” Mason asked him.
“University,” Robertson said. “We played football together—real football, you know, soccer, not the American football where your foot almost never touches the ball.”
Mason grinned. “Hey. I didn’t make up the name.”
Robertson tapped at the door, calling out, “Frasier, it’s me. Ian.”
The door opened immediately. Frasier MacLean was tall and lean, slightly balding, with a quick smile and bright blue eyes. He looked Mason and Della over, glanced at Robertson, and said, “American friends who want to be extras? You’ve got it! What a handsome couple. Ah, lass, no you are a beauty. Sir!” he addressed Mason. “Sorry, you’re a beauty, too, just... Well, you are both welcome in my home. I’d love to have you background in many a scene. My major roles are cast—”
“Sir, we’re not actors!” Della said, interrupting quietly. “But thank you so much! It’s different help we need.”
“Please,” Mason added politely.
MacLean looked over at Robertson, frowning.
“You’ve heard about the vampire killing,” Robertson said flatly.
“Of course. It’s all anyone is talking about,” MacLean said. He frowned. “But... I’m not the vampire killer, I swear it, and I can’t begin to believe that my mate here would have suggested such a thing! My murder and mayhem is never real!”
“Frasier,” Robertson said, “we have a good idea of who might be orchestrating the so-called vampire killings in several countries. He’s a makeup artist, and I know you’ve thrown a couple of costume parties, and you have used special effects and special makeup effects—”
“Stop,” MacLean said.
“Frasier, we’re just seeking help—” Robertson began.
MacLean shook his head, looking at the group of them. “No, no, I... Oh, aye! I just hired a man yesterday because my head makeup lass was a wee bit overworked. He happened out on Broad Street right when we were about to start a shoot, going over, hitting hard on the budget, when this fellow approached, and I said we’d take a look at his work if he wanted to use a day as a tryout. He was excellent, and... Well, he’s supposed to be back tomorrow. He got on exceptionally well with Lydia Sanderson, our private eye star. The movie is based on books by Lucinda Tyler, dead these many years, but her readers... You don’t care. This man you’re looking for... Can you describe him?”
Mason, Della, and Robertson all went for their phones, pulling up the high school photo of their suspect, Stephan Dante. “He goes by many nationalities and speaks several languages,” Mason said, showing MacLean the picture on his phone first.
“Um, well, this fellow—the bloke I hired—is bald,” Frasier MacLean said, frowning. “And his nose was bigger, and I don’t think it’s the same man. My fellow was American, and he said his name was Theo Wilder.”
“He may well be,” Mason said. “He’s an expert at makeup, as you might have noticed.”
MacLean frowned. “And he might be the vampire killer? Oh, my God!” he exclaimed suddenly, clearly distressed.
“What?” Mason asked.
“He was going out with Lydia tonight! He’s got her out in Kirkwall somewhere, and... Oh, my God!”
“It’s all right—we’ll find them,” Robertson said grimly. “Did they say where they were going?” he asked.
“Out on the town,” MacLean said. “They were here. They couldn’t have left more than ten or fifteen minutes ago. They stopped by right before you called, and I said to head on over. He and Lydia were laughing and they said they had to go, they wanted to see all the pubs they could. I know you’re a cop, Frasier, but...”
“Call her,” Della said.
MacLean did so, looking more distressed by the second. “It’s going straight to voice mail.”
“Keep trying every few minutes. Fabricate a reason for them to come here,” Della said.
“And let us know instantly, of course,” Robertson said.
Mason was already calling Bisset, asking him and the English and French detectives to watch out for the man, giving him a description based on how he had appeared on the film set.
“We need to get out on the streets, fast,” Robertson said. “Frasier, you call me if they show up here for any reason at all, you understand?”
“I should get out there, I should look for them—”
