Page 42 of Once Broken
Riley nodded.“What do we know so far?”
Hayes gestured for them to follow him inside, ducking under the crime scene tape.“Victim is Crystal Keene, 65, film critic forMetropolitan Monthly.She was here for the Roberta Rimes festival that got postponed after Veronica Slate’s murder.”
The old lobby of The Velvet Screen was transformed into an active crime scene.Harsh portable lights illuminated every corner, technicians dusted surfaces for prints, and a police photographer methodically documented the space.
“A projectionist named Ted Coonfield called 911 to report the murder,” Hayes continued, leading them deeper into the lobby.“Like I told you, he claims he was attacked.Woke up bound and gagged in a supply closet.”
“And he’s the one who found her?”Ann Marie asked.
Hayes nodded.“Says it took him hours to get free.When he did, he went to the projection booth and found Crystal Keene there.”He paused, his expression darkening.“Coonfield’s pretty shaken up, but he’s coherent.He’s over there.”
He indicated a man sitting on a bench along the wall, a paper cup of coffee clutched in trembling hands.Ted Coonfield looked to be in his sixties, with thinning gray hair and the stooped posture of someone who had spent decades hunched over equipment.A paramedic hovered nearby, periodically checking the swollen bruise on Coonfield’s temple.
As they approached, Coonfield looked up, his bloodshot eyes haunted.“You’re the FBI people?”
“I’m Special Agent Riley Paige,” Riley confirmed, keeping her voice gentle.“This is Special Agent Ann Marie Esmer.We’d like to hear what happened.”
Coonfield nodded, setting his coffee aside.“Ms.Keene called yesterday.She wanted to seeDandelion Days—Roberta Rimes’ final film.Said she was disappointed the festival had been postponed after what happened to Veronica Slate.And of course, she wanted to see it on film.Not a digital copy.I came in early last evening to test the equipment and load the film.The theater’s been closed, so I wanted to make sure everything was working properly.”
“What time was this?”Riley asked.
“Around seven.The screening was set for eleven.”Coonfield’s hand drifted unconsciously to the bruise on his temple.“I was in the projection booth, testing the equipment, when someone knocked on the door.I opened it, and somebody hit me here.”He touched the swollen area gingerly.“Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the janitor’s closet downstairs, tied up and gagged.”
“Did you see who attacked you?”Ann Marie inquired.
Coonfield shook his head, wincing at the movement.“Never got a look.Could have been anyone—man, woman, I don’t know.”
“And when you regained consciousness?”Riley prompted.
“It was dark.My watch was gone, so I don’t know exactly what time it was.”Frustration flashed across his features.“I spent God knows how long working the ropes loose.My wrists are all torn up.”He displayed his bandaged wrists as evidence.“By the time I got free, I figured Ms.Keene must have come and gone, maybe thought I’d stood her up.”
His voice caught slightly.“I went up to the projection booth to check the equipment, see if anything had been taken or damaged.That’s when I found her.”
“Tell us exactly what you saw,” Riley said, maintaining eye contact.
Coonfield swallowed hard.“She was...chained to the number one projector.The lamp was still on, projecting white light onto the screen.When I looked at the film, I saw that it had been deliberately sliced to make it jam in the gate and burn through.”
His professional indignation briefly overtook his horror.“Whoever did this knew projectors.They knew exactly how to make the film catch and burn—created a slice that would snag in the gate.”
“You mentioned recognizing the scene,” Hayes interjected.“From a movie?”
Coonfield nodded gravely.“The Broken Window.1957.There’s a scene where a film critic is murdered in a projection booth, strangled, and then chained to the projector as a statement.It’s...infamous among projectionists.A kind of urban legend in our profession.”
“I’d like to see the crime scene now,” Riley said, turning to Hayes.
The Detective nodded grimly.“This way.Techs have documented everything, but we left the body in place for you to see.”
He led them through the theater’s main auditorium, where the screen still glowed with the harsh light from the projector above.The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating dust particles dancing in its path.At the back of the theater, they climbed the narrow service stairs that Crystal Keene had ascended the night before, heading toward her death.
The projection booth was crowded with crime scene technicians, the small space barely accommodating the additional bodies.They stepped aside respectfully as Hayes ushered Riley and Ann Marie in.
The smell hit Riley first—the acrid scent of burned film and the distinctive odor of death in its early hours.Crystal Keene’s body was secured to one of the massive projectors with heavy chains, her head lolled forward, a bleeding wound around her neck where a garrote wire had cut through her flesh.Her elegant clothing—a silk blouse and tailored pants—contrasted sharply with the indignity of her death.Nearby, a loop of melted film hung from the projector like a grotesque decoration.
Riley stepped closer, carefully avoiding the markers placed by the crime scene unit.She studied the positioning of the body, the chains, the meticulous attention to detail evident in the staging.This was not a crime of opportunity or passion.This was methodical, planned to the minutest detail.
But she needed to know more than that if they were going to prevent another death.Riley closed her eyes, allowing her mind to shift, reaching for a sense of the killer’s thoughts at the moment of murder.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
