Well, well—look who decided to make a return appearance to our hospital. How’s your stomach, Detective? Are you going to make a mess of any more of our patients?”
Doyle lowered his head and coughed. “Listen, Nurse Gina … I’m sorry about that mishap the other night.”
“Mishap? You threw up all over the corpse of Davis Wilde! That’s not a mishap, Detective. That’s atrocious. Not to mention disgusting. I can’t believe—“
“Yes, well, sorry about that. Can you tell me where William Wright is located?”
“Are you planning on throwing up on him?”
Doyle grimaced. “No. No, I’m not.”
“Then follow me.”
Amanda looked at Doyle and bit back laughter. Doyle rolled his eyes.
As they walked down the hall, Doyle asked Gina, “Do you happen to know where Eva Wong is currently located?”
“Yes, she’s in the same room as Mr. Wright.”
“What? Why?”
“Because there are not many rooms, quite frankly.”
“But they’re the opposite sex. And they used to be married.”
Gina looked down at her clipboard. “Really?”
“But they got divorced,” said Amanda. “They tend to get somewhat violent whenever they’re close to each other.”
“Well,” said Gina. “That would have been good information to have.
The policemen who brought her in didn’t tell me a thing.”
“No surprise there,” said Doyle.
“The room is right down here,” said Gina, walking a little faster. “Right here, in fact.”
Gina opened the door, revealing William and Eva engaged in a passionate kiss.
“Well I’ll be damned,” said Gina. “They appear to be doin’ pretty good for ex-spouses.”
William broke off the kiss when he realized they had an audience.
“Ah, Doyle,” he said. “Look—I found Eva!”
“Yeah, so did we a while ago. How are you doing, William?”
“A little sore, I suppose. Emotionally I’m doing quite well, though.” Amanda walked over to Eva.
“How are you holding up?”
Eva stretched out her shoulders and rubbed her head. “I’m also rather sore. I can’t remember much of anything today. Do you have any idea how I ended up in those woods?”
Doyle and Amanda looked at each other. “No idea,” said Doyle. “Someone must have given you a pretty hard bump to the noggin for you to lose your memory like that.”
“Maybe,” said Eva. “I mean, my head feels a little woozy. Not too bad though. Just … my whole body kind of hurts.”
“I’m just so happy that she’s okay,” said William.
“We’re happy that both of you are safe,” said Amanda.
“Yes, and in the same room,” said Doyle. “That’s fantastic.”
“Isn’t that just the strangest coincidence?” asked William. Eva hugged him.
Doyle sighed. “You know what? I really don’t like hospitals. I think I’m going to get some air.”
“Maybe I’ll join you,” said Amanda. “I could use some fresh air myself.”
“We’ll be right back,” said Doyle.
STANDING IN THE DESIGNATED SMOKING AREA twenty-five yards from the hospital door, Doyle asked Amanda, “What the hell is going on in there? The fact that Eva is probably behind all this scares the bejeezus out of me. The way she’s acting … ugh.”
“At least no one’s dead. I don’t think she’d do anything now, because it’d be pretty darned obvious who did it.”
“So … what do you think?”
“We should talk to Mike Cameron. Let’s find out what he knows.”
GINA POINTED AT THE DOOR. “Here’s Mike Cameron’s room. Hopefully he’s not kissing anybody.”
Gina knocked first, waited a few seconds, then turned the handle and pushed the door open.
“Looks fine to me,” said Gina. “Have fun.”
“Thanks,” said Doyle.
The room looked the same as William and Eva’s room, except that this one was packed to the brim with flowers, balloons, and other gifts that read, “Get Well Soon!”
Mike Cameron was asleep, his head covered in bandages.
“Mr. Cameron?” said Doyle.
No response.
“Mr. Cameron?” he repeated.
Still no response.
Doyle kicked the bedframe. The entire bed shook. Mike Cameron jerked awake, eyes wide.
“Who’s that? What’s happening? Who are you?”
“Mike Cameron? My name is Detective Doyle Malloy, and this is Amanda Hutchins, MPD. We’re here investigating the death of Davis Wilde.”
Cameron groaned. “Aww, this again? I’ve already been over and over this with the police. I already told them I don’t know anything else! Can’t you just let me rest?”
“Maybe later, Mr. Cameron,” said Doyle. “For now, we just need to hear it again, firsthand. This could prove to be very important.” Cameron sighed. “Fine. Okay. What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start at the beginning,” said Doyle. “You were shooting a scene for Fargo II, is that right?”
“The deuce. Correct,” said Cameron.
“What was the mood on the set?”
“Tense,” Cameron said. “Ms. Coen had done a substantial amount of yelling, which wasn’t uncommon, but it was beginning to wear on people’s nerves.”
“What was she yelling about?” asked Amanda.
“The usual stuff. No one could do their job right. That sort of thing.”
“Was she yelling at anyone in particular?” asked Amanda.
“It seems to me now that she was yelling mostly at Wilde, but that could just be my mind playing tricks on me.”
“What happened?” asked Amanda.
“You know that already, don’t you?”
“We do, but we want to hear it from you,” she said.
“All right, well—we were doing a scene in which my character shoots his character. They had everything rigged for the special effects. I was supposed to pull the trigger and yank the gun, which would make the fake blood burst out of Wilde’s prosthetic face.”
“But?”
“It wasn’t fake blood,” said Cameron, looking down at his right hand. “When the gun went off, I didn’t realize what had happened at first. I thought it sounded awfully loud for a blank. Then again, I really haven’t shot much of anything, blanks or no.”
“What happened after you shot—” Doyle stopped himself and decided to carefully rearrange his words. “What happened after the shot went off?”
“Within seconds I realized what happened. And within those seconds, I felt this wave of horror. I collapsed. I don’t remember anything after that.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No. I found out later that I hit my head pretty hard. I don’t think I need to still be in the hospital, but Mr. Winthrop says I need to. Apparently it’s better for insurance purposes if I stay here.”
Doyle made a mental note of that comment.
“Like I said, I really don’t know much more than that,” said Cameron. “I wish I did know who did it. I first suspected Chip, since he does all the effects and stuff, but I can’t think of any reason why he would. You know?”
“I understand,” said Doyle. “You sure have a lot of flowers and gifts. Who are all these from? Fans?”
“I don’t have too many fans,” said Cameron. “I’m mostly a stage actor, so I don’t have a ton of paparazzi following me around. This stuff is mostly from my family and friends.”
“Where are you from, Mike?”
“Edina.”
That explains it, thought Doyle. Rich yuppie.
“Thank you for all your help, Mike. We really appreciate it.”
Doyle and Amanda turned to leave when Cameron called out to them.
“Hey, guys—do you know what’s happening with the film? They’re not still shooting are they?”
“I don’t think so,” said Amanda.
“Oh, good,” said Cameron. “I just want to make sure they don’t start without me.”
“That probably won’t happen,” said Doyle. “Unless they find an actor who looks just like you.”
The thought of this seemed to truly frighten Mike Cameron.
“Have a nice evening,” Doyle said, then left with Amanda.