An executive with a boutique media company put it this way: “Before the death of an aging film star or world player, we often compile significant interviews, film clips, and sound bites to produce a ‘ready and waiting’ biographical feature. Then, after a death, all we have to do is add the postscript, and it’s ready to air. Sponsors line up to ‘buy in’ on prepackaged winners.”

Because of the delicate nature of producing “pre-death” films, some media companies preferred to commission an outsider to do their work. Deuce Malone was one of those confidential “outsiders” who got things done. He was a slick, one-man crew who specialized in making biographical features of “living legends.” He didn’t trust others with his “success formula” so he did all of his shooting and editing himself.

Deuce’s success formula was simple: he moved the movers and shook the shakers with a promise that he had tied up the rights for a filmed biography of a certain celebrity. Simultaneously, he convinced the celebrity that he had a network arrangement with a major producer for the biography. He got both to “sign on” before either caught on.

He spent days filming interviews and obtaining pre-existing footage. Most VIPs were anxious to cooperate. So when the star passed on, the biography feature was ready for broadcast. He called his packages “ready and waiting.”

Deuce came across as a polished Mr. Perfect. But you had better not mess with his hair; you might discover the wrath of his other side. A dark-haired Robert Redford type, his tall, strong frame filled his sport coats and jeans as though he had been poured into them. His office was an antique black Rolls Royce, which received much T.L.C.

He was named after the side of a gaming cube with two dips. Only his game wasn’t craps.

Deuce’s varied attempts to contact film legend Mrs. Pauline Eloween had all been foiled by her live-in caregiver, a less-than-friendly Ms. Lois Pillman. Not this time.

After he threatened to contact a state agency to check into her well being, Ms. Pillman reluctantly consented to set up a brief interview—with positively no cameras. Deuce had heard the reason aging Mrs. Eloween hadn’t been seen in public in years was that she didn’t want to share all her wrinkles. But he was plain suspicious—things didn’t seem right.

Proceeding the big day, Deuce rigged a tiny camcorder in his briefcase. As a precaution, he installed a second mini-cam in his camera case. He had always shrugged off the ethics issue by reciting, “Artists have artistic license.”

The big day was just that. Deuce was hastily escorted through a marble-floored vestibule and grand room into a luxurious suite. He was told the bars on the windows were for security reasons.

Just before Mrs. Eloween made her grand entry, Deuce was commanded to remove film from the camera he had concealed in his briefcase, and he obliged with a guilty half smile. He had imagined an adorned Cleopatra as she entered Rome. Instead a handsome, noble lady with a presence that filled the room held out her soft hand. How could anyone not fall in love with her, he wondered.

Highlights of the interview included words she relived from some of her films. At times she seemed in another world, but always charming. She enunciated wisdoms that must have been accumulated through her many portrayals as queens and ingénues. He felt he was a one-person audience for some emotional playacting.

That was the good side of the day. The other side was filled with suspicions. Ms. Pillman’s eyes and ears worked overtime. She had a smugness, but not a foggy clue that she had not defeated Deuce’s attempt to “shoot the queen.” She hadn’t suspected the second camera—and that footage was all Deuce needed. He also picked up some shots of Ms. Pillman doing something strange at a desk in the corner.

Deuce learned that Ms. Pillman did all of her shopping in the early afternoon each Thursday, and Mrs. Eloween agreed that he could return to the estate sometime to film the grounds—for “background footage.” He also obtained an autograph for his nonexistent niece. Ms. Pillman wasn’t happy about his request or Mrs. Eloween’s answer, and she quietly showed him the way out.

The next day when Deuce edited the video, he realized he had more than a retrospective of Mrs. Eloween. He had a deeply moving story that would be in big demand when the time came.

Deuce wasn’t sure what he was looking for when he checked various public records—but one thing did jump out. Only recently Ms. Pillman had become Mrs. Eloween’s power of attorney and executor. Deuce’s $3 government badge helped to obtain a few other tasty items. He wanted to share his good luck—and suspicions—with his client, but didn’t. Any money could wait, he thought. Maybe he had found more than he was looking for.

The more he checked on Ms. Pillman, the less he knew. It was as though she didn’t exist before working at the Eloween mansion.

Early the following Thursday afternoon found Deuce sneaking into the kitchen of the mansion. He’d been told that Mrs. Eloween always took a nap while Ms. Pillman shopped. Getting through a locked door had never been a problem for Deuce.

Ms. Pillman’s room was adjacent to the queen’s master suite. His nosing paid off. Inside a zippered leather case were two legal documents and a tube of white powder. There was also a small pamphlet entitled “Undetectable, Tasteless Poisons—Caution,” and some teabags. Deuce used his camera to capture each page of the papers and get a close-up shot of the pill container.