Final Act
Dianne Yetman
For Gary, love always
Cover image: Author
Poisons, poisons! Venomous thoughts and words! In hearts and minds! That’s poisons! Maggie the Cat, Cat on a Hot Tin RoofPROLOGUE
10:45 am, November 3, 2010
The last actor to leave the theatre by the side stage door ran out of the alley way and caught up with the group heading for the bar. He tagged a little behind the noisy merrymakers not bothering to join as there was no room to jump into the five different conversations so busied himself with looking at the darkened quiet downtown street. A few taxis, their drivers standing in a tight knot - praying for passengers, no doubt. A lone, obviously stoned couple, arms wrapped around each other in an effort to stay upright, tired to make their way across the street.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a package of smokes, turned so the wind was at his back, and flashed his lighter. Lifting his head, he saw a dark, solitary figure crossing the street, head bent, as if searching for a lost coin. A shout distracted his attention.
“Come on; get a move on before we lose you.”
He ran. They had turned the corner and if they ducked into one of the bars lining both sides of the street before he caught up to him, he’d waste prized drinking time trying to find them. He never gave the dark figure crossing the street another thought.
Head still bent, the dark figure paused and waited a few moments to see if anyone from the group circled back. No one came. No one was on the street except for a group of taxi drivers who were busy talking, not paying the slightest attention to anyone else. Time to move. Had one of the drivers turned his head to look, all he would have seen was a swift dark blur. But no one turned.
Head bent low, the shadowy figure stepped into the alleyway leading to the backstage entrance to the theatre. The mastermind behind the planned kill forced down the adrenaline rush. Too much excitement and mistakes could be made. Standing behind the cluster of trees adjacent to the theatre, the killer, eyes on the stage door, waited for Ed, the janitor, to lock up and leave.
It was well past midnight when the dark figure emerged from the trees and walked briskly towards the stage store entrance. Slipping a key into the door, the intruder stepped into the hallway, eyes adjusting to darkness with the help of the faint light of the dust covered exit sign. The killer followed the twisting corridor past Ed’s, around the corner and down the hallway to the dressing and prop room.
There was no fear the intruder would be confused and not be able to find the way to centre stage for no one was more intimately acquainted with every nook and cranny of the entire building.
Moonlight shone through the small window in the large common dressing room into the hallway, lengthening the intruder’s shadow; a few moments later, a whispered curse at the stumble on the torn carpet, followed by a quick run up the three steps to centre stage.
Despite the darkness of the stage, the intruder was able to avoid colliding with the double bed and made straight for the huge console combination of radio-phonograph (hi-fi with three speakers) TV set and liquor cabinet bearing many glasses and bottles.
Standing in front of the monumental monstrosity, the killer retrieved the thin, white surgical gloves from the inside pocket of the oversize, dark coat and pulled them over the trembling hands. Opening the console door and reaching into the back recess of the cabinet, the killer reached for the half empty bottle of bourbon, then removed a vial from the outside pocket of the coat. The amber coloured liquid flowed into the bottle, swirling against the sides, and settled into the body of the whiskey without a trace.
The empty vial returned to the pocket, the killer made a quick exit, heart pounding in perfect time with the thud of the rubber soles hitting the red linoleum until the exit was reached. The killer waited until the heart rate subsided before opening the door and crossing the street to the empty cab parked at the curb.
George Symes, watched the dark figure crossing the street and heading straight for his cab. Just my shit house luck, he thought, forty minutes left on my shift, and I get this creep. All he wanted to do was go home to a cold beer and watch David Letterman. Who knows what the weirdo is carrying in that oversized coat. George had good instincts and would bet his last cigar that someone dressed like that is up to no good or has already done damage.
He didn’t need this agro at his age but he had opted out of the safer day shift when his wife of 40 years had died. He found the silence of his home more comfortable in the wee hours of the morning. He reached for the mike, gave the code word for suspicious passenger to the dispatcher. Once he called the fare in, Helen would calculate the amount of time it would take to reach his destination and if he was more than five minutes late, there’d be hell to pay. He started the engine and waited for the creep to open the back door to the cab.
9:30am, November 4, 2010
Kate pulled back the curtains and looked out across the divided boulevard. The morning sun high enough to shine directly in her eyes. She didn’t see the man standing beside the oak tree at the south side entrance to the Public Gardens staring up at her window. So, she thought, he’s given up. She was sure he would be there and she was ready for him. He’d been tracking her all week. She shrugged her shoulders – one less worry. Maybe the bastard found out she was a homicide cop and decided to disappear. On one hand, she was disappointed not to find him there because that meant he had moved on to someone else and she wasn’t able to arrest him.
She looked down at the sidewalk in front of the condo and watched the pedestrians scurrying in the brisk breeze - a young mother in sport gear pushing a bundled up baby in a stroller designed specifically for running parents; two young teenagers plugged into their i-pods, baseball gloves in hands, running across the double boulevard to the park, and a senior citizen, in high spirits, twirling his cane around like a magic wand. Behind the old man, she glimpsed an advancing Golden Retriever, the leash stretching far behind him. A typical Saturday morning, crowded early morning sidewalks, the majority of the pedestrians making their way to the waterfront Market.
As she watched them pass by, she was surprised at her feeling of envy, surprised she felt anything. A mere week ago, she had been on her way back from the market carrying her parcels, a bounce in her step. No trace of a bounce in her now. Not after her disastrous meeting with Gordon. She didn’t see it coming.
She was gazing out the window now without really seeing, her thoughts running in circles. Her vision darkened. The clouds had moved in and covered the morning sun and she saw him. A black hoodie and scarf hid all except his eyes. There was something familiar about him, about the way he held himself, but she couldn’t place him.
She discarded the idea of following him, corralling him in the park, pulling out her gold detective shield, and arrest him. Arrest him for what? No, it was better to wait until she had something on him. She’d handle him when the time was right. She had more pressing concerns – her career, her love life. She had second thoughts about her long distance relationship with David. Her passion was cooling while his was moving into overdrive – alluded to the need for stronger commitment the last weekend they had spent together. And her chief worry, her career. It was in serious jeopardy; she’d be back walking a beat if she wasn’t careful.
Gordon Ramsey, Chief Inspector, who was soon to retire, Kate the rumoured shoe-in, called her into his office just before the end of the day, at the end of the week, just before her first weekend off in two months. It wasn’t a pretty. The word had gotten back to him. The word about her increasing short temper, her inability to get along with her peers, and her blow up with the traffic cop who gave her a parking ticket while she was in
pursuit on a purse snatcher. He wouldn’t listen to reason and she’d lost it – threw him up against the car, muttered some veiled threats. She had managed to walk away and leave him intact - no need for him to yelp like an injured pup all over the precinct.
As she carried her breakfast dishes to the sink, fighting words flew out of her mouth. Fighting words would be the death of her, she knew it. Disciplinary action skated too close. She replayed Gordon’s speech in her mind as she washed the dishes.
‘Get that temper of yours under control, Kate, I’m warning you. I had to argue hard with the Chief against a suspension. You’re damn lucky he bought it. One more incident, if you so much as spit on the sidewalk, you’ll be scraping it off with your boots as you walk a beat. Go see one of those psyche gurus; they’re on the 5th floor. You’re too arrogant, Kate. The world has to go your way or else. You know, I had reservations about you from first, coming from a background of privilege, wanting to be a cop. I should have listened to my gut instincts when you were recommended for promotion to the squad. I knew you’d be trouble. It’s your family’s connections that got you where you are, not your arrogance and attitude. No, don’t open your mouth. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. We’re finished. Go home and think hard. Think about putting your law degree to work.’
Kate slammed the cupboard door behind the last of the clean dishes. He had been cruel, hitting where it hurt. Yes, her family had connections but that didn’t mean I don’t have what it takes to be a good cop. And he knows it. The man hated her from the start. And her parents had hated her choice of a career. She fought back and won. Now, she had to fight again, but would she win this time. There was something wrong, she couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was losing control. She lashed out at whoever stood in her way. Had become quick to strike. She hadn’t been that way when she entered the force. She had wanted to be a cop, a good one, the best, and she knew the reason why.
Sonya. She was reason she became a cop. Beautiful, talented, funny Sonya, her best friend. They grew up together, lived side by side, shared their secrets, their likes and dislikes, smuggled booze and partied, stole out of their homes late at night and drank in the park, laughing their way back home again. Shared their dreams.
Sonya didn’t live past 17. Abducted and murdered, in broad daylight, on a warm summer afternoon on her way home from the park. A neighbour saw her with an ice cream in her hand two blocks from her home. Kate had been visiting her grandparents in the country and they had plans to celebrate their birthdays – two days apart – when she got back home.
Sonya was found in the ditch that surrounded the abandoned lot, not far from the downtown bar scene, two days after she had gone missing. Rape, tortured, strangled, and wrapped in a tarp and discarded by garbage. The police found the killer four hours after her body was discovered. He was a drugged up unemployed husband and father of two. The do-gooders lobbied the prosecutor to seek a shorter sentence. The man had no advantages in life, had been sexually abused as a child, compassion was needed. He got off with manslaughter, three years later he was back on the street.
Kate refused to go to Sonya’s funeral, to school, or to come out of her room. Her parents tried to talk reason to her behind the closed, locked door but eventually gave up. Her brothers would bring daily trays of food and leave them outside her door. She ended her exile a week after the funeral. Came out of her room one morning, dressed, ready to go to school. Spoke to her parents and brothers as if nothing had happened. ,
Four months later, she had a boyfriend, one year later; she was in University, her eye on a law degree, two years later living with Alan, a med student. She was determined to become a prosecutor. Throw the liars, murderers, and scum of the earth in jail for as long as they system would allow. In her last year, she and Alan went their separate ways and she made her decision. Sending criminals to jail from the courtroom wasn’t hands on enough for her. She needed to spit in their eye, wrestle them to the ground, put on the handcuffs and grill them until they broke.
Kate could feel a headache coming on. It wasn’t going to be pretty either if she didn’t get some medication into right away. She ran to the bathroom at hangover speed, opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed the bottle of extra strength, and swallowed two tablets dry. The bathroom drinking glass was in the dishwasher. Ducking her head under the tap, she managed to wash away the residue dry powder.
She knew she had to get out, out in the fresh air, or her day off would be wasted a deluge of self-pity. A natural athlete since the age of six - walking, running, swimming, hiking her way through adolescence into adulthood – she decided to walk through Point Pleasant Park and follow up with an intense workout at the gym. If that didn’t help get her mind off her problems, then nothing would.
She pulled on a pair of black jeans, a red wool sweater and socks, laced up her walking shoes and grabbed her hat, mitts and scarf and gym bag out of the closet. Gym bag hoisted to her shoulder and bouncing against her back, she left the condo and made her way to her car in the underground parking lot.
Sitting behind the wheel of her black Beamer, she revved the engine, charged up the exit ramp, turned left, tires squealing.
1:45pm
Jeffrey Stone was used to getting his own way. He wasn’t winning this one and didn’t like it anymore than the other ones he had lost but he knew he had to tread carefully. It wasn’t someone he was willing to toss aside the first chance he got for it was his docile, compliant wife, Catherine, who was refusing to do his bidding. He took a deep breath switched to the role of the confused, but albeit, supporting husband.
Catherine, however, was ready for him, stood her ground, refusing to move back to New York city because of his opportunity to direct Hamlet on Broadway. If the offer had come three years ago, she would have packed up and followed him. Not now. Not with what she now knew.
“I’m not going, Jeffrey, and it doesn’t matter what strategy you choose to change my mind, it won’t happen.”
“Why, Catherine? Why won’t you go?”
“Because I have my own life, my own friends, and I’m not putting them aside as I’ve done for 35 years. I gave up everything for you, Jeffrey, remember? You were a young stage assistant when we met; I was the hit of Broadway. I didn’t begrudge it, giving up my career, taking a back seat, playing the role of hostess to your ambitions – and damn good job of it too. It wasn’t a sacrifice because I was in love. You were my passion but not anymore.”
Colour drained from his face. His hands shook.
“If I’m not your passion anymore, Catherine, then tell me who or what is?”
“I owe you nothing.”
“I’m going to meet the Board of Directors and will change at the theatre. Think about what you’re doing Catherine, think very carefully. I’ll call you from New York.”
He turned and stomped out of the room. She stood rooted to the spot, relief coursing through her veins. She did it. The depth of her contempt, hatred for him allowed her to stand her ground. She was through with him. Her lawyer would have someone at JFK when his plane landed later tonight to serve him with the divorce papers.
She wasn’t going to let him off easy. The bastard would be getting away with too much as it was. If he fought, she was ready for him; she had the proof locked away in her safe. The front door slammed. Slammed shut on what had once been her life. A wasted life expect for the children - grown now with families of their own.
She may have been too much in love to see what was now obvious, she may have thrown years away for someone who wasn’t worth it, but one thing she had been was a good mother.
She heard the front door slam and a sigh escaped her. She was alone. She dialled the number she knew by heart and even though there was no one around to hear her, she spoke in a whisper.
“He’s gone and won’t be back. He doesn’t have a clue. Now’s the time to put the second part of our plan into ac
tion.”
2:45pm
Kate sat in her favourite waterfront cafe and ordered lunch. She felt much better, though it had taken a longer walk and a lot of shopping before her black mood turned to gray and was now skim milk white - only tinge of blue hanging about.
She had been lucky enough to get a parking spot on the waterfront. She had made her way through the park dodging adults and children, park workers, dog walkers and their canine companions, bikers, cyclists, artists, runners and the plentiful, mostly cranky, red squirrels, although they came nowhere near her crankiness. At the Sailor’s Memorial, she left the boardwalk and hit the wooded trail.
Brilliant leaves covered the path drifting downward from the trees in a steady flow thanks to last night’s heavy frost. Walking ever deeper in the woods where the ground was still frozen, she focused on the sound of the leaves crunching under her feet. The pain in her head finally eased, she quickened her pace and ten minutes later, she heard the screech of the gulls. Turning right, away from the sea, she climbed the hill further into the woods. She wasn’t ready for civilization yet.
An hour later, she made her way back to the waterfront, walked purposely past her parked car, and started to climb the large paved hill leading to Spring Garden Road, the street filled with boutiques, designer shops, craft stores and a Mall filled with goodies you find anywhere else in the city. If the layout in the storefront window attracted her, she went in and bought. Her last stop was at La Elegant, where she spent too much money on a red origami silk blouse and black Squeeze jeans.
She was glad she stopped when she did as she had to swing her purchases from one hand to another to make it back down the hill to the waterfront. The waitress interrupted her reverie and placed the one dish meal of curried fish fillets with carrots, potatoes, onions and tomatoes in front of her.
Twenty minutes later, her long legs stretched out under the table, sipping a cup of expertly brewed tea, she felt the last of the morning’s anxiety dripping into the dregs of the tea. She was ready to resume control.
Final Act Page 1
