Final Act

by Dianne Yetman

He heard a whooshing sound. The woman was sinking, sinking fast into the quilted layers of fabric. Giving her time to re-position herself, he opened the manila file folder, busied himself shuffling papers around until she had regained her balance.

  “What was he like as a Director? Did he get along with the cast and crew?”

  “No, not really. He never was an easy man but lately, something had gone adrift with him. He acted like a spooked man. And let me tell you, young man, he was difficult, over the wall difficult. He would come to rehearsals like a steaming bull, ranting and raving. Horrible displays of temper tantrums.”

  “You used the word spooked. What do you mean by that?”

  “He was haunted, you know, always looking around, scared like someone was going to jump out of the shadows. And hyper, never stayed still, not for a minute.”

  “When did this behaviour start?”

  “It must have been at least a couple of weeks.”

  “With the tantrums, did he single any one out?”

  “No male actors, of course, the man was a chauvinist. He gave Camira and Eleanor a hard time. Why Camira left the set the other day in tears and poor Andrew, he was the one who had to apologize, convince her back. No apologies offered by His Majesty, no sir, not one. Eleanor didn’t take any of his shit. She gave it back. I heard plenty of screaming matches between them off stage.”

  “You know what they were about?”

  “No, I couldn’t make out the words, heard the loud voices, that’s all. But I could take a good stab at the reason behind all the noise.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “He and Ellie go way back, to the New York days. They were close, very close. But something happened a while back. I’m not one for rumours but I did hear they had a thing going at one time. Certainly nothing on the go between them recently.”

  “I see. Did you notice any other changes?”

  “Yes. He became crueller when he critiqued, didn’t take the dignity of the person into consideration. I guess the problem I had with him on this production, what I took exception to, was the fact he thought my performance as Big Mama was lacking in southern authenticity. I couldn’t believe my ears. Why I’ve vacationed in the southern states for the last ten years – not authentic my ass. I told him just what I thought – I lost my temper, maybe went a bit too far with the male menopause bit, but I never did roll over easily.”

  No kidding. He asked a few more questions then shut it down. The whiskey fumes were getting to him.

  “Thank you for your cooperation Charlotte. You’ve been most helpful.”

  He came around the desk, took her arm and escorted her to the door.

  “You know Sergeant; I admire your interview skills. Why you managed to soothe my fears. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re very easy on the eyes as well.”

  Smiling, he watched her leave; her flag of anxiety flying much lower.

  ***

  Kate looked around Henry Ward’s office.

  The furniture, she thought, had to be bought at yard sales. Where else could you find those scratched, glass coffee tables, yellow cardboard coasters, the red plaid chair with buttons hanging by a thread, the old white Formica table, mahogany lamps shades covered in yellowed, torn plastic, and the eyelet curtains. A tasteless jumble that belied the immaculately dressed man.

  She sat behind the pressed wood desk that wobbled with the weight of her briefcase. She ejected the tape of her earlier interview with Ed Smith, the theatre’s janitor, labelled it and put it in the envelope.

  Snapping the case shut, she looked up at PC Shirley Proctor standing in the doorway.

  “Ready, Kate”, she asked.

  “Yes, send her in.”

  Kate stood, shook hands and motioned Eleanor Foster-Sutton to the turquoise plastic chair facing the desk. The set designer sat gingerly on its edge.

  “I’m curious, Ms. Sutton, is everyone responsible for providing their own office furniture?”

  Eleanor nodded and looked around the office.

  “Charming isn’t it? The room was used as storage for unwanted furniture and props. Henry doesn’t give a damn about his surroundings, never did, especially if changing it would cost him money, so other than re-arranging its disgusting contents, he left it as it was.”

  “I see.”

  Kate seated herself, her knees grazing the bottom of the desk. Although it would never hang in her own closet, Kate admired the designer’s clothing; the classic navy blue skirt that fell to the top of her knees, the long sleeve button down white shirt, the navy white capped shoes, the tasteful silver hoop earrings, silver chain link watch, thin white gold wedding band, and the small, leaf shaped silver broach pinned to the collar of her shirt.

  Wow, an authentic 1950 fashion statement. 55 going on 70. Tiny wrinkles nestled around the eyes and mouth. A hint of loosening skin around the jaw line. Sandy brown hair expensively cut. A manicured, carefully crafted, cool package.

  Kate began. It didn’t take long to gather the vitals: 25 years as a set designer, born and raised in Canada, attended an all girls private school, attained a Fine Arts Degree from Acadia University, went on to study theatre design, left Canada for New York city in her late twenties where she made her mark. Her set designs caught the attention of Jeffrey Stone, a fast rising talent. He wooed her to the new production he was directing and she won a Tony for her set design. That cemented their working relationship. She met Donald Sutton and fell hard. Jeffrey did everything in his power to persuade her to stay but she left New York, returned to Canada, and married Donald. They had one child, a daughter.

  “When did you resume working with Jeffrey Stone?”

  “Three years ago.”

  “Did you have a good working relationship in New York?”

  “It wasn’t always a comfortable relationship. It never is when you work with highly talented people but genius covers a lot of sins.”

  “How would you define his sins?”

  “Like all great artists, he was moody, temperamental, would throw his weight around when frustrated. He didn’t have a lot of tolerance for the less gifted. He never gave me a hard time though. He knew better.”

  “Did you notice a difference in your working relationship from the New York days?”

  “Yes.”

  This one’s going to be a tooth puller.

  “In what way?”

  Eleanor smoothed her wrinkle free skirt.

  “I think fame and adulation changed him. He added histrionics to his repertoire. There were more temper tantrums, shouting, ranting, and putting people down.”

  “Were you a target?”

  “Once, but I set him straight.”

  She looked down at her nails.

  “Do you know of anyone in the company who may have held a grudge against him?”

  “I’m sure there are some but I don’t know who they are. There were flare ups of course, but I wasn’t aware of anyone who harboured resentment. But I keep to myself, don’t get involved in the theatrics.”

  “Did his behaviour change happen gradually or was it obvious from the beginning of this production?”

  She lifted her eyes from her cuticles.

  “I would say it deteriorated rapidly over the last few weeks.” A miniscule smile appeared. “I asked him if there was something wrong, if everything was okay with Catherine, his wife, and the family. He denied there were any problems but I didn’t believe him.”

  “Was telling untruths another one of his sins?”

  “When it was convenient for him, he never hesitated.”

  “Did his problems interfere with his ability to Direct?”

  “No. He remained aware of what was going on. His antennae quivered at any hint of trouble on stage.”

  “You mentioned his wife, Catherine. Was their mar
riage a strong one?”

  That question was a direct hit if a body jerk means anything.

  “Jeffrey was a womanizer. He never learned to curb his sexual appetite; I don’t think he even bothered to try. Catherine remained loyal, so yes, I would say the marriage was strong.”

  “Is your husband connected with the theatre?”

  “No. He had no interest. We used to socialize with Jeffrey and Catherine but after our daughter’s death in a car accident, we stopped. My husband and I are now divorced.”

  Kate wondered if the divorce was connected to their daughter’s death but didn’t ask.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter. How long ago was the accident?”

  The question wasn’t welcome judging by her demeanour and cold tone.

  “Two years ago.”

  Kate decided to change tack.

  “Do you have any idea who would have wanted Jeffrey dead?”

  “No. He wasn’t well liked but hated enough to kill, no.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Eleanor. We may need to talk to you again. In the meantime, here’s my card, contact me if you think of anything that may be relevant.”

  Eleanor took the card, nodded, and left the office.

  Kate shut down the recorder and stored the tape. The woman’s mistaken about one thing. Jeffrey’s antenna wasn’t as sensitive as she thought or he would still be among the living.

  ***

  Sgt. Withers sat straight in the chair and looked at the actor sitting across from him. Not a man to hurry, he wrote in his notebook the time, date and name of person being interviewed even though it would be recorded on tape. He didn’t trust machines. He was forced to use a computer at work but there was none in his home.

  Although he bored most of the people he worked with, they depended on him. Rigid he may be; a fool he wasn’t. They would cue up at the two way mirror when he was interviewing for Withers could shut down people in minutes without any sign of the knock out coming.

  A stern look on his face, he looked across the desk at James Thompson, the actor who played Big Daddy. A good match, Withers thought, everything about the man was big.

  “Mr. Thompson, what was the status of your relationship with Jeffrey Stone?”

  “Well, we didn’t sleep together.”

  “I don’t give a damn about your sex life, Mr. Thompson.”

  The tone and look on Withers face elicited an apology.

  “Sorry. I can’t say our working relationship was great, but it wasn’t bad either, something more in-between...”

  “Can you be more specific, Mr. Thompson? Was it a good relationship or not?”

  “I’m trying. I’m a bit nervous I suppose, never witnessed a murder before, never ever saw a dead body before and this is my first interview with the police.” He paused, scrambling for his footing, looked at the impassive, patient face of the sergeant, got the cue to move on but was so nervous he couldn’t.

  “I never broke a law in my life. Well, there was the time I was driving drunk but no one stopped me, so I guess it doesn’t count.”

  The steely gaze pierced him. He took a deep breath.

  “To answer your question, our relationship was good. I’ve been around a long time; I’m a character actor and don’t require much direction. Jeffrey was satisfied with my performance, if he hadn’t been, I would have been the first to know. The last couple of weeks he wasn’t himself though; knocked things up a notch, if you know what I mean. He would lose it over the smallest things.”

  “Do you have any knowledge of what was bothering him?”

  “No, I don’t. He was edgy, quick to jump. His behaviour was unpredictable, erratic. Everyone on the set was uncomfortable around him, holding their breath, waiting for the next pounce. Strangely enough, towards the end of the production, he seemed to calm down, became very quiet. Perhaps he was relieved to be moving on. Who knows?”

  Withers asked if he had noticed anything different, something out of the ordinary, on the last night of the performance.

  James thought hard. He wanted to respond factually and for the first time in years, struggled to compose his words.

  “Yes, yes, I did. I’m not sure it has anything to do with his death. It was when we were called to the stage for his farewell toast. I was standing back, behind the assembly, and I heard a soft rustling sound to my right, off stage, sounded like it was coming from the hallway, followed by a laugh. It was strange laugh – choked, eerie sounding. Curious, I peered into the hallway, but I didn’t see anyone. I swore that’s where the sounds were coming from. It may sound weird, but Sergeant, it’s the gospel truth.”

  “There’s no need to bring God into it, Mr. Thompson. Did anyone else hear this laugh?”

  God, this man is actually intimidating me; I haven’t felt this way since I was in middle grade. He thinks I’ve imagined the laugh.

  He took another deep breath.

  “No, not that I’m aware of, at least no one gave any indication they did by turning around, looking puzzled or whatnot.”

  He glanced up at Withers and his voice trailed away. He left the room feeling like a schoolboy who had failed to pass a test.

  Withers shut off the tape, walked down the hallway and signalled to Shirley he was ready for the next one.

  ***

  Brenda Parsons came in the room, her face wreathed in smiles. Seated across from Withers, she listened to him explain the necessity of the interview being taped with all the intensity of a disciple, nodding and smiling in the affirmative.

  Withers was puzzled. He was used handling belligerence, insults and attitude, dealing with the withdrawn and timid, but someone who radiated sweetness and light, threw him. Too many years working in the precinct, he thought.

  “Ms. Parsons, how long have you been with the theatre company?”

  “About a year and a half. Mr. Stone gave me my first break.”

  “How did that come about?”

  “He heard of me through one of his friends. My sister, who was living with my husband and I at the time, was in a high school production that wasn’t going well. She knew I loved to write and asked if I would re-work the screenplay she and her two friends had concocted. I did and it proved to be successful. From there, I moved on to writing the plays put on in the summer by an amateur acting group at Point Pleasant Park. On one of his friend’s recommendation, I can`t remember who now, Jeffrey came, liked what he saw, and invited me to join the company. ”

  “What was your role on this production?”

  “Mine was a multi-tasked role. I ran errands, helped arranged the sets, sometimes took over the props from Ed, and made coffee. I didn’t mind, the opportunity to listen and learn from a theatrical genius was worth it.”

  She reached in the pocket of her sweater, pulled out a Kleenex and dabbed at the single tear standing in the corner of her eye.

  “What was Mr. Stone’s behaviour like on the set?”

  “He did get out of sorts from time to time, but not without reason. I don’t think he always found it easy dealing with lesser talents.”

  “He didn’t respect the company’s talent. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, not at all. It’s, well, it’s just that he was, you know, different and it’s hard sometimes for people to accept different.”

  “How did you get along with him?”

  “Fine. There were no problems.”

  “Would you say he had made some enemies on the set?”

  “He bruised a few egos, but no, he didn’t make any lasting enemies.”

  “So, Ms. Parsons, what happens to you now the play has wrapped?”

  “I’m not sure. Mr. Stone had assured me I had a promising future in the theatre but now that he’s gone, I can only hope others will see something of what he saw in me.”

 
; “That’s all for now Ms. Parsons. Thank you for your cooperation. We may call on you at some point in the future.”

  “You’re welcome. I am only too willing to cooperate with this investigation. The theatre has lost a great light. I consider it my duty to help in any way I can.”

  Withers nodded and watched her leave the room. Taking out his notebook, he entered her name and scribbled a small note: good candidate for another interview, too much sweetness and light.

  ***

  Andrew, summoned by the woman police constable for his interview, walked down the hallway, and knocked on the Eleanor’s office door. Disappointment stung him when he heard a male voice inviting him to come in. He hoped Sgt. Kate Fraser would be conducting the interview. Now that was a woman he could consider giving up his selfish slutty self for the likes of her.

  Her beauty had literally stunned him when the detective in charge introduced her. He had stood like an adolescent, nodding his head and smiling, unable to croak out a word. She was tallest woman he had met, would come up to his chin in her stocking feet, the image stung him with excitement. Probably got a thing going with someone.

  Sighing, he opened the door and entered the office. Gordon Ramsey sat behind the desk. Making like a Howard Hughes, he ignored Andrew`s extended hand, and invited him to be seated. He didn`t waste time with polite talk, turned the tape recorder on and began.

  “So, Mr. Wilkins, how long have you worked with Jeffrey Stone?”

  “Since he first joined us three years ago.”

  “Did the two of you get along?”

  “As well as anyone.”

  “That’s not an answer, Mr. Williams. Yes or no.”

  “A yes or no doesn’t work, too limiting, doesn’t take in all the little nuances found in working relationships. I guess I would lean towards yes, I mean, he could be difficult but it goes hand in glove with genius.”

  “Care to elaborate on genius?”

  “Just my personal observations, of course, but I’ve found gifted people to be a bit unbalanced, that is, they can swing to extremes very easily and can be temperamental when people don’t grasp their vision.”