Final Act

by Dianne Yetman

  “From what I know of the deceased, I don’t buy suicide”, Kate said.

  “Maybe not”, Gordon said. “Didn’t know you were chummy with her, Kate.”

  “She’s the cousin of a friend of mine. I met her six months ago. A focused young woman, intent on building her career, didn’t drink, and I don’t believe she used drugs.”

  “Remains to be seen, doesn’t it? You interviewed her Roger. What’s your take?”

  “Cooperative but nervous. Held it in check though and was able to answer questions. Confirmed the stories about tantrums. She didn’t want to admit it, but she had been a target of his outbursts. She said she knew about his over active libido but had no firsthand experience of it. She stumbled though when I asked her if she noticed anything unusual over the last couple of days - people hanging around the theatre, that sort of thing. She said no but I didn’t buy it. The question spooked her. I tried my damndest to get her to open up but she wouldn’t.”

  “Never ceases to amaze me how people treat us as if we’re the enemy”, Gordon said. He turned to Shirley.

  “I want you to do background checks on the deceased, interview her cousin and the doorman, or whoever passes for security at the apartment building.”

  Shirley nodded.

  Kate opened her mouth to protest but Gordon cut her off.

  “And now for the latest on Jeffrey Stone’s murder.”

  He opened his blue book and took out some papers, turned to the last page and paraphrased the pathologist’s summary of the autopsy findings on Jeffrey Stone.

  “58 year old white male, well nourished, major organs healthy, long life expectancy. Death caused by ingestion of Hydrogen Cyanide, commonly known as Prussic Acid - a bluish white liquid with bitter almond odour. Anyone wants to read about its genetic makeup, its uses, and applications, let me know and I’ll have my P.A. copy the full report.”

  No requests came from the gathered group.

  “Bottom line, hydrogen cyanide can cause rapid death in humans due to metabolic asphyxiation. Death can occur within seconds or minutes of ingestion of high concentration - in this case 10%. Exposure can result in weakness, headache, confusion, vertigo, fatigue, anxiety, nausea and vomiting.”

  “No one interviewed mentioned any signs the victim was suffering from headache or fatigue”, Shirley said.

  “No, and that doesn’t surprise me. He showed all the symptoms of ingestion of a large amount of cyanide; his collapse was instantaneous, followed by unconsciousness, convulsions and immediate death.”

  “It doesn’t make sense Gordon. Why would Jeffrey down a drink containing a light coloured liquid smelling like almonds?” Roger asked.

  “Good question. Two reasons. According to the report food dye matching the amber colour of whiskey and the victim’s major sinus infection.”

  “What do they use hydrogen cyanide for”, Withers asked.

  “HCN is produced on an industrial scale, and is a highly valuable precursor to many chemical compounds, ranging from polymers to pharmaceuticals. Laymen terms: used in nylons, medicines. So we need to look for a killer who has a good chemistry background and has access to the compound. Simple, right?”

  An answer wasn’t expected and he didn’t get one.

  “George will soon be releasing the victim’s body for burial today. Okay, time to give me your latest, folks.”

  Kate and Roger both shared the results of their interviews. Shirley advised all background checks on cast and crew came out clean. Withers recommended someone follow up with June Grayson, the hairdresser, as she was a close friend of Camira’s and may know something.

  “Thanks, Withers”, Gordon said, “It’s all yours. Kate and Roger, get on to the HCN. Find out where the killer could have got a hold of it. One more thing before we wrap. The Chief checked in last night from the police conference in New York. I filled him in the Stone’s murder and he’s hot for anything to give to the press. A solved murder case would make for a nice welcome home gift for him and the press. See what you can come up with. And, in case any of you have forgotten, next weekend is a long one – Remembrance Day. So if you want to spend it with your families, get moving.”

  ***

  Cst. Shirley Proctor found a parking spot on one of the side streets just off Bedford Highway. She filled the meter and walked towards the high rise complex, heart in her throat. Her first interview and she didn’t want to blow it. Her husband’s word echoed in her head – chill out, stay calm, Shirl, don’t blow it girl by trying too hard.

  She walked into the larger foyer of the apartment building, and her heart beat a little faster. She loved policing. Had put in seven years at the precinct working a 9 to 5 job as Assistant to Deputy Chief waiting until she didn’t have to work around the kid’s babysitters, and her husband’s shift work, before applying and being accepted as a rookie police offer. Now, she wanted nothing more than to be one of those independent, irreverent, hard working detectives.

  She nodded at the doorman and stepped into the foyer. The high ceiling, cream and brown marble floor, the bank of elevators tucked away in the left hand corner blended together to create a quiet, rich ambience. To the right, a large circular mahogany counter enclosed the working space of the front security officer. It was empty. From the back corridor came the sound of hurrying feet and a short, overweight, balding man, nearer 70 than 60, came bustling up to her.

  “Constable Proctor? Hello. I’m Harold Tell, the security officer on duty the night of Ms. Paul’s unfortunate demise. I apologize for not being out front but I had nipped out back to hurry Arthur, my replacement, on his way.”

  And on cue, a tall, lanky man with the posture and long face of Eyore shuffled behind the counter. Harold led her down the back corridor to a small office. He sat behind the desk and motioned her to the red chair. She opened her bag, took out her notebook and began the interview hoping her voice wouldn’t betray her nervousness.

  “Mr. Tell, how long have you been working in your current position?”

  “Call me Harold, please. It’s been seven years now. Retirement didn’t suit me and the building manger happens to be related to my wife and gave me the job. A job I like and, if I say so myself, good at.”

  “You must know most of the residents pretty well.”

  “Yes I do and I have to say, they’re a fine bunch. Most of them are retired. They like the personal touches we offer and of course, the security.”

  A red flush began at the base of his neck and travelled upwards.

  “How well did you know Ms. Paul?”

  “Quite well, she was a friendly, always smiling. Generous too, she never forgot staff at Christmas.”

  “Did she have a lot of visitors?”

  “There were two regulars. Her cousin, Rev. Hanya, and her grandmother. A few others but they weren’t regular.”

  “Who were these few others?”

  “Theatre people. A sharp bunch, laughing, talking all at once, believe me, once they were in the elevator, the silence was deafening.”

  “A high-spirited bunch. Is that how you would describe Ms. Paul?”

  “Goodness, no. Ms. Paul, was quiet, kept mostly to herself. Came back tired on nights she was acting; I could see it in her face.” He shook his head. “What happened to her is horrible, beyond belief. She was too young to die. And I don’t believe for one moment she committed suicide. It had to be an accident.”

  “Did you speak with Ms. Paul on the night she died?”

  “No, I never laid eyes on her. Like I told those two detectives, she had no visitors either, other than her cousin.”

  “How do you know there were no other visitors?”

  “I was on the front desk all evening.”

  “You didn’t leave your post at all?”

  He shifted in his chair.

  “Once, but it was only for a few m
inutes. Mrs. Cunningham, her apartment’s on the first floor, around the corner from the elevators, came to see me all upset. Her cat got out. I settled her in this office and took a quick look through the hall corridors. I found it in the staff washroom, stretched out in front of the toilet, sleeping. I was only away from my post 7 minutes tops.”

  “What time was it when you went to search for the cat?”

  “Sometime around 9 o’clock.”

  “Did you notice anything when you came back to your post?”

  “Yes. I heard the bell ring as I entered the foyer and noticed someone get into the elevator. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman as their back was to me. It seemed odd that someone would face the back of an elevator, doesn’t it? Some folks, you never know where they come from. Had on a long black coat and one of those old fashioned fedora hats. The elevator stopped at the 4th floor.”

  “That’s Ms. Paul’s floor, isn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  This man’s blades need sharpening.

  “Did you see this person come back down?”

  “No, I didn’t and I was here the whole time. Perhaps they left after my shift or stayed the night. Hard to say.”

  “Who did you see come off the elevator after this person went up to Ms. Paul’s floor?”

  “There wasn’t a lot of lobby traffic. It was a quiet night. Let’s see, there was Mrs. Cunningham, of course, then Mr. Nelson, a long time tenant, he came down to check his mail. And a tall man, dressed to the nines who nodded hello, and a very slim, tall, elegant looking woman. No one else came down.”

  “Could someone using the stairwell bypass the lobby?”

  “Well, yes, if they went to underground parking.”

  A little oil on those blades wouldn’t hurt either.

  “Do you have a security camera?”

  “Yes. Hidden pretty well isn’t it? It’s behind that moulding over the entranceway.”

  “Is there one in underground parking?”

  “Yes, as far as I know.”

  “I’ll need those tapes.”

  “Sure. I’ll drop those by the precinct on my way home. I live in the city, not too far away.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would give them to me when we finish our interview. Do you have replacements?”

  “”I’m not sure. I’ll check.”

  “Maybe you could get your man Arthur on it.”

  He picked up his two way and gave Arthur the instructions.

  Shirley handed him her card.

  “Would also appreciate you giving more thought about anything else you may remember about that night.”

  “Will do.”

  She asked to see Ms. Pauls’ apartment. It wasn’t part of her mandate but she wanted a glimpse into Camira’s life, her personality, and nothing would reveal it more than her living quarters. She took her time examining every nook and cranny. It was a saddened police constable that left the apartment - sad at the loss of such a beautiful, talented woman.

  She thanked him Graham for his cooperation on her way out. Expecting a parking ticket, she was pleasantly surprised to see an empty windshield. She got into her car and made her way back to the precinct. The faster I write this up, she thought; the faster it gets to Gordon’s desk.

  When Shirley entered the precinct, she saw people scattered across the foyer like leaves tossed about by the wind. They were dressed just as colourfully as well. A large lady wearing bright orange was leaning into the face of a small man decked out in bright green. A tired looking woman, dressed in black and gray, stood next to a tattooed, body pierced teenager, decked out in torn black jeans, a lime green sweater and yellow jacket. Standing off to the side was a tall, good looking man wearing a royal blue blazer, light grey pants and a cream coloured t-shirt sporting a ‘dare to imagine’ logo.

  Shirley watched as Withers entered the foyer from the locked stairwell, glanced at the gathered crowd, opened the locked door to the plastic bubble and relieved the tired looking constable. He looked out at the waiting people. “Next”, he called.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, the man in the royal blue blazer stood before Kate in her office and introduced himself as John Graham. She motioned him to sit in Roger’s empty chair.

  “Thank you for coming in Mr. Graham. Sgt. Withers advised you have some information about Camira Paul.”

  “Yes”, he said. “Hanya George suggested I contact you.”

  “How long have you known Camira?”

  “Over 4 years. I was her agent up until she left modelling for acting. Hanya called me yesterday afternoon at my office in Toronto to let me know about her death. I caught the early bird flight this morning.”

  Tears welled in his eyes. Kate gave him a few moments. He stared at a spot on the wall behind her head until the tears dried.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. She obviously was a close friend of yours.”

  “Yes, we were close. I’m here to tell you that she did not commit suicide. Impossible, I can’t believe you people can actually think that.”

  He glared at Kate, his captured target.

  “The final results of the autopsy aren’t in yet but preliminary signs indicate a possible suicide. The reason for her death will be confirmed by the Coroner’s office in the next day or so.”

  “I can tell you right now what the result will be, either accidental death or murder. I was with her two nights before her death. We had made arrangements to meet at our favourite restaurant after the play. She was bubbling over with excitement and told me about her new job offer and was going to make flight arrangements as soon as the play wrapped. This was not a suicidal woman. She had just gotten the biggest break of her career.”

  “Did Camira use drugs?”

  The unexpected question threw him.

  “Why? What does that have to do with anything? Oh, never mind. The answer is no”, he said. “Not to my knowledge. She drank white wine and even that was limited. She did say she would take the occasional sleeping pill, the non-addictive ones, when she was wound up from a performance. Camira was a focused young woman and would not have done anything to jeopardize her career.”

  “When you finished dinner, did you drive her home?”

  “No,” he said. “She brought her own car. We walked out of the restaurant together, said goodnight, and headed for our own cars.”

  “Did you see her get into her car and drive away?”

  “Yes, I stood and watched to make sure she reached it safely.”

  “Did she speak to anyone on the way?”

  “No, she didn’t speak as in a conversation but I saw her wave and shout hello to someone across the street from the theatre who was just getting into a cab.”

  “Was it someone you knew? Did you get a good look at this person?”

  “No, it was no one I knew, the person was too far away. Camira waved, said hello and not getting any response, walked to her car and drove away.”

  “Had you noticed this person before Camira waved?”

  “Yes, crossing the street.”

  “In front of the theatre?”

  “No, not in front. The person came out of the alleyway next to the theatre.”

  Kate scribbled furiously.

  “Look, I came in to tell you Camira didn’t kill herself. Whatever happened, it wasn’t suicide. That’s all I have to say.”

  Kate reassured him the information he had travelled so far to give them was appreciated and would help them in this case. She asked him to give his contact information and statement to one of the constables. He agreed and left the small room a few minutes later following Shirley Proctor.

  Kate buzzed Gordon’s office and asked if they could meet. He’d see her in ten minutes which gave her just enough time to round up Roger who was in the incident room doing background
research on the poison that killed Jeffrey Stone.

  Seven minutes later, the two detectives sat in front of their boss’s desk.

  “So, he flew all the way from Toronto to tell us. Well, well, well. Lends a bit of credibility to his conviction it wasn’t suicide”, Gordon said. “The mysterious person getting into a cab sounds promising. Follow up with the cab companies.”

  “We’ve already been in touch”, Kate said. “Nothing turned up yet but the drivers work in shifts. The companies are going to contact us once everyone’s been canvassed.”

  “Good. Maybe we can wrap this one up quickly. Okay, moving on. I have a report to share with you.”

  He passed them Shirley’s report on her interview with security at the apartment building in Bedford. Roger and Kate, heads as close as wool to knitting needles, studied the report.

  Kate spoke first.

  “The person in the elevator, wearing the dark, shapeless coat could be our killer. Matches the description the security guard gave of the person getting into the cab.”

  “Seems likely doesn’t it”, Gordon said. “Okay, I’m off to brief the Chief, you two can pass the info along to the rest of the team.”

  “I’m off to brief the Chief; you two brief the rest of the team.”

  Kate waited until they were back in their office before sharing with Roger that Hanya had called her early this morning requesting a meeting.

  “Gordon has assigned Shirley to interview her and clearly doesn’t want me involved – conflict of interest. Anyway, I told Hanya I’d meet her tomorrow morning so I may be a bit late arriving. Cover for me will you?”

  Roger nodded. “Now, Kate, let’s talk about how we’re going to proceed with the list of companies who have hydrogen cyanide on their premises.”