Final Act

by Dianne Yetman

  “You take it on; I’m going to do a one-on-one with Catherine Stone. I hear the company is rehearsing the next production. Soon as we finish I hear, I think we should pay them a visit. I’ve got something else to run by you but there a few things I need to clear out of the way first.”

  Kate scanned her e-mail. The usual – updates from the Union, lists of upcoming workshops and seminars, monthly feel good message from the Police Commissioner, latest crime stat reports, bulletins outlining changes in policies, procedures and of course, joke of the week. She went through the written messages, nothing that couldn’t wait. She wrote a note to herself to return Hanya’s call, shut down her computer and resumed her conversation with Shirley.

  “I followed up on Jeffrey’s propensity for young girls and had some news back from a NYC precinct, can’t remember which one now, it’s somewhere here in my correspondence, positively mind boggling how many stations they have. Anyway, there was a spot of trouble around a minor. Apparently charges were brought by the 16 year old girl’s parents but dropped two days later. According to the officer’s report, parents said they had misunderstood the circumstances, had jumped the gun too quickly. Having no evidence to proceed on their own, the police dropped it.”

  “So Ward was right. The bastard liked them young.”

  “Yeah. Background check on Ward is in. Young girls aren’t his style but gambling is. The man’s debts are staggering. Maybe he was trying a bit of blackmail on Stone and it went bad.”

  “Sounds probable.”

  “Yeah, but you know what keeps cropping up, Shirley? Young girls. Beautiful young girls. It struck me when I thought about Camira. Young, beautiful, starting out in the theatre, she was just 19, do you suppose there was something between her and Stone? Thought I might question cast and crew some more. If there was something between them, one of them is likely to be aware.”

  “Young girls? You used the plural.”

  “Yeah. Roger’s beating ties into these two murders. Has to given the warning from the drug squad. Here’s my thinking on it. Stone, Eleanor and Philip all have daughters that fit the same age group. Philip’s daughter is studying at Dalhousie, Stone’s is overseas somewhere. Eleanor’s daughter was killed in a car accident, no drugs detected in her system. But drugs and young girls are a lethal murderous mix. Maybe that’s the motive. The drug team are out in full force and believe me, the drug community has more leaks than my aunt’s bladder. We should start to hear things pretty soon.”

  “A vein worth needling. I mean he hadn’t been on the streets for two years and drug dealers don’t wait that long for revenge.”

  “I’m going to have to play this tight; I’ve been warned by Gordon to stay off the case. Alright, let’s go to the theatre and do some digging, deep digging, deep enough to know if the company members still have tonsils.”

  Kate and Shirley checked out an unmarked police car and headed towards the centre of the city. They drove past the fort as the noon day canon boomed; the seasoned joggers mounting the hill didn’t miss a beat. Shirley manoeuvred the car through the congested noon day traffic and managed to catch the light at one of the longest intersections in the city.

  “Good save Shirley. What other hidden talents do you have?”

  Nothing I’m going to share with you, Shirley thought. I’m taking it slow with you.

  “That’s it I’m afraid.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Neither woman spoke for the new few minutes.

  “I wonder what’s up with Withers. He’s been acting strange lately, not himself at all. Almost carefree, for God’s sake.”

  “You mean you haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what”, Kate asked.

  “He’s fallen for June, hard. The man’s hurting.”

  “June Grayson?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Kate smiled. “I’ll be damned; Withers in love with a potential suspect, now there’s one for the books.”

  “Not potential anymore Kate, according to Roger, her alibi is solid.”

  The two women lapsed into a longer silence.

  Shirley thought about Gordon’s call inviting her to become a temporary member of the Murder Squad, working under Kate’s supervision, as an Acting Sergeant Detective. It took all her self-control not to show her elation and she was able to give a calm, respectful response.

  Her elation died a few minutes later when she was telling her husband. She thought of the reason for her opportunity; an officer down and for all she knew, fighting for his life. She had trouble sleeping. Shirley stifled a yawn; the autumn sun pouring into the car was making her dozy. Her body jerked wide awake at the sudden yell from Kate.

  “Stop the car, now.”

  “What the hell”, Shirley asked.

  “Just stop the car dammit!”

  Shirley hit the brakes and Kate was out of the car running towards a tall, black man carrying a briefcase. She watched in horror as Kate grabbed him by the jacket and pushed him up against the brick wall.

  Although she couldn’t hear what Kate was saying over the roar of passing traffic, she knew it wasn’t good. Shit, shit, shit, what do I do now? One wrong move and I’m off the team. She pulled the car over, opened the door and walked slowly towards them. As she approached, she saw Kate grab the man’s briefcase.

  “Where did you get this? Tell me now loser. Where did you get it?”

  The man tried to speak but couldn’t. Kate had pinned him against the wall; her arm across his throat.

  Shirley moved in and stood to the right of Kate.

  “Kate, let him go. Drop your arm. Now.”

  Kate was shaking; her breathing ragged but Shirley thought she had eased her grip.

  “Good, Kate, breathe. That’s right. Now drop your arm, let him go.”

  Kate released her grip and stepped back. The man bent over and spewed on the sidewalk. No one spoke. He lifted his head, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and glared at Kate.

  “What’s wrong with you lady? Are you crazy?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s up, you bastard”, Kate said, “The briefcase you’re carrying belongs to a good friend of mine who’s lying in a hospital bed, his body beaten to within an inch of his life.”

  “You’re nuts. I’ve had this case for years. I got it at a car rally in ’95. See the date inscribed on the medallion. See my name.” He reached in his back pocket. “Look at this bitch, read it, see my name; same as the initials on the briefcase. Is that good enough for you?” The man reached for his cell. “If not, you better get out of my face before I call the police.”

  “Come on Kate”, Shirley said. “Let’s go.”

  Kate paled, and shook like one who had just been suckered punched.

  “Get lost lady. I don’t have time for this shit; I’ve got a room people waiting for my presentation.” He turned to Shirley. “If I were you, I’d see that your friend gets help.”

  Shirley steered Kate towards the car, got behind the wheel and sped away, neither woman spoke for the next five minutes.

  “I swore it was Roger’s briefcase, Shirley. I mean, the racing decals, the same colour. Christ almighty, how many race jocks are there in this city?”

  “Roger’s briefcase, together with his gun and shield, are in his lock up. First thing I was asked to check on this morning. I didn’t think to mention it during our briefing.”

  “Didn’t think about nails it. I want to know everything, understand. Savy? Never hold anything back from a working partner. Nothing.”

  “I hear you and it won’t happen again. But I’m not the cop who slammed Joe Citizen around for nothing. As far as I’m concerned, it didn’t happen. One more hint of something else like this though, I’ll spill my guts to everyone and anyone who will listen. I have a lot to learn but one thing I know, our job is to protect the public, not menace them.
”

  Kate stared out the window and said nothing.

  ***

  Andrew stood on the sidelines and watched the first rehearsal of Arthur Miller’s play, Death of a Salesman. He paid careful attention to Charlotte; akaWillie Loman’s wife, as she stretched her arms, mimed waking up, put on her robe, and tried to portray a woman who is listening for her husband to arrive.

  James, as Willie Loman, the Salesman, entered carrying two large sample cases. He crossed the stage to the doorway of his house, his exhaustion apparent. He unlocked the door, came into the kitchen, and dropped the cases.

  “Willy!” Linda calls.

  “Stop”, Henry says.

  The two actors turn to their Director.

  “Charlotte darling, the tone isn’t quite right. It implies a much younger wife who can’t wait to get Willy in bed. Linda loves her husband, more than loves him, she admires him, his mercurial nature, his dreams and little cruelties but it is a love of wisdom, not passion. Your motivation is good, and great job on the listening. But a temper the passion in saying his name...”

  Eleanor strode across the set, apologized for the interruption and pulled Henry aside. Kate and Shirley stood on the left wing of the stage.

  Charlotte stormed across centre stage to Andrew.

  “What the hell is going on? Are the police going to haunt every production we’re in?”

  “No idea, Charlotte.”

  “We’ve got work to do. After all, we’re not doing a Cole Porter ditty. Death of a Salesman requires concentration and long hours of rehearsal. Our new director isn’t following in the footsteps of his predecessor. Jeffrey would have put the run to them.”

  “Get used to it Charlotte. Henry isn’t Jeffrey. He deserves our support. Going from a producer to director is no easy stretch.”

  She shot him a curious look.

  “Maybe so, but I’m concerned about this production. Too many changes, those two new actors that are playing the boys – too inexperienced, if you ask me. When I started out, I didn’t overstep my talent, I let it evolve under the nurture of those more experienced than I. Why it took me ten long years before I felt competent enough for one of the Bard’s plays.”

  Andrew bit his tongue.

  “No, there are too many changes. Furthermore, I’m not sure Eleanor knows what she’s doing. After all, arranging furniture one minute and producing a show the next is quite a leap.”

  “Pull your reins in, Charlotte. That’s hardly fair to Eleanor.”

  “Andrew, my dear, you’re too kind. You were robbed, cheated. If you were in the Director’s chair, as anyone with any sense would agree, we would have order not this chaos.”

  “Watch what you’re saying Charlotte. It’s dangerous times we live in. I know what it takes to put on a play and I know the little it takes to derail it. As the stage manager I’m keeping a close eye on every facet of this production so, no need to panic, no need at all.”

  “Oh, never mind. Maybe I’m being a bit too harsh; Eleanor does have all those Toni’s to her name, she may do okay. And Henry isn’t too bad, I just can’t get used to his approach – so mild mannered, so polite, he minces. It’s not sexy at all.”

  Gag me.

  “That’s it, Charlotte. Chin up attitude, it’s all about attitude.”

  Charlotte watched Kate and Shirley walk across the stage. And it wasn’t only Charlotte who watched them approach. Henry and Eleanor, huddled together, broke off their whispered conversation and stood staring as well.

  Kate stepped forward, apologized for interrupting their rehearsal but it was important that they speak with them. She promised not to detain them any longer than necessary.

  It took two hours before the two detectives packed up their gear and left the premises.

  Worried looking cast members resumed the rehearsal. Eleanor and Henry walked up the theatre aisle and sat in seats far removed from the stage and were soon deep in conversation.

  “I know the time pressures, Eleanor. You don’t have to remind me.”

  “A firmer hand, Henry, that’s all I’m saying. We’ve both got a lot riding on this production. People are watching. I don’t know what your ambitions are but this is my chance and I don’t want anything screwing it up.”

  “You know, Eleanor, we got our chance as a result of Jeffrey’s murder, not because we necessarily deserved it.”

  “Don’t be silly. The Board could have chosen anyone else but they chose us. So, let’s not waste time. I wasn’t happy with the second act, the scene between Willy and Howard isn’t right. Have you spoken to them yet?”

  “No, I ...” Henry glanced up at Andrew. “I don’t think we should talk here. We’ll continue this conversation later.”

  Eleanor bit the nail on her baby finger nail.

  Chapter 11

  At 7:00pm, Kate shut off her computer, locked the office door, left the precinct and made her way downtown to meet her friends for a beer and something to eat. Gordon wasn’t at the precinct when she and Shirley got back from the theatre. She’d brief him on the interview results tomorrow morning after she paid an early morning visit to Roger. She heard a rumour that he was fairly lucid these days. Not so when she dropped in on her way home last evening.

  He looked so vulnerable lying in the hospital bed in a drugged induced sleep. Randy, sitting on one side of the bed, Sara on the other. Neither speaking but sporting big smiles when she walked into the room. She joined them in their silent vigil, smiling at the racing car mobile attached to the overhead light directly over Roger’s bed, the colourful cars twirling gently with climate control breeze.

  Sara, a doctor’s bells and whistles hanging off her white coat, stroked Roger’s hand. The book, Porche 917, The Undercover Story by Gordon Wingrove lay by his side. Obviously she had been reading from it before Randy had come into the room.

  She sat for who knows how long before she found herself nodding off. The sound of a buzzer from the nurses’ station woke her. Saying goodnight to Randy and Sara, she left the hospital, stopped in the neighbourhood deli for takeout; she had walked home hoping to clear her head of anxious thoughts. No brooding tonight. Meet with my friends, eat and drink and a good night’s sleep is in order.

  Ten minutes later she was sitting at the Dock waiting for her friends to arrive nursing a cold draft. She scanned the room. Quiet this evening. She thought about the decaled briefcase and asked herself for the umpteenth time – why?

  Don’t engage, listen to the music. She focused on the W.B. Yeats’ love song:

  Down by the Sally Gardens

  It was down by the Sally Gardens, my love and I did meet.

  She crossed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet.

  She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grown on the tree,

  But I was young and foolish, and with her did not agree.

  As soon as the song ended, she began to beating herself up again. Bullying an innocent person - okay, maybe bully isn’t quite the word, too soft. Crap, I’m not going there. Where are they? She took another sip of beer, a shorter, slower one. There’s no way I’m going to add maudlin to my list of failings, fat chance of getting away with it once Abir and Sandra arrive anyway. Focus, focus – what’s the special tonight?

  She swivelled around and read the chalked board. Irish stew, soda bread, and green salad. Good food, now where are the friends? She watched the male waiters carrying trays of fish and chips, oysters, glasses of stout, red wine, salads, salmon, veggies dishes, escargots and steaming bowls of Irish stew high above their head to avoid collisions with beer drinking patrons, some who were stumbling towards the toilet sign, hoping, no doubt, there wouldn’t be a line up.

  Black pants, white shirt, black bow ties and short, black jackets on tall, slim, good looking men held her attention and she wondered how The Dock’s job requirements read. Only the sex
y, good looking need apply? Shrewd, savvy business owners, Paddy and Kathy, opened their establishment ten years ago and had never had a bad night. Their customers retained their loyalty to the establishment with all the religious zeal of the faithful.

  The bar was one of the beloved attractions. It was designed and manufactured in Ireland - no expense spared - the materials and wood panelling being imported along with the furniture. There were a number of large screen TV’s that showed all the popular sports of the season; the satellite wired up to be able to show 3 different games at the same time – a great crowd pleaser. A large pool table was situated at the rear of the bar for those patrons who loved to drink, gamble, and play before or after their meal.

  The outdoor terrace at the front of the premises was a popular place from April until the end of October. Regulars braved the cool nights rather than come inside. It was empty now. Frost had arrived.

  Kate and friends however didn’t patronize the Dock in the dead of summer – too many tourists invaded the bar and there was no chance of getting their favourite table and or finishing the evening off with nightcaps and a game of pool.

  She looked towards the entrance. Finally, they’re here. She signalled to Sean to bring the usual drinks. for her friends. How disgustingly happy they look, she thought, as the two tall women, one fair, one dark, made their way to the table.

  In mere seconds, they were pulling out their chairs, flashing smiles of thanks at Sean for their drinks of Irish whiskey and Cranberry Juice. Kate finished her beer and ordered another, sans smile.

  “How’s Hanya doing”, Sandra asked.

  “Not as bad as she could be, she’ll be joining us soon I hope”, Kate said.

  Abir leaned in close.

  “Okay, spill the beans. Something’s brewing in that face of yours and it’s nothing to do with Hanya’s tragedy. A week night, off the cuff call to meet you at The Dock gives it away.”