The curtain came down to thunderous applause from the audience—and stayed down. I followed Alex as he rushed onto the stage to the tight knot of people gathered
around Donna's limp body. Margot was kneeling down beside her when I pushed my way into the group, and she looked up with a reassuring smile on her face.
"She's all right," Margot said in a relieved voice. "Just fainted, that's all."
"You think, maybe the prima donna is sick?" Navarre asked anxiously.
"Nerves," Margot said briskly. "When she dropped the head, I guess her nerves were so taut she—" Her voice trailed away into silence as she looked at the head which lay on the floor beside Donna Alberta.
Margot's face went a gray color and her eyes bulged with a glassy stare.
"What is it?" Alex asked urgently. "What's wrong?"
She lifted a trembling arm and pointed—^the head of Jokanaan was surrounded by a glistening dark pool of wetness.
*'Blood?" Alex croaked in frantic disbelief.
Chapter Ten
LIEUTENANT CHASE LOOKED AT fflS WATCH
and gruntly sourly, then looked at me with a positive loathing on his face.
"One A.M.," he snarled. "We'll be here all night! Give it to me again, Boyd."
"I was here by mvitation," I repeated patiently. "Margot Lynn invited me. The stage manager can alibi me anyway —we were together the whole time in his box, except for intermission."
"The Lynn dame is your client, isn't she?"
"That's right," I agreed. "She was nervous, that's why she wanted me around."
"Nervous of what?" Chase barked.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Just nervous, I guess."
"I got a nasty feeling you're holding out on me, Boyd," he said coldly. "If you know anything I don't, you'd better give it to me now,"
"If I find any definite proof, I'll hand it straight over, Lieutenant," I said carefully.
"Yeah." He didn't sound convinced. "This whole case bugs me! First I get a jack-in-the-box corpse that pops up to greet me like something out of the late, late show. Now I got this—a decapitated head handed up on a shield into the middle of an opera!"
He shook his head slowly. "What kind of a maniac is this?"
"I can't figure how he got away with it," I said. "With the number of people backstage the whole time."
"There's a passageway under the stage to the trap door," Chase said. "The entrance is way back in the
wings and there's a pile of old props and junk stored around it—with everybody else working, concentrating on the action of the opera, it would be easy for anyone to sneak in there.
"The prop man put the clay model of the head, and the shield, at the foot of the steps leading up to the trap door," Chase continued. "That was before the play started —then directly after intermission, Tybolt went into the passageway. There was a bit in the second part where Salome talked to him while he was down in the dstem, right?"
"Right," I agreed.
"When that was finished, the only other person to go down was the guy playing the executioner. The way he tells it, it was pretty dark down there. The shield with the head on it was where it should've been, so he picked it up and handed it out to Donna Alberta on stage without a second look."
"Where was the body?" I asked.
"Halfway down the passageway—^but no sign of a weapon." Chase shook his head again. "Whoever it was must have used a meataxe to decapitate Tybolt the way it was done—severed cleanly in one blow."
I didn't care to think about that for too long. "The murderer must have been waiting for Tybolt in the passageway then?" I prodded.
"That's how it figures," Chase agreed morosely. "He must have waited until Tybolt had sung his last line, then gone into the tunnel and killed him."
"Hacked off his head, then substituted it for the clay model already on the shield," I said nervously. "Just thinking about it makes me scared of the dark!"
"He left the body near the entrance from the wings," the lieutenant growled. "Far enough away from the trap door to be sure the guy playing the executioner wouldn't notice when he came down."
I lit a cigarette and tried to see the bright side. "It lets my chent off the hook—she was on stage from intermission right through, so Margot Lynn couldn't have done it."
"Yeah, I know." The sour look returned to his face. "On the same count, neither could Navarre or Donna
Alberta, either. I figured both Kendall and Tybolt were killed by the same person, and this second murder narrows down the suspects in a big way—to just three people—Harvey, Kasplin, and the Mills woman."
"None of them have alibis?" I queried.
Chase snorted. "Harvey claims he was in the manager's office along with his stooge, Benny Carter, the whole time. But who'd take the word of a stinking little punk with a record like Benny's got? Kasplin claims Tybolt spoke to him during intermission, said he had something urgent and confidential to tell him so would Kasplin wait in his dressing room until he was through with his singing bit from the tunnel. So Kasplin sat in Tybolt's dressing room waiting patiently—and was still sitting there when somebody came in and told him there'd been a murder."
"You believe that?" I asked.
"It means nothing either way," Chase said with a shrug. "It's the truth or he's lying—I got to prove which and it won't be easy."
"How about Helen Mills?"
His nose wrinkled disgustedly. "There's something about that dame that really bugs me—maybe it's those big cheaters and the sly look in back of them. Opening nights always make her nervous, she said, so she sat in Donna Alberta's dressing room until it was all over—alone."
"With only three suspects it shouldn't be too hard, Lieutenant," I said stupidly.
"Maybe you got the whole deal figured already, wise guy?" he snarled. "Like motive and everything, huh?"
"I'm sorry," I said hastily. "I was trying to cheer you up a little."
"Don't!" he snapped. "I figured it the same way— with three suspects, simple! But it don't work out that way. We got here within fifteen minutes of your call— the doorman swears nobody but nobody left the theater in that time. I've had a dozen men combing the whole backstage area for the last two hours and they still can't find the murder weapon. Figure that one out, Boyd. How do you hide something big enough to cut off a man's head in one swipe?"
"I dig your problems, Lieutenant," I said sympathetically.
Chase gave me a dirty look. "You don't know how lucky you are, Boyd," he said slowly. "Having that stage manager to give you a cast-iron alibi!"
"Have you found any connecting motive for the two murders yet?" I asked hopefully.
"No!" he bellowed irately. "Get the hell out of here and stop wasting my time." I was halfway toward the door when he shouted again. "You're the last on the Hst. I guess there's no point in keeping them here any longer—tell the rest of them they can go on home."
"Sure, Lieutenant," I said politely.
I nearly made the door when he spoke again, his voice suddenly soft. "Boyd?"
"Lieutenant?" I turned my head wearily and looked at him.
"Somebody cracked Harvey's nose for him but he won't say who," Chase went on in that mild voice. "Benny Carter's got a nasty bruise on his nose and he's not saying, either. Funny kind of coincidence, huh?"
"I should laugh?"
"Maybe you know who did it to the both of them?"
"No," I said innocently. "What makes you think I would?"
"It's the kind of strong-arm tactics a cheap private eye like you would use, that's why!"
"Maybe they had a fight among themselves, Lieutenant," I suggested. "How about that?"
His face was wistful. "Before I'm through with this case, I'll get something on you that'll stick, Boyd." A dreamy look came into his eyes. "And when I do I'll use it to beat you over the head so hard, you'U finish up looking the way Tybolt does right now!"
"Lieutenant," I said incredulously, "does this mean you don't like me?"
<
br /> I got out of the manager's office fast before Chase gave me a detailed list, and went back to the bit players' dressing room where the rest of them sat waiting glumly for the good word from Chase.
It was a quarter of two when we got inside my
apartment. I eot busy making a couple of king-sized drinks, while Margot sank thankfully into the nearest armchair.
I handed her a drink, then sat on the couch facing her and lifted my glass. "Cheers," I said thirstily. "I can sure use this!"
"Amen," she said fervently, tilting the glass to her lips. "Ah, that's better," she said approvingly after a five-second interval. "It's been a rough night!"
"It sure has," I agreed. "One bright spot—^you had a cast-iron alibi being on stage the whole time, so you aren't Chase's favorite suspect any more."
"That's fine," she said without any real enthusiasm.
Her dark eyes searched my face carefully. "Danny— did you tell him about Harvey and the blackmail?"
"Not yet," I said. "I need your statement first."
Margot finished her drink, then leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.
"Danny—^you know why Rex was murdered, don't you?"
"No," I said truthfully. "Do you?"
"I think it's painfully obvious," she said in a low voice. "He talked to you."
"Huh?" I grunted.
"Told you about the blackmail," she went on slowly. "You told Harvey and he killed Rex to make sure he kept his mouth shut!"
"So?"
"So I've changed my mind," she whispered. "I'm not about to make any statement, Danny, I'm sorry."
"You're not serious?" I yelped.
Her eyes opened and looked at me with a level, determined gaze. "I was never more serious in my whole life!" she said in a tone of complete finality.
"What happened to that conscience of yours?" I sneered. "That justice-before-my-career bit you played in your dressing room before the curtain went up?"
"My conscience dropped dead with sheer fright when it saw Rex Tybolt's head on the floor beside Donna." She shuddered violently. "It'll haunt me the rest of my life."
"If you make that statement, you won't need to worry
about Harvey any more—^he'll be locked up tight awaiting trial," I told her.
Margot shook her head firmly. "It's too big a chance to risk it, Danny. Paul Kendall had his throat cut—Rex Tybolt had his head severed from his body!" She shuddered again. "I don't want to be the next in line!"
"That's final?" I snaried.
"I'm sorry, Danny, but it is," she said in a low, determined voice.
I got up from the couch and walked over to the table, then made myself another drink with minute attention to detail.
"Danny?" There was a question in her voice.
"I'll call you a cab," I said tersely.
"You're mad at me?"
"Why would I be mad at you, honey?" I spun around and glared at her murderously. "You hired me to find the killer. I nearly got myself killed—took a beating from a punk like Benny just to prove a point—and now you chicken out when all we need to clinch the deal is your own testimony."
I bared my teeth at her. "I'm not mad at you, Margot, honey—I'm wild, crazy-mad at you. Any moment now I'll start and kick your teeth in—and you deserve it. So maybe you'd better get going while you're still in one piece!"
She sat bolt upright in the chair, her eyes widening with fright. "I'm not going any place," she said nervously. "You're going to stay close to me all the time—remember?"
"I changed my mind," I sneered coldly. "Like that! The way you change yours—remember?"
"You can't!" she said tautly. "You wouldn't dare—"
"Listen, stupid!" I grated. "I found the killer like you wanted—so you owe me another thousand dollars. Apart from that, I'm through—finished—you dig?"
"I'm not leaving!" she said in a small voice.
"You can walk out, or get thrown out on your can," I told her. "Either way, I'm not worried."
Margot looked at me with her lower lip trembling for a couple of seconds, then stood up slowly.
"All right," she whispered. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom first?"
"Help yourself," I said coldly.
She disappeared into the bathroom, her head held high in a pathetic dignity of despair. After she'd gone I wondered if the heel my old man had planted so firmly in my genes was showing through again. I drank most of the fresh drink in one gulp and figured what the hell—I was only playing it according to Margot's rules, anyway.
I raised the glass to my lips again to drink a silent toast to my old man's personality, when the bathroom door opened and Margot came back into the living room.
The glass shpped from between my fingers and bounced on the rug, spilling good bourbon with careless abandon. Margot gave me a brief, disdainful glance and kept on walking.
"Hey!" I gulped frantically. "What did you do with your clothes?"
She turned her back on me and headed straight for the bedroom, giving me a connoisseur's view of her rounded buttocks in free flight. The moment before she closed the door, she leaned her head out and smiled sweetly at me. "Good night, Danny," she breathed huskily. Then the door shut tight.
My paralyzing inertia lasted maybe five more seconds, then I burned up the rug in a straight line toward the bedroom, flung the door almost off its hinges, and came to a skidding halt beside the bed.
Margot pulled the covers up decorously in front of her and smiled lazily. "You forgot something, Danny?"
"What kind of crazy stimt are you trying to pull here?" I gurgled furiously. "I told you to get the hell out of my apartment—and you're going!"
She sat up slowly, letting the covers fall back to her waist, exposing small, pointed breasts. "Like this?" she asked gently.
"If that's the way you want it!" I snarled.
"O.K." She shrugged the satin-smooth shoulders in a slow, sensual movement that dried my throat just watching.
"I'll go," she said coolly. "Straight to the next door apartment and hammer on their door until somebody answers. I'll tell them the whole sordid story of how you tricked me into your apartment—your very own second cousin from Wichita Falls yet—then tore off all my clothes
—then threw me out because I wouldn't surrender my virtue to your beastly desires!"
The next-door apartment, I remember numbly, was leased by a retired West Pointer whose hobby was skeet-shooting—and his wife was an angular, hard-eyed dame who spent most of her time up and down Broadway, handing out reUgious tracts.
"O.K." I muttered hopelessly. "You win!"
"I knew you were only kidding, Danny," she said smugly. "Underneath, you're just a big, softhearted kid!"
"From Wichita Falls yet," I moaned.
I turned around and shuffled toward the door slowly and was two-thirds the way there when Margot spoke crisply.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To get stoned, then sleep on the couch," I said shortly.
"No, you don't!" She had enough power of command in her voice to make the military man next door turn green with envy. "Come back here!" she ordered sharply.
Numbly I about-faced and retraced my steps until I reached the side of the bed again.
"I need protection, remember?" she said firmly. "That means you stay close to me, Danny Boyd, real close!"
"Yeah?" I said hoarsely.
She patted the empty expanse beside her, then threw back the covers invitingly.
"Real close," she repeated in a soft, suddenly husky voice.
That sudden deeper note was like the cry of the wild goose in my book—like the call of the wild the true hunter can never resist. I was about to follow a policy of non-resistance to the hilt when my subconscious reared up and threw me a fast curve, and it felt like somebody had tossed a wet fish in my face.
"Why, did you say, Tybolt was murdered?" I asked slowly.
Margot stared at me in open-mouthed amazement. "A time like
this—and you're still detecting?" she said in a worried voice. "I must be losing my grip—" she checked up with a swift glance that detailed the terrain from her shoulder to ankle "—or something!"
"You said he was killed because he talked to me—
told me he was being blackmailed by Harvey—right?"
"Sure." She blinked bewildered. "We both know it."
"It doesn't make any sense," I said reluctantly. "I met him on the way to your dressing room during intermission and if he was going to say something to me, he never got the chance—he saw Harvey and he ran. Harvey saw it. Tybolt was scared to death of him and Earl knew it."
"That didn't necessarily stop him making sure," Margot said, pouting.
"If he was about to murder anyone, you were the logical choice," I went on. "He knew you'd hired me to find the murderer. He could guess I was working on you to testify about the blackmail, and chances were I'd gotten you ready to sign."
"But he didn't have the opportunity because you stuck so close to me the whole time?" Margot asked, then shivered delightfully and puUed the covers up over her shoulders again.
"He had plenty of opportunity," I said. "You were aJone in your apartment last night—it would've been easy then."
"What are you trying to do—^frighten me to death?" she protested.
"Harvey blackmailed you, Donna Alberta, and Rex Tybolt into his opera," I went on. "Because with your names and talent, he knew he'd have a smash hit. Suppose he didn't kill Kendall—^he'd still be worried sick somebody would uncover the blackmail and figure he'd murdered the producer because he'd done the same. Then a nosy private eye starts hinting as much—Harvey panics and tries to knock him off. It doesn't prove Harvey killed Kendall—it only proves how scared he was that somebody would make him the fall guy."
Margot shook her head helplessly. "If that makes any kind of sense, Danny, I don't see it."
"I've been so goddamn sure it was Harvey all along," I said bleakly, "I stopped thinking two days back! Rex Tybolt—alive and singing for Harvey—^was an investment Earl went to a hell of a lot of trouble in Acapulco and all to get. Why would he kill off his own investment?"
The savage salome Page 10
