The Final Curtain

by Gilbert, Morris

  The new warning was nothing like the other two. The letters were all capitals, made with child’s crayons, all colors. The paper was plain white, with no watermark, and the message read:

  AINSLEY, YOU CAN’T ESCAPE FOREVER. YOU’VE DESTROYED TOO MANY INNOCENT PEOPLE. YOU’VE LEFT A SLIMY TRAIL EVERYWHERE YOU’VE BEEN. BUT YOUR LIES WILL STOP SOON—BECAUSE A DEAD MAN CAN’T TELL LIES OR RUIN WOMEN. YOU CAN SAY GOOD-BYE TO THE THINGS YOU LOVE BEST, BECAUSE YOU’RE GOING TO LOSE THEM ALL!

  Dani lowered the letter and stared at Jonathan. His face was pale and his lips were trembling. He looked ill, and she asked, “What are you going to do, Jonathan?”

  “What can I do?” he cried plaintively. “I can’t quit because my whole life is tied up with this play. If I don’t make it with this one, I’m finished!” He clasped his hands together and squeezed his eyes shut. When his voice came, it was filled with fear. “But I don’t want to die! And that’s what will happen if this maniac isn’t caught!” He suddenly opened his eyes and rose out of his seat. Grabbing her hands, he demanded, “Danielle, you’ve got to help me! You’ve got to!”

  His grip was so strong Dani’s hands began to hurt, but she said quietly, “Jonathan, you’ve got to pull yourself together. Sit down, and let’s talk.” She maneuvered him into the chair and asked, “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Not enough!”

  “No, you’ve had too much. If you ever needed a clear head, it’s right now. Have you told Goldman about this threat?”

  “Yes. He said he’d be by later, but there are no extra men for guards. And it wouldn’t work, anyway. If the maniac wants to kill me badly enough, he’ll find a way.”

  Dani stared at the note, read it, then shook her head. “This note—it’s not like the others.”

  “No more taped-on words,” he agreed. “Be impossible to trace a set of child’s crayons.”

  “I meant that it didn’t have the same tone as the others. No quotations from Shakespeare—just a plain warning. He’s getting smart, or maybe he always has been. Usually murderers get caught because they repeat a pattern over and over—a modus operandi. But this one is as changeable as the wind. Never does the same thing twice and writes his letters in different ways.”

  “He’s a maniac, that’s all I know!” Jonathan moaned.

  Dani read part of the note aloud: “‘. . . A dead man can’t tell lies or ruin women.’” She looked at him, asking directly, “How many women have you ruined, Jonathan—I mean women who would be connected to somebody in the cast?”

  He shifted in his chair, then lifted his shoulders, saying, “I can’t answer that, Danielle. I’ve known quite a few women. They play a game with me, and I play at it with them. Sometimes I’ve been used by them—and sometimes, I suppose, I’ve hurt them.”

  “Like Carmen?”

  Ainsley looked at her suddenly, then nodded, his face unhappy. “Yes, like Carmen. She never really meant anything to me. As I said, it’s a game.”

  “I guess she didn’t know the rules of your little game, Jonathan,” Dani said evenly.

  He looked across to see disapproval on her face and dropped his head. When he spoke it was in a voice that had none of his usual confidence. “I know you look at these things very differently from the way I do, Danielle. And I confess that lately I’ve been forced to think that my life has been—well, less than it could have been.” He put his head in his hands, pressing his palms against his brow. Lifting his head, he continued, “The whole idea behind this play is that man can take care of his own troubles. But for the last few nights I—I’ve been asking myself just how true that is.”

  “‘No man is an island,’ Jonathan.” Dani reminded him. “You’ve known that line for a long time. And none of us are whole within ourselves. That’s why God made the woman, don’t you remember?”

  “I guess I’ve forgotten.”

  “The Bible says that as soon as God made Adam, he said, ‘It is not good for man to live alone.’ That’s what women are for, so that man doesn’t have to be alone. And that’s what men are for, Jonathan, so that women will have someone to love them.”

  He stared at her, finally commenting, “When you say that, it sounds very real and very desirable. But I grew up in the world of entertainment, Danielle. There are no morals in it that I’ve discovered. Oh, we cover it up for the public view, but life in my world amounts to ‘get what you can.’ At any cost—and from anybody who gets in your way.”

  “A terrible world,” Dani admitted. “Not one I envy.” Then she took a deep breath and plunged in, “The only thing that makes life possible for me, Jonathan, is having a few people that I can trust—and having God beside me all the time.”

  A long silence followed her statement. Then Jonathan remarked, “I’m glad you’re like that, Danielle. I hope you always will be. All my life I’ve never seen an example of what a Christian is. But knowing you has given me some hope—not much, mind you—but a little that maybe even for a fellow like me, there’s some chance.”

  Dani felt that she could press him no further, so she breathed a little prayer. “There’s hope, Jonathan,” she encouraged him. “Now, let’s go over the list, and you tell me who would have the most interest in destroying you. . . .”

  Carmen was surprised to find Ben Savage standing in front of the door to her apartment. She had been putting her makeup on, getting ready to go and do some shopping, but the bell had interrupted her. She stood there looking at him. “Hello, Ben,” she finally managed.

  “Hello, Carmen,” he answered. “Can I come in? It’s getting cold out here.”

  “I guess so, but I’m in a hurry. Got some shopping to do.”

  He took off his overcoat and threw it over a chair, then turned to her. “Won’t keep you long. Matter of fact, I’ll go with you.”

  She studied him with practiced eyes, searching for some motive. She had known many men, and her experience with them had not built any great trust for the sex. “You didn’t come here to help me pick out a slip,” she said tartly.

  “Well, Carmen, as a matter of fact, there is one thing I wanted to ask you.” Ben put his hands up in a helpless gesture. “That cop—Goldman? Well, he’s been at me a lot. Asking lots of questions.”

  “About me?” Carmen demanded.

  “About everybody.” Savage shrugged. “But this morning it was about you. I guess somebody must have told him we were good friends, because somehow he knew we’d been out together.”

  “One time,” she contemptuously disclaimed. “That makes us bosom buddies?”

  “I guess so, according to Goldman.”

  “You tell him I spent the night in your apartment?”

  “Nope. None of his business.”

  Carmen relaxed when she heard that, and a softer expression came onto her face. “You didn’t take any advantage of me, Ben. I was expecting it.”

  “Always like to have things fifty-fifty,” Ben said. “Wouldn’t want a woman that I had to get drunk to love.”

  Carmen bit her full lower lip and studied him. After a long silence she dropped her eyes. “Didn’t know there were any like you left, Ben. Most guys will use all they have to get at a girl.”

  “You don’t think too highly of men, do you, Carmen?”

  “I’ve got no cause to!” Anger flared out of her, and she broke off her speech. “Well, come along and have some coffee. We can’t stand in the middle of the floor.”

  He sat down, and she poured coffee for the two of them. She was an attractive woman, he realized again, with her creamy skin, full-bodied charms, and coal-black hair. Her perfume was subtle, but he was aware of it as she sat down at the table close to him. “Now, what did the cop say?”

  “I think they’re trying to find somebody to take the fall,” Ben told her. “I heard that the police commissioner has threatened to lop some heads if homicide doesn’t come up with something soon. And Goldman’s got nothing.”

  “Why me?” Carmen wondered.

 
; “You’re the girl Ainsley dropped.” Ben took a swallow of his coffee. “Hey, this has got chickory in it. I love that stuff!” he rhapsodized.

  But she was staring at him angrily. “Sure, I was sore at him. But not enough to kill him—or Amber either. She was out of the picture long before I came along.”

  “Goldman figures that you could have put the bullets in that gun, thinking that if he killed LeRoi he’d go to the chair for it.”

  “That’s crazy, Ben!” Carmen slammed the coffee cup down, crying angrily, “And why would I try to wipe out Lyle with a chandelier?”

  “Trying to get Ainsley, according to the cops,” Ben explained. “As for that bomb, anyone can buy one, if he knows the right people. That was aimed right at Jonathan.”

  Anger turned Carmen’s face hard. Finally she asked, “What else did you come here for, Ben?”

  He looked at her and said, “One thing, Carmen. Maybe you don’t remember. But when you were passed out on the bed in my place, you started having dreams—bad ones, I think. I went in to wake you up, and you were saying something.”

  “What did I say?”

  “You said, ‘Sir Adrian! You killed her—you killed Amber! I saw you put the real bullets in the gun!’” Savage watched her closely and thought he saw a break in her expression. “Did you see that, Carmen? Lockridge loading the gun with live ammunition?”

  “No! No, I never saw that!” she cried out loudly. “I was drunk, Ben! That’s all it was!”

  Savage knew that he had pushed the thing as far as he could. “Well, that’s what I thought, so I didn’t say anything to Goldman.”

  Relief flowed across her face, and she tried for a smile. “Thanks, Ben! You’re a right guy.”

  He patted her arm, then got to his feet.

  “You’re not going to help me shop?” she asked, trying for a light note.

  “No, I’ve got things to do. But maybe we can go out, just the two of us.”

  “You name it,” she said.

  Ben nodded and started for the door, pulling on his overcoat. Then he rammed his hand in the pocket and was brought up short. “Blast it!” he said with irritation.

  “What’s wrong, Ben?”

  He pulled a long business envelope from his pocket. “I’ve got to get this in the mail right away. I didn’t have the address, so now I’ve got to go all the way to the Pearl to use the typewriter in Tom’s office.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Ben,” Carmen said, “I’ve got a portable. It’s not much, but—”

  “Anything you’ve got will do, Carmen.” He waited as she disappeared into a bedroom. Nothing is ever this easy! Ben thought. But when she came back bearing an old Royal portable, he had to keep his face from breaking into a smile. Once he had typed an address on the envelope, he got to his feet. “Thanks, Carmen. Saves me quite a trip.”

  “See you tonight?” she asked. Leaning against him, she suddenly reached out and pulled his head down. Her lips were full and soft beneath his own, and he let her be the first to pull away. “Let’s go someplace afterward,” she whispered.

  “Sure, Carmen.” He smiled and, turning, left the building. “I wonder if I ought to take up acting?” he asked himself sardonically. “I played that scene so well, I might as well get paid for it!”

  It was still too early to go to the theater, so he drove back to Dani’s apartment. When he rang the bell, she opened it almost at once. “Well, the typewriter is there,” he announced, moving inside.

  “Ben! Are you sure?”

  He pulled the envelope from his coat pocket and held it up. “I’d be surprised if this weren’t it.”

  Glancing at the clock, she suggested, “Let’s go get a sandwich at Louie’s. You can tell me about it.”

  He drove her to a small sandwich shop they had discovered, too far off the beaten track to be crowded. Louie Martino made great ham-and-cheese heros and absolutely refused to make a hamburger. When a customer asked for one, he would look down his nose and declare, “I think they sell those down the street.”

  A tall, thin man, Louie met them himself and flashed Dani a smile. “Ah, just time for one quick one before the performance, right, Miss Morgan?”

  “Right, Louie.” Dani returned the smile. “Make it two—and coffee.”

  They seated themselves at one of the booths, and Dani put her elbows on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth. “Tell me all about it,” she demanded, her eyes bright.

  “She’s got the typewriter in her apartment.” Ben shrugged. “Goldman can get a search warrant anytime.”

  Her eyes blinked, and she objected crossly, “Ben, that’s a headline! I want the small print!”

  He suddenly smiled at her. “Remember the first time we ever locked horns?” he retaliated.

  “No. We’ve had too many! What was it?”

  “On my first job for you, I gave you a report you thought was too skimpy. You nearly blew my head off.”

  “Well, you don’t make the best reports in the world!”

  “Would you like me to put them into poetic form? Sonnets, maybe?”

  “Oh, Ben!” She tossed her head. “Don’t make me beg. Tell me what happened—all of it.”

  “All right, Boss. You sure know how to get the truth out of a guy!” He told her all of it, including the highlights of the night Carmen had spent at his apartment. Louie brought their sandwiches in the middle of it, but he continued as soon as he left. Finally Ben leaned back and asked, “That detailed enough for you?”

  She was watching him with a strange expression in her large eyes. The short, black hair, arranged in a corona, made her eyes look enormous and very beautiful. He tried to read her glance, but could make nothing of it.

  Finally she said, “I’m glad you didn’t do it.”

  “Do what?” he asked, confused.

  “Take advantage of Carmen when she was drunk.”

  He grinned, took a swallow of coffee, then quoted, “‘My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.’”

  She smiled briefly, but shook her head. “In a way, it really is pure. I mean, you can beat a man until he can’t walk, or you can even shoot him—but it all has to fit in that little moral code you’ve made up for yourself.”

  He shook his head. “No, I just do what has to be done.”

  “Wrong!” she snapped back. “I’ve seen it in you lots of times. You’re hard as nails, but somewhere along the line you’ve decided on some things that are right and wrong. You’ll let yourself be pounded into the ground before you’ll break one of your codes.”

  “I think you’re describing you, not me.”

  She studied him, still possessed by a thought he could not read. Finally she said, “Someday you’ll find out about right and wrong, Ben.”

  “Find out what?”

  “Find out that before anything can be called wrong there has to be something called right. Any man who says there’s no God and no moral law in the world can never say, ‘That’s not fair!’”

  Savage was enjoying her, for he had been on the receiving end of several conversations. She had a nice mind, he decided, and her convictions went to the bone. “Why couldn’t he say that?” he asked.

  “Because, if there’s no moral law of any kind—no God, in other words—what makes things wrong?”

  “People do,” he argued. “They make up laws.”

  “But they had to have an idea of injustice before they could come up with a system of justice, can’t you see that?” Her eyes were bright, and in her intensity she reached out and shook his arm. “If there were no moral force in the universe, it wouldn’t be wrong for one person to kill another for his belongings. Which is what Darwin is really saying, isn’t it? That we’re all animals who take what we want whenever we’re strong enough?”

  “It seems to work that way in the real world, Danielle,” Ben interjected.

  “Yes, with the Hitlers—madmen like that,” she said. “But how do you explain the people like Jim Elli
ot, who died a martyr in Ecuador? He loved the people who killed him. And his wife went back later and told the very natives who’d killed her husband about the love of Jesus Christ. How can you explain things like that, Ben?”

  He sobered and shook his head. “I can’t explain them, Danielle. Maybe they’re just different kinds of people from common ones like me.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she objected stubbornly.

  “I know you don’t.” He moved his shoulders. “Guess we’d better go. Curtain time in an hour.”

  He paid the check, and they drove to the theater, through heavy traffic. “I hope Jonathan’s in better shape than he was when he got the letter,” Ben commented as he parked the car. “Calvin said it took all the steam out of him.”

  “I think he’ll be all right,” Dani said.

  Once they entered the theater they became enmeshed in a different world. Dani checked on Jonathan and was relieved to see that his eyes were clear. She went to her own dressing room and changed into her first costume.

  A few minutes before the curtain call, she left the dressing room and moved toward the stage. She found Ringo slumped against the wall. “Hello, Ringo.”

  “Danielle. You hear about the new threat?”

  “Yes. I pray nothing happens tonight.” She studied the big man then commented, “It’s like living on top of a powder keg, isn’t it? I can’t seem to let my guard down.”

  “Pretty hairy.” He nodded. “I don’t think Ainsley can take much more.”

  They talked for a few moments, then Dani said, “Time for the curtain. Do it good, Ringo.”

  “You, too, Danielle!”

  The first act went smoothly enough, with Jonathan seeming cool and professional. Dani spotted Goldman and two other policemen backstage. As the play moved into the second act, she said briefly to Lyle, “All right so far,” and got a grin from him.

  Mickey Trask came to stand by her, toward the middle of the second act, the murder scene, which had been troublesome from the beginning. It called for the death of Lily’s character, Diane Melton.

  The difficulty had always been the timing. The murder, one of several in the play, was carefully staged—one of Trey Miller’s favorite sets, a bedroom with high windows on three sides. In the middle of the room stood a large poster bed with a canopy. The scene called for Jonathan to be in the room with Lily, at the end, but in the scene following the murder of Diane, Ainsley had to enter almost at once in full evening dress.