Jonathan left. Diane went to bed, and the lights dimmed so that almost nothing could be seen. Then a shadowy figure appeared at one of the windows. He opened it and came in to stand over the young woman. He removed a knife from his belt, raised it—then plunged it down!
It was a key scene, and the audience was not supposed to know who the killer was. Since Jonathan had only just time to make the change for the next act, Nero had instructed someone else to do it. Usually Tom Calvin or Mickey Trask took his place, although neither of them wanted to do the scene. Calvin didn’t like to be on the stage at all, and Mickey disliked the fact that the killer appeared only as a shrouded figure and had no lines.
Mickey cried out in a low voice, “I hate this scene.”
“Better go get your costume on,” Dani suggested and watched as he nodded and disappeared into the thick backstage darkness. All lights were off, and she turned to watch Lily and Jonathan play out the scene. It was a love scene, and Dani could not help thinking, Lily doesn’t have to act in this scene—that’s why she’s so good.
Finally Jonathan left. Lily slipped off her dressing gown, turned the lights off, and got into the big bed. Utter quiet filled the theater. It was, Dani realized, one of those moments in a drama that was bigger than itself. Lily’s character had been the most sympathetic in the entire play, and Lily’s look of youthful innocence could win any audience. But the driving ambition of the central character made it obvious that she had to die.
When the shadow of a hand appeared, framed by one of the large windows, every spectator was pulling for Lily to survive—though without much hope. Nero had done a good job of directing, and Mickey was playing the scene well, even if he did hate it. The suspense built up as the sinister figure jimmied the window, then very slowly, carefully, and silently put one foot and then the other over the sill. The lighting was superb. Nero had fought with Pinkie, the light man, over it, until he got what he wanted—which was for the audience to see the face of Lily, the shadow, and nothing else. The light was on the head of Lily’s bed, where it would fall full on her face.
And it worked, Dani saw. The dark figure of the intruder was a shadow and a shape, but the single light focused on the face of Lily as she lay quietly, with closed eyes and a small smile on her lips.
Then the shrouded figure pulled a knife from his belt, and the same faint light that touched Lily’s face made a dull gleam on the blade as it was lifted high.
The suspense was unbelievable, as always, and Dani watched as the arm suddenly swept downward.
The script called for Lily to die instantly, but as the knife fell, a piercing scream shook Dani’s nerves, and Lily cried out, “He’s killed me!”
Instantly there was the sound of breaking glass, and then the tiny light was extinguished, leaving the stage in utter darkness! Ainsley screamed for lights, but Pinkie, up in the balcony, was confused. Caught off guard, he sat there doing nothing.
Dani felt the press of bodies moving toward the stage, and Goldman’s voice rang out, “Seal all the doors!”
Finally someone had the presence of mind to switch on a light, and Ben instantly closed the curtain. Dani ran to the bed, arriving there at the same time as Jonathan, who pulled at Lily, crying out her name.
To the relief of all of them, Lily opened her eyes and whispered, “I’m all right!”
“Thank God!” Jonathan said and held her close. Then he pulled back, staring down at her. “That’s blood!” he cried out.
Lily touched her left side, where a crimson stain was blossoming on her night dress. “He—cut me, but I don’t think it’s bad.”
Dani was shouldered aside by Goldman. “Let me see,” he commanded. She glanced over his shoulder and noticed that the blood was flowing from a gash no more than four inches long on Lily’s left side. “Not bad” was Goldman’s verdict. He turned and walked rapidly away.
Dani followed at once, relieved that Lily was all right. As they passed off the stage and made their way to the rear, someone called out, “Hey, Lieutenant—over here!”
Dani followed closely as Goldman moved behind the set. One of his men bent over a still figure. “You got him!” Goldman exclaimed in satisfaction. “Where’s the knife?”
“He ain’t got no knife on him, Lieutenant,” the other said at once. “And he’s been hit on the head. Feel that bump!”
“He’s got to have a knife!” Goldman leaned over to touch the side of Mickey Trask’s head. “Get up on the stage and find it—now!”
“Yes, sir!”
Dani kneeled beside the unconscious man. “That’s a bad-looking cut, Jake,” she warned.
He stared at her wordlessly, then looked back at Trask’s face. Dani heard somebody dismissing the audience. Then the officer sent to find the knife returned. “Lieutenant, there’s no knife on the stage.”
“Call an ambulance,” Goldman snapped. His face was harsh, and suddenly he slapped Mickey’s cheek twice, sharply. “Come out of it, Trask!” he ordered coldly.
“Goldman, the man is unconscious!” Dani turned to see Tom Calvin, who had come to stand beside her.
Jake stared at him, then down at the slack face of Mickey Trask. “Somebody tried to kill that woman,” he announced slowly. “I don’t care if there’s no knife or if he’s dead to the world. He’s under arrest for attempted murder!”
13
Welcome to the Kingdom
* * *
Goldman insisted on meeting the whole cast on the stage at ten o’clock the next day. Jonathan had called off that evening’s performance until they could determine whether or not Lily would be able to act.
When Dani arrived, just before ten, she went straight to Jonathan’s office and found him looking wan and haggard. “How is Lily?” Dani asked at once.
“Not nearly so bad as we had thought,” he said. He lit a cigarette with fingers that were not quite steady. The lack of sleep had washed away his customary exuberance, and he sat there, staring at the desk top for a long moment. Forcing a slight smile, he reported, “The cut was relatively superficial. She had several stitches, and the doctors say there’s no real problem.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Jonathan.” Relief filled Dani’s voice. “It could have been fatal.”
“Have you talked to Goldman yet?” he asked.
“No.”
“He’s talking about getting the play closed.”
“That might not be a bad thing. Sooner or later this person is going to kill again.” Dani studied the actor thoughtfully, then wondered, “Would it be the end of the world for you—if you did close the play?”
“Yes!” Ainsley snuffed out the cigarette nervously, got to his feet, and started for the door. “Let’s go see what Goldman has to say.”
On the stage, they found the others already gathered. Mickey Trask was being carefully watched by a plain-clothesman; the actor had a white bandage on the left side of his head, and a look of outraged anger on his baby face.
Goldman waited until Dani and Jonathan moved up on the stage, then announced, “I thought it would be better to talk to you all at once than one at a time—and there’s more room here than down at the station.” Goldman’s pearl-gray suit and wine-colored tie, with a diamond that glittered whenever he moved made Dani think how unlike a police officer he seemed. But anger ran below the surface of that smooth demeanor.
“Let me tell you up front, I’ve tried to get this play shut down.” He threw Ainsley a hard look. “But somebody’s put pressure on somewhere, and they tell me it can’t be done. Civil liberties or something like that.”
No one said a word. In the silence Goldman took out his cigarette case, slowly lit one of the thin, brown cigarettes. Snapping the case shut with a sort of grim anger, he said, “If one nut calls with a bomb threat, they ground airplanes, but you people don’t seem to understand there’s a real psycho just waiting to put some of you underground.”
“I think we understand the seriousness of the thing, Lieutenant,” Ainsl
ey spoke up. “But we can’t let this maniac rule our lives.”
Goldman stared at Ainsley as if he had made a particularly stupid statement. “All right, let’s get on with this,” he responded pacifically. “I understand Miss Aumont isn’t seriously hurt—but the charge is still attempted homicide.”
“You can’t hang this on me, Goldman,” Mickey said loudly. He glared at the policeman defiantly, adding, “I never was on the stage at all.”
“Suppose you give us your version again, Trask,” Goldman invited. He had heard the story several times, but he wanted to watch the faces of the group.
“Again?” Mickey cried indignantly. “I’ve gone over it a dozen times.” But he could not resist the opportunity. “I went back to put on the costume, like always. Then I went behind the set and started to go to the window, when somebody let the roof down on me.” He touched the white bandage on his head gingerly, then shrugged. “I didn’t see anybody—just boom!—and the next thing I know, I was waking up with my skull slit—and under arrest.”
“So who was the man who climbed in the window and nearly succeeded in killing Lily Aumont?” Goldman asked.
“How should I know?” Mickey demanded. “All I know is it wasn’t me! I was out like a light!”
“Let’s have a little check,” Goldman suggested. “I want each one of you to tell me exactly where you were at the time of the attempted murder. All of you men and women.”
Ainsley said at once, “I was in my dressing room, getting ready for the next scene. I have to change into a formal tuxedo, and I have just about enough time to make the switch.”
“Anybody with you?”
“No. I was alone.”
“All right.” Goldman nodded. From his smooth features, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Sir Adrian, could you account for your movements at the time of the crime?”
“Y-yes, of course, Lieutenant.” The older man nodded. He was sitting beside his wife on a pale green couch and looked ill. His face was drawn taut, and he seemed exhausted. “I was in the next scene, with Jonathan, so I had to be in a tux as well. I can never tie my tie properly, so my wife has to help me with it.” He flinched suddenly, as though struck by an unexpected pang, but quickly said, “As usual, my wife and I were together, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, Sir Adrian.” No one for a moment believed that Sir Adrian or his wife were physically capable of the difficult scene.
Goldman suddenly broke into Dani’s thoughts, “Miss Morgan? What about you?”
“Oh, come now, Lieutenant Goldman!” Jonathan snorted. “You’re going too far!”
“Why? Because she’s a woman?” Goldman gave Dani a close glance, then contended, “Not impossible for a woman to climb in a window and stab somebody.”
Dani sought to smooth things over. “It’s all right, Jonathan. Lieutenant, I was standing in the wings, watching the performance. I can’t be sure whether or not anyone saw me.”
“Yeah, I saw her,” Ringo Jordan spoke up. “I was right behind her the whole time.”
“And who was watching you?” Goldman asked.
“Nobody,” Jordan admitted sullenly. “You think we stand around watching one another all the time? When the play is on, we have to move pretty fast to get the thing done. What about your men, didn’t they see anybody?”
Goldman ignored the question, demanding of the others, “Anybody see Jordan?”
“Well, I was with Lyle, just across the stage from Miss Morgan and Ringo. I saw them both before the lights dimmed,” Tom Calvin offered.
“That’s right.” Lyle Jamison nodded. “I can vouch for that.”
“But neither of you could see anything after the lights went out?” Goldman prodded. Neither of them spoke, so he moved on. “What about you, Miss Rio?”
Carmen was wearing a flamboyant dress that looked out of place in the theater. Her color was high as she answered, “I was where I always am at that point in the play. I have to come on in the next scene with a tray full of cocktail glasses. That means I have to go to the prop room and get them ready.” She glared at him. “And before you can ask, I wasn’t with anyone.” Lifting her chin, as though daring him to accuse her, she protested, “And if you think I could wiggle through that window in that tight maid’s uniform, you’re crazy!”
“That leaves the stage crew. You first, Davis.”
Ben said at once, “Just as soon as the scene with Lily is finished, we have to move back both wings of stage number one. Then we have to run back and push stage number two to the front.”
“But that’s after the murder scene, isn’t it?” Goldman asked.
“Yes.”
“What were you doing while the scene was going on?”
“I go to the west wing; Earl goes to the right during that scene. The movable sets are shifted by means of a set of ropes that go through a reduction pulley. Just as soon as the murder takes place on stage, Julio closes the curtain; then he runs around and gets ready to move stage number two in the slot created by moving the two halves to the right and left.”
Goldman stared at him. “Let me ask it this way, Davis. Did anyone see you waiting to pull the stages?”
“I don’t think so.” Ben shook his head. “Earl and I get as far back as we can from the stages—you get better leverage that way. It was dark, of course, and I went to my station as the scene started. But I don’t think anybody pays any attention to us—unless something goes wrong.”
Goldman questioned Earl and Julio, but they could not add to Ben’s description. For the next twenty minutes, he questioned them over and over, until they were all sick of it. Finally Lady Lockridge interjected, “Lieutenant, my husband is ill. I want to take him home at once.”
Goldman immediately nodded. “Of course. Thank you for coming.” Dani watched as the two left and noted that Sir Adrian seemed almost lost. As they left, he leaned heavily on his wife, not taking his eyes off the floor.
“All right, then, we’ve got three simple possibilities. One, an outsider, somebody not in the cast, came behind the stage. It wouldn’t have been so hard, not with the stage so dark. Two, one of the cast—besides Trask, that is—slugged Trask, went on the stage, and stabbed the girl.” He considered that, then looked directly at Trask. “And number three, you did the job, Trask.”
“You’re crazy!” Trask cried loudly. “Did I knock myself out?”
“Maybe you did.”
“With what?” Mickey demanded indignantly. “I couldn’t have split my head open with my bare hands, could I? And your men didn’t find a thing on me—not a thing near me, not even a chair that I could have brained myself with!”
Goldman had no answer for that. He had gone over every possible means, but none of them could get past the fact that Mickey Trask had been struck on the head—and there was no weapon.
“And if I’d done it, I’d have the knife, wouldn’t I?” Mickey said loudly. “I didn’t have one, did I?”
The missing weapon had been the subject of an intense search. Immediately after the stabbing, Goldman had had his men comb every square inch of the stage, but to no avail. Goldman hated sloppiness, and he knew that knife had to be there! He had excoriated his men, but they swore there was nothing onstage to be found.
Finally he took a deep breath, letting his irritation flow away. “We’re going to be talking to all of you people some more, so stay available.”
“What about me?” Mickey asked.
“You’re not under arrest,” Goldman decided.
Mickey’s face broke into a smile, and he said to Ringo, “At last the cops do something right.”
As the crowd broke up Jonathan announced, “I’ll be getting in touch, but if Lily is up to it, we can go on tomorrow night.”
Dani went to her apartment and spent the morning trying to put the pieces together. She longed to have her father with her, for it was the sort of case that he was best at. But it was too late to bring him into it, and in any case, for him to come t
o New York was impossible. The phone rang. When she answered it, Ben said, “I’ve got two tickets to the rodeo at Madison Square Garden. Do you want to go with me, or do I need to find another woman?”
“Oh, Ben!” she exclaimed. “Just what I need. What time?”
“Pick you up at six. We can eat something later.”
Dani felt a load lift. This case had had her tied up for so long with no relief, that she had become tense all the time. She fixed a salad and was just finishing it when the phone rang again.
“Danielle? This is Victoria Lockridge.”
“Oh, Victoria, how are you?”
“Well—I have a favor to ask—rather a large one.”
“What is it? I’ll be glad to help any way I can.”
“I’m sure you noticed that my husband wasn’t feeling well this morning. I brought him home and put him to bed, and he’s been sleeping. But I need to run some errands. Would it be asking too much for you to come and stay with him for a couple of hours?”
Dani said quickly, “I’ll be happy to. What’s your address?”
“It’s not inconveniencing you too much?”
“Not a bit of it,” she answered firmly. “I’ve got an engagement tonight, but not a thing this afternoon. I’ll be right over.”
Forty-five minutes later she was met at the door by Lady Lockridge, who drew her into the apartment. “I feel terrible, putting you to all this trouble, Danielle,” she apologized. “But I don’t like to leave him alone. And he doesn’t like nurses.”
“Don’t think of it,” Dani said. “Has he been to the doctor?” she wanted to know.
Lady Lockridge looked very tired. “Oh, my dear, he’s been to so many! He has a heart condition, you know, and we have to watch his medication very carefully.” Her regal and usually formal face seemed distraught, and she shook her head with a gesture of futility. “He won’t take care of himself! I have to watch him like a hawk—his medicine, the proper meals, and not drinking so much!”
The Final Curtain Page 18
