The bell rang, and she went at once to answer it. Tom Calvin stood there. “I’m all ready, Tom,” she said. “Just let me get my coat and purse.”
As they walked outside, she looked around with surprise. “It’s warmer than it was this morning, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. The weatherman says the cold front is moving on.”
As they drove to the chapel Tom said little about the play, but seemed genuinely concerned about Sir Adrian’s death. “I wish I had been a little more—I don’t know, friendly I guess is the word,” he remarked.
“All of us do, Tom,” she agreed. “People are always at their best when tragedy strikes.”
“Too bad a house has to burn down or something before people grow kind!”
“It’s not too late to be kind to Victoria.”
He nodded as they turned down a side street. “No, that’s right—say, look at the cars!”
The street was lined with cars, and uniformed policemen were everywhere directing traffic and moving people along. “It looks like a football game!” Calvin moaned gloomily. “Vultures! That’s what they are!”
Dani agreed for the most part. She especially hated funerals that drew “spectators,” her term for people who attended a celebrity’s funeral.
“We’ll go to the rear, where the family and close friends are,” Tom suggested. After being identified by one of the officials, he was able to park in the crowded lot. Getting out of the car, they went toward the brick church, where they were greeted by a long-faced man in a dark suit. “Miss Morgan? Lady Lockridge has requested that you sit with her.”
Dani followed him inside, down a short hall, and into what looked like the drawing room of a southern plantation. The attendant left soundlessly. Lady Lockridge looked up from where she sat in a large green plush chair. Coming to Dani, she asked, “Would you stay with me, Danielle? Just for a little while?”
Dani put her arms around the woman and held her close for a long moment. She could feel the tremors going through the small frame and whispered, “It’s not wrong to weep, Victoria.”
Her words were more effective than she could have imagined. Suddenly the form in the plain black dress was shaken with a great gust of grief. No wild, unrestrained weeping, for there was enough strength in the woman to hang on to some control. But the tears flowed and not Victoria Lockridge’s only, for Dani felt tears on her own cheeks.
Finally, Victoria took a long breath and moved away. She cleaned her face with a tissue, hastily removed from her purse, then turned to face the younger woman. Her face, never full, was accented now with sharp planes that etched the fine bone structure. Her lips were compressed, and her eyes were puffy, but her voice did not break as she said, “Thank you, my dear. I don’t think I would have let another human being see me cry like that.”
Dani empathized, “I know—but you have to learn, Victoria. People want to help, but sometimes we won’t let them.”
“That’s always been my weakness.” She smiled slightly. “Adrian didn’t hold people away. We nearly quarreled about that at times. He’d say I was too distant, and I’d accuse him of being too friendly.” Then she nodded. “He was right, though.”
Dani pulled a chair close to the one Victoria had sat in, and for the next few moments, they drifted into aimless talk. But the time was short, and Dani asked quietly, “Have you thought what you’re going to do?”
“No—there really isn’t much to think about. We have no real family ties, neither of us,” Victoria responded. She looked down at her hands, then lifted her eyes to Dani. “My world was Adrian, and his world was the theater. It’s all I’ve known.”
“You must go away for a time,” Dani suggested. “Then you and your friends can get together and decide what’s best.”
A strange expression swept Victoria’s face. She sat quietly for so long that Dani wondered what was going through her mind. Finally she broke the silence, “It’s strange. Adrian and I knew so many people. Everywhere we went, people knew us. But we made almost no friends. I blame myself for that,” she added, avoiding Dani’s gaze.
“Oh, nonsense, Victoria!” Dani countered vigorously. She put her hand out and squeezed the hands of the older woman. “You just wait and see. We’ll see this through.”
Victoria lifted her head and studied the young woman. Finally she commented, “I can see why Adrian put such faith in you, Danielle. You really love people, don’t you?”
“Why—of course!”
“No, not of course,” Victoria interjected at once, shaking her head almost angrily. “I’ve known so many people and seen so little love.”
“I know it must seem so.” Dani was filled with a great desire to help this broken woman to find the peace of God. Hesitating just a moment, she considered carefully, then explained, “Sir Adrian said almost the same thing to me once—that he hadn’t seen much love. That’s when I told him about how I had found love. Would you mind if I shared it with you, too?”
For one moment, Dani thought Victoria meant to refuse, as a defensive hardness reflected in her level gaze. Then she seemed to change her mind, saying in a low voice, “Yes. I’d like to hear what you said to Adrian.”
For fifteen minutes Dani spoke, going over her experience with Sir Adrian. She used the same Scriptures she had used with him and was careful not to pressure Victoria in any way. Finally she said, “So I asked him if he would ask Christ into his heart.” She could not stop the tears that filled her eyes at the thought and wiped them with a tissue. “Then we prayed together. It was a wonderful time, Victoria. I believe he found peace at that moment.”
“He was very different,” Victoria agreed, her eyes thoughtful. “More relaxed and accepting of things.” Then she reached over and squeezed Dani’s hand. “Thank you for telling me, my dear—and for all your kindness to Adrian. You meant a great deal to him.”
“It wasn’t hard to love him.” Dani quietly added, “I hope you can find the same peace that Sir Adrian found, Victoria.”
She waited expectantly, but the moment was broken when the door opened. The man who had brought Dani in announced, “I believe the service is about to begin. If you’re ready, Lady Lockridge. . . ?”
The two women followed him and took their seats in a side gallery. There were several people there, including several other famous performers, so Dani took a side seat. The chapel was packed, and she recognized most of the cast of the play. Ben was seated close to the front, sitting beside Earl and Julio, and Tom Calvin sat beside Jonathan, in the second row.
The service was mercifully brief. A prelude of Gregorian chants, followed by the reading of the obituary, then a solo by a well-known soprano from the Met. An Episcopal priest, a large man with a high tenor voice, delivered the funeral address, a eulogy that stressed Sir Adrian’s professional accomplishments. Little was said of his private life, and Dani realized that the speaker had never known Sir Adrian personally. The sermon closed with the reading of Scriptures, and Dani prayed that Victoria would be moved and comforted by them.
The body was to be cremated, so there would be no graveside service. With her mind Dani accepted cremation as an alternate method of treating the dead, but never with her heart. It was, she realized, a totally emotional matter, but something in her wanted to know of a place in which Sir Adrian rested.
She had gone to kiss Victoria, whispering, “I’ll call you in the morning.” Then she turned to Jonathan, who stood beside Calvin. Trask and Lyle greeted her, then Mickey said, “This place gives me the creeps! Ainsley, I’m gonna go to my place in Rochester. You can get me at that number.” He left, quickly followed by Lyle who added, “Call me when you know anything, Jonathan.”
“A ghastly thing!” Ainsley muttered, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“We’re all going to have to help Lady Victoria,” Dani commented.
Jonathan looked at her sharply, but agreed, “Of course, we must—but she’s quite filled with contempt for me, you know.”
“It may not be up to me,” he told her. “The police want to talk to all of us tomorrow. Not Goldman, it’s gotten beyond him,” he added bitterly. “It’s the chief of police. Together with the mayor’s office they’re going to try to shut us down. Newspapers have had a field day with these stories, and the city can’t hack the publicity.”
“Can they do it?” Dani asked. “Shut you down, I mean.”
“I don’t know, but I want you at the meeting,” Jonathan said quickly. “It’s at two o’clock. I’ll come by for you.”
“All right.” She glanced around. “Tom, you don’t have to take me home. I’ve got an errand to run.”
The two men watched as she left, noting that she went to Ben. She spoke to him, and the two left the chapel at once. “Wonder if those two are cooking up something?” Tom demanded. Ainsley’s “I hope so!” gained him a swift look of amazement from Calvin.
Ben got into his car and asked at once, “What’s up, Dani?”
“I’m not sure, Ben,” she said slowly as he started the engine and left the parking lot. “It looks as if the play’s going to be closed unless something happens.”
He paused and turned to regard her. He knew her very well, and something in her determined expression made him ask, “What’s going on inside that head of yours? I can almost hear the wheels grind!”
“Ben, I need some information. But I can’t think of any way to get it—legally, that is.”
He grinned suddenly, swerved to avoid a silver Thunderbird, then exclaimed, “You’ve got the mind of a cat burglar, Dani Ross! All right, let’s have it.”
He listened carefully as she spoke at some length. When he pulled up near her apartment, he promised, “I’ll either get it, or you can see me on visiting days, Tuesdays, nine to five—and don’t try to smuggle a file in.”
“Ben, don’t get caught.”
“Try my best. What are you going to do?”
She got out and slammed the door. “I’ve got a little chore of my own—then I have to talk to Jake. He has to give us a hand.”
He said with a straight face, “Better wear that red sweater that looks so good on you. You’ll need all the edge you can get with that dude.”
Head nurse Edna Pulaski, aware that a man had entered the room and had come to stand in front of her, continued dressing down the newest addition to her staff with blistering authority. “Never—and I mean never—let a patient out of bed when the attending physician has forbidden it. Do you understand that?”
The young woman in front of her was no more than twenty, and her cheeks were dead pale. Speech seemed to have left her, and she could only nod in a jerky fashion.
“All right, get to your work!” Nurse Pulaski did not even watch the girl scurry off, but turned to look at the waiting man. “Yes? What can I do for you?”
Her tone was somewhat polite, for she could not decide if he was part of the administration—in which case she would have to be nice—or if he was only the relative of a patient. She was usually able to sort the two out, but this one didn’t look worried enough to be the relative of a patient; on the other hand he looked too efficient to be one of the bumbling administration who seemed determined to invent stupid rules that kept her and the staff from getting their jobs done.
He was no more than average height, trimly built and athletic looking, which also was not true of the bookkeepers from the second floor! She studied his squarish face, noting the scar on the forehead and the steady hazel eyes.
“Nurse Pulaski? I’m James Dalgren.” He reached into his inner coat pocket, removed a billfold, and spreading it open, showed her an identification card.
She bent closer, read his name, checked the picture, then read the name of his firm aloud: “Republic Communications.” She looked up at him, stating flatly, “Never heard of it!”
“I hope not,” he said, replacing the billfold. He smiled when she stared at him. “Our firm isn’t looking for any publicity, lady. As a matter of fact, we do all we can to hide from it.”
“What is it, Mr. Dalgren?” Pulaski demanded. “We don’t have time for games or mysteries here.”
“Neither do I. Do you know what a hacker is, Ms. Pulaski?”
“A hacker? Why, isn’t that some sort of computer swindler?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Glad you understand the problem, because a hacker is loose in your institution.”
Nurse Pulaski stared at him, speechless. “Why—what in the world could he get from a hospital?”
“Information about patients.” A middle-aged nurse came to the nurse’s station, and he leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Can you imagine what an insurance company would give to have access to your records? They’d go right to wealthy patients or their families, offer just the policy they need. And sick people make quick decisions, as you know.”
“Yes, they do.” Still confused, though, she asked, “What do you want from me?”
“Just to run a check on one of your computers.”
“Have you cleared it with the office?”
“No, I have not.” He forestalled her vigorous protest with the words, “It’s very likely that the hacker is working out of that office.”
The nurse’s mouth opened in a small O. I wouldn’t put it past them, she was thinking, but she objected, “We can’t have the computer tied up for long.”
“Won’t take but fifteen minutes. I have to do one at each station.”
She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “All right, take that one there. I can’t stay with you, though; I’ve got work to do.”
“Fine.” Dalgren sat down and at once began running his hands over the keyboard.
Nurse Pulaski left the station and made at once for the elevator. Ten minutes later she returned with two large men in security uniforms. She looked around wildly and demanded of the nurse who was working inside the station, “Where’s that man—the one who was working at the computer?”
“Why, he just left,” the girl said, looking up in surprise.
“Try to cut him off in the parking lot!” Pulaski commanded, but by the time the two had left, she knew they were not going to catch him. She began planning how to shift the blame when the administration asked her why she had let an outsider have access to confidential information.
Mr. Potter stared at the flashy blond, then shook his head, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” he said firmly. “It’s against our policy.”
The woman was wearing a fur coat, but it swung open to reveal a low-cut red dress. She had a mass of strawberry-blond hair and wore too much makeup. “Look, he’s on his way over any time,” she explained in a hard New York accent. “If he comes, and I ain’t here, he’s gonna have your head in a box!” When Mr. Potter hesitated, her eyes grew small, and she lost her temper. “You think I’m gonna steal the TV? What’s with you, anyway?”
“But I can’t let a stranger into a tenant’s apartment!” Potter complained.
“Well, I ain’t exactly a stranger, now!” the blond laughed, a harsh sound in Potter’s ears. Then she warned, “I ain’t gonna fight my way in, honey. When he comes, you can explain why I ain’t there. And you probably know he don’t like excuses too much!”
She whirled and would have left, but the manager gasped, “Just—just a minute, miss.” He caught up with her as she paused, tapping the toe of her high-heeled pump. “I’ll have to ask to see some identification.”
“Sure, pop. No problem.” She followed him up a flight of steps and waited while he fumbled with a large set of keys. When he swung the door open, she fished in her purse, then came up with a card. “That’s my driver’s license, honey.”
He looked at the card, fixed the name in his mind, and said, “Sorry about this, but. . . .”
“Yeah, I know.” She shrugged, then laughed, saying as she shut the door, “I know real good—a girl in my business has got to be
careful, too, pop!”
As soon as the door closed, the woman slipped out of the fur coat, tossed it on the couch, along with the purse, then surveyed the large apartment. She went at once to work, opening drawers and carefully examining every document she came across.
About thirty minutes after Mr. Potter had admitted the woman, he glanced out the window and saw her getting into what looked like a small rental car. As the car drove away, he wondered if he should go check the apartment. When he did, he found nothing out of order.
Nobody can blame me for it, he told himself firmly. I let her in—if she didn’t want to stay, that’s her say-so!
Chief Timothy Flannery, Dani decided, was straight out of an old movie starring Pat O’Brien and James Cagney. He was a corpulent, red-faced Irishman with a jovial smile and hamlike hands. A born politician, as any man would have to be to rise to the top of the loaf in his profession, he stood before the cast, flanked by Mr. Denton Cranston, who represented the mayor’s office, and a brace of homicide detectives. One of these was Jake Goldman, and his face was fixed in a noncommittal stare as Flannery spoke.
“I should not have to be making this speech,” he said with a truculent air, his feet braced on the boards. “If you people had the sense of a chicken, you’d have dropped this crazy play a long time ago!” He chewed the end of a cigar angrily, then took it out of his mouth and aimed it at Ainsley. “You’re supposed to be a smart man, Mr. Ainsley. Well, this isn’t smart! It’s stupid, that’s what it is!”
Denton Cranston, the mayor’s assistant, interrupted him smoothly, “Mr. Ainsley, the chief is a little irritated with this business, as you can see. So is the mayor, I might add.” He studied the fingernails on his right hand, then lifted his eyes to meet those of Ainsley. “The publicity on this thing is getting out of hand. We have enough of a problem with violence in New York as it is. Now everyone in America can read the headlines: Murder—Live on the New York Stage!”
“And how does it make the police look?” Flannery broke out. He shook his head, saying, “I want the play closed until we catch the killer.”
The Final Curtain Page 22
