The Final Curtain

by Gilbert, Morris

  Dani forced herself to meet Victoria’s eyes. “Yes, I did, Lady Lockridge. It was when I was with your husband. He asked me to read him something—and I found this book on your desk.” She faltered, then went on, “It was a difficult matter for me—to decide what to do.”

  Chief Flannery said suddenly, “Lady Lockridge, don’t you realize how this makes you look?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t make any attempts on Ainsley’s life,” she explained before subsiding into silence.

  “Finally, the last two threats.” Dani announced, “They were written on white paper with crayons, the kind easily obtained. It is also very simple for a laboratory to match a crayon with a mark—and here we have the crayons with which this note was written.” She looked down the table and said, “The police found this in Mickey Trask’s desk.”

  “It’s a frame-up!” Trask shouted. He leaped to his feet, and at once the two guards were holding him back. But they could not stop his mouth, for he was yelling, “You cops framed me! It wasn’t no cops who went through my apartment—it was some tall, dizzy blond! The apartment manager told me how he let her in—the stupid jerk!”

  Goldman said evenly, “At five o’clock this morning, two men from my office, Sergeants Rozell and Crione, went to your apartment with a search warrant. When the manager admitted them, they found the writing materials in question in your desk. Now sit down, or I’ll have you gagged!”

  Ben leaned over and whispered to Ringo Jordan, “I just wonder what tall blond woman that was who was good enough to locate that stuff for the cops?”

  Ringo gave him a quick grin. “Wigs don’t cost much, do they?”

  Goldman explained, “What this reads like is this: Ainsley sent himself two threats, Lady Lockridge the next two, and Trask the last two. Lady Lockridge hates Ainsley, as she herself has stated. It’s common knowledge that Mickey Trask is bitter on two counts—Ainsley stole his girl and didn’t come through on the job of directing this play.”

  “All right, then,” Trask spoke up. “I sent the dumb letters. So what? But that don’t prove I killed anybody!”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Dani admitted. “Before we get to the actual homicides, let’s look at the attempted killings. “First, the close call when the chandelier fell. If it had hit Lyle Jamison, it probably would have been fatal.”

  “I can’t understand why anyone would want to kill me,” Jamison objected. “Except for Simon Nero, of course.”

  “I wasn’t anywhere near that rope when that chandelier fell!” cried Nero. “Besides, it could just as easily have hit Jonathan.”

  Dani broke in at once, “No, you weren’t near the rope when it was cut, Mr. Nero. But then—” She paused and looked at the group with a glint in her greenish eyes, “Neither was anyone else!”

  “Well somebody did it!” Jonathan shouted. “It didn’t cut itself!”

  “No, it was cut, Jonathan,” Dani agreed. “But it was a very odd sort of cut. Lieutenant Goldman, will you give us your findings on the rope?”

  “I was never satisfied with that,” Goldman said. He reached down and pulled a short length of rope out of a briefcase. “This is high-grade nylon, thousand-pound test. You could cut through nine-tenths of it, and it would still hold the weight of that chandelier! It just didn’t make sense. Why wasn’t the rope cut cleanly all the way through? One slash with a sharp knife would cut it completely through. But it was cut only halfway through; the other half was frazzled.”

  Goldman looked at Dani and said with a straight face, “Miss Ross and I decided to have the rope tested in the police lab. We discovered that the frazzled half of the rope had been eaten away by a highly corrosive acid.”

  “What does that prove, Lieutenant?” Lyle Jamison spoke up, a puzzled look on his face. “If someone wanted the rope to break, why didn’t he either cut it completely or let the acid do it all?”

  “For a very good reason,” Goldman answered. “He wanted the rope cut so that it would look as though someone had slashed it, but he cut it only half through and then poured acid on it, because it would take the acid some time to eat through the remaining strands. Our man would be elsewhere—perhaps even on the stage—when the rope broke.”

  “Ainsley!” Carmen cried out. “You planned that, just like you wrote the letters!”

  Ainsley started to speak, but Goldman broke in quickly. “Don’t say a word, Ainsley. You might incriminate yourself. And I must tell you, Miss Ross and I found a flask of highly corrosive acid in the back of your dressing-room closet. The name of the store where it was purchased was still on the flask, and the man who sold it is willing to testify that you are the purchaser.”

  “Why—would I try to kill myself?” Ainsley demanded, his voice rising. “I could have been hit by that chandelier as well as Jamison!”

  “No, you were in a chair six feet from where it hit. You were looking up at it all the time,” Goldman stated flatly. “It would have done two things for you. First, it would have thrown off suspicion. The so-called Phantom of the Theater couldn’t be you—because you almost died at his hand. And the bottom line—and what we think caused you to come up with this scheme—was to sell tickets. Free publicity—and two people dead!” he said in utter disgust.

  “I never killed anyone!” Ainsley objected, his voice uneven. His brow was wet with sweat, and he drew out a handkerchief, mopped it, then went on, “All right, I did write those first two letters—but that’s no crime! And I did rig that light to fall, but nobody was hurt, right? I had it all timed to the split second!”

  Goldman shook his head. Dani forged ahead, “The next attempt was a bomb put in a package intended for Ainsley. Two things about this attempt would eliminate most people. In the first place, the killer was surprised by my operative, Ben Savage, and managed to overcome him.” Dani paused and looked at Ben. “Savage was trained in the Rangers in hand-to-hand combat. He holds a black belt in karate. No average man—and certainly no woman!—would be able to take Ben Savage out! The second thing that most people would not know how to do is make a bomb such as the one the police found in the package. Your men say—do they not, Lieutenant?—that the bomb was fairly complex, requiring a high measure of skill to produce.”

  “That’s correct,” Goldman nodded, turned, and looked at the man at the other end of the table. “When my men searched your apartment, Trask, they found two very interesting things. One, your record with the Seals—underwater demolition experts—and that you are highly trained in hand-to-hand combat. I believe you also are a black-belt karate man, or so your certificate reads from the Twa Mateo Academy of Martial Arts. And while we are at it, Mickey, you might as well know, we’re on our way to proving you were the man who stabbed Lily Aumont.”

  “You’re crazy! How could I hit myself in the head hard enough to lay myself out? Besides I didn’t have no knife!”

  “We’re working on that, Trask,” Goldman said. “But we really don’t need it.”

  Trask began to tremble. “It—it’s all a frame. That broad who broke into my apartment—”

  “There was no ‘broad’ with my men, Trask!” Goldman responded. “They also found the same sort of material used in making the bomb. Do you want to explain why you were making bombs in your apartment? Or do you want to save that for the jury?”

  “Wait a minute now!” Trask gasped. He seemed to lack air, and his chest heaved visibly. “I don’t—”

  “How do you explain the fact that your fingerprints were on the timer that was set to kill Miss Ross? Why did you confess to setting the trap in that bathtub, if you didn’t do it? Why would you have fought with Savage and done all you could to stay out of that tub, if there was nothing in it but soapy water?”

  “All right! All right!” Mickey yelled. “I sent the letters! I planted the bomb and wired the tub—but that’s not murder one! You can’t hang the real stuff on me!”

  Chief Flannery cried, “You’ll take a fall, Trask! Attempted homicide will get you off the
streets for a long time!” A worried look touched his eyes. “But what about the two murders? Trask might have hated Ainsley enough to kill the LeRoi woman and hope it’d get blamed on Ainsley, since he pulled the trigger.”

  “Let’s talk about the murder of Amber LeRoi,” Dani said in return. “She had enemies. Two of them in this play.”

  “Yes, I hated the woman,” Lady Lockridge confessed instantly. “She ruined my husband and almost wrecked my marriage. But I didn’t kill her.” She spoke with rocklike confidence, and no sign of guilt appeared on her face.

  “Did your husband hate her, Lady Lockridge?”

  Something changed in the face of the woman facing Dani. A slight break in her confidence, just enough to be seen. “Adrian was a much kinder person than I am,” she admitted slowly. “He . . . hadn’t been well for some time, and there were times when he . . . resented what Amber LeRoi had done to him.”

  Dani stood very still, so still and for so long that everyone turned to stare at her. Finally she asked in a muted voice, “Your husband owned a gun, didn’t he, Lady Lockridge? He told the police he didn’t, but that wasn’t the truth, was it?”

  “It was just an old relic!” Victoria protested. “Adrian’s father had owned it, and he kept it for a memento! It hadn’t been fired for years—Adrian said it would probably blow up if anyone tried it!”

  “Was the caliber of the gun a thirty-eight?” Dani asked.

  “I—believe that was what it used.”

  “And did you buy some thirty-eight cartridges?”

  “I—I don’t remember.”

  “Victoria.” Dani forced out her words. “Mr. Benny Allen, a clerk at the Empire Sporting Goods Company, will testify that you bought a box of thirty-eight cartridges from him at two fifteen in the afternoon on March twelfth. He instantly picked your picture out of a group. He also said that you were so nervous you could hardly stand.”

  Silence fell over the room, like a heavy curtain. Victoria’s face grew tense—then her lips trembled. Tears came to her eyes, and she nodded faintly. When she whispered, “Yes—I bought them!” those at the far end of the table could hardly hear her words.

  Dani suddenly could not say a word, for her own eyes filled with tears, and her throat constricted, as if a giant hand had closed upon it.

  Goldman took a quick glance at her, and cautioned, “Lady Lockridge, I must warn you that with a motive such as you have admitted to and with the proof that you bought the live ammunition for the gun—these along with the opportunity to place the live ammunition in the murder weapon make you look very bad.”

  “I cannot help what it looks like, Lieutenant,” she said simply. “I did not do what you have suggested.”

  Dani had regained her composure and carefully questioned, “Why did you buy the cartridges?”

  “Because Adrian asked me to,” she replied. “He told me that with all the terrible things happening to members of the cast, it would be better to keep a loaded gun in our apartment.”

  “Did you believe that?” Dani asked quickly.

  “No, I did not. I thought he might—!” She broke off abruptly, put her hands over her face, and began to weep.

  For a while Dani made no further attempt to question her, but when the older woman wiped her eyes, she continued, “Your husband was a very sick man, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sicker than he knew, perhaps?”

  Suddenly Victoria lifted her eyes toward Dani, and everyone saw the shock written across her features. “How did you know?” she demanded sharply, almost angrily.

  “I have a report on his condition from the hospital where he took his last tests—”

  “Those reports are confidential! No one but family is supposed to have them!”

  Ben Savage slumped lower in his seat, but his eyes did not flicker.

  Dani said evenly, “Physicians have given their opinion on these tests, Lady Lockridge. But you know what they said, don’t you?”

  “Yes! Yes!” Victoria nodded. “They said he was a dead man! No more than a month—and in all probability a painful death!” She bit her lower lip, removed the last of her tears with a limp tissue, and sat up straight in the chair. “All right. I had hoped it would never come out, but I see that it has to be told. Adrian’s illness was terminal. I tried to keep it from him, but he knew! And it worked on his mind, his emotions. At the last he had terrible periods of black depression. Sometimes he would be very high, but never for long.”

  “I think we all can remember the mood swings,” Lily offered gently. “We all thought it was from a drinking problem.”

  “No, it wasn’t that,” Victoria said. “It was as though he became another man, not the one I knew so well. When he was in one of his bad times, he insisted I buy the cartridges for the gun. I knew he wasn’t telling the truth about why he wanted them. I was afraid . . . that he’d kill himself!”

  “Did you ever think he might want to kill Amber LeRoi?” Dani had to ask.

  “Why, the thought never entered my mind! Adrian would never—”

  “Well, he did do it!”

  Every eye swung to Mickey Trask. The small man’s eyes were fixed on Victoria Lockridge, and he said loudly, “I saw him put the ammo in that thirty-eight!”

  A rising cry of shock ran around the room, with Victoria’s loud cry of “No!” almost a scream.

  “I’m not going take the fall for murder one,” Trask stated flatly. “I was passing by the prop room, and I saw Lockridge. He’d opened the cabinet with the gun. I saw him take the blanks out and put in live ammo!”

  “You’ll testify to this in a court of law?” Goldman demanded.

  “Yes!”

  “It’s just his word!” Victoria cried.

  “No, it’s not!” Trask shouted. “She saw it, too!” He pointed at Carmen, who began to tremble. “Come on, babe!” Trask called out. “The woods are on fire—tell ’em what we saw!”

  Carmen started to shake her head, but Dani promptly intervened, “We have a witness who will testify that he heard you say. . . . She picked up a sheet of paper and read: “Sir Adrian! Sir Adrian! Why did you do it? Why did you kill Amber?”

  Carmen’s eyes went at once to Savage. She held his gaze, then seemed to slump. “All right—I was with Mickey. And saw what he said.”

  “You both saw Adrian Lockridge reloading the weapon used in the drama to fire at Amber LeRoi?” Goldman insisted.

  They both spoke up, “Yes, we saw it.”

  Goldman said slowly, “So—you both saw it—and did nothing about it? If I were the prosecuting attorney, I’d love that! But I think that is the way it will go in the hearing.” His smooth face changed then, and compassion shone out of his dark eyes. “I think, Lady Lockridge, you will have to accept the fact that your husband was not himself—temporarily insane—when he did this thing.”

  “He was not himself,” she whispered. “All the years we were married, and I never heard an unkind word!”

  Anxious to break the mood, Dani interjected brusquely, “And I think we now have the key to the attempted stabbing of Lily Aumont. The two of you did it, didn’t you? Trask, you were to stab her. Then someone had to give you a sharp blow on the head and take the knife. Carmen, I think you might as well admit that.”

  “Yes, that was the way it was,” Carmen admitted, her eyes dull. “He said it was foolproof! Now look at us!”

  “Which brings us,” Goldman said slowly, “to the death of Sir Adrian Lockridge.” He stood there, his head down, staring at the table. “It’s the most difficult part of the whole affair. The physical evidence is nonexistent!”

  Lifting one hand he touched the points off on his fingers. “Number one, he was poisoned. But the autopsy was unable to determine the nature of the poison. To put the matter bluntly, the victim’s internal physical condition was so poor that it took very little to bring on death.

  “Number two, the poison could not have come from the champagne bottle used in the dining
scene. Everyone drank from that same bottle, with no ill effects. Everyone got a clean glass from the servant.

  “Number three, the sherry bottle and both glasses used in the final scene were broken, and not enough traces remained for the lab to identify anything. But Ainsley poured both drinks into the glasses, in full view of the audience. There was no way that Ainsley could have put poison in Sir Adrian’s glass—no way at all!”

  “Well, what are you saying, Goldman?” Chief Flannery spoke up. “Somebody must have put poison in that glass!”

  “Yes,” Goldman said slowly, and everyone leaned forward. “But the only person who could have put the poison in his glass was Sir Adrian himself!”

  “He would never do that! Never!” Lady Lockridge objected defiantly.

  “Not if he were in his right mind,” Goldman agreed. “But you know, as we all know, Lady Lockridge, that your husband was a deeply troubled man. Isn’t that so?”

  Victoria bowed her head. “Yes—that is so!”

  “So that’s it!” Chief Flannery got to his feet, a look of satisfaction on his face. “Take Trask back to his cell—”

  “Chief Flannery, we’re not finished yet.”

  Flannery looked at Dani, who stood straighter than usual. Her face was colorless, and her voice sounded forced as she added, “There is one piece of evidence that must be brought forward.”

  “Why, what is it?” Flannery asked in surprise. “Do you know of anything more, Lieutenant?”

  “Why, no, sir.” Goldman was watching Dani carefully, his eyes taking in the sallow cast of her face and the fact that her hands were trembling. “What evidence, Miss Ross?” he asked quietly.

  Dani licked her lips, then said, “It concerns the death of Sir Adrian Lockridge. It was logical for us to think that the poison was put into the sherry. As Lieutenant Goldman has said, it was impossible for Ainsley to have done it. Knowing that Sir Adrian was a sick man, not in control of his faculties, it was logical for us to assume that he did it himself, hoping to throw suspicion on the man who had ruined him.”