Fare Play

by Barbara Paul

  Kelly poured herself another drink; she’d barely touched her food. “How could she get out of the theater without being seen? Two cops watching out front, and she slipped by right under their noses.”

  Carla Banner wasn’t in the theater, so that’s what must have happened. Marian regarded her friend closely; Kelly was truly worried. “Kel,” she said, “they had only a description to go on. But think what happened there tonight. Carla was being hunted by the police. Do you have any idea how terrifying that can be? Knowing that the cops are after you? She sees herself as a complete innocent, I’m sure, which would make it all the more frightening when men in uniform carrying guns come looking for her.”

  Kelly slowly put down her drink. “You mean she may have been scared off?”

  “I think it’s quite likely. Here’s a young woman who so desperately wants to belong that she loses all sense of judgement. She’s fixated on you, and that makes her do things that wouldn’t even occur to people who live normal lives. But Carla doesn’t have any life except you.”

  “Oh, god.”

  “But that’s her doing, not yours. It’s her responsibility. And maybe being chased by the police just might force her to face up to what she’s doing. She’s bound to be shaken by what happened.”

  Kelly was visibly perking up. “Then tonight might be a good thing.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

  Kelly turned to her co-star. “Hear that, Ian? I might just be rid of the pest!”

  “A toast,” Ian responded. “To freedom from importunate fans everywhere!” They clicked glasses.

  “Very nicely done,” Holland murmured into Marian’s ear.

  “Is ‘importunate’ a real word,” Kelly asked Ian, “or did you just make that up?”

  Marian had simply wanted to relieve her friend’s mind; but she could only hope that Carla Banner would be scared off. She hadn’t mentioned the other possibility, that tonight’s police hunt would turn Banner against Kelly—and change her from nuisance to threat. It didn’t seem likely, but it could happen.

  “Of course it’s a real word,” said Ian, pretending huffiness. “I never make up words. That’s Abby’s job.” On cue, the telephone rang. “And there she is!”

  Ian answered, and told Abby who else was there and that he was putting her on the speakerphone. But before anyone else could even say hello, he demanded, “Just exactly when are you coming home?”

  They could hear her sigh all the way from California. “I was hoping to leave tomorrow, but I’d better stay on a few more days. End of next week, I think, Ian.”

  He grumbled. “You said that last week.”

  “I know. It can’t be helped.”

  Kelly spoke up. “Abby, wait ’til you hear what happened tonight!” She went on to tell her all about Carla Banner and how the police had come to the theater but hadn’t been able to find her. When she finished, the phone remained silent. “Abby?”

  “I’m here. My god. Carla Banner.”

  “Aha!” said Ian. “You know the name too! Who is she?”

  “We’ve both worked with her, Ian,” Abby said. “She was Leo’s assistant stage manager on Foxfire.”

  His face changed. “Foxfire. I remember her now. She quit right before a performance.”

  “She didn’t have much choice,” Abby’s voice said dryly. “Her father came and dragged her out. Kelly, do you mean that that mousy little girl is the one who’s been dogging you?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Carla Banner. I haven’t thought about her in years.”

  Ian said, “Well, she’s not exactly memorable, is she? And that seems to be her problem.”

  “I suppose,” Abby said. Her voice brightened. “Who else is there—Marian?”

  “Hi, Abby,” Marian said. “How’s Hollywood?”

  “Oh, same as always,” the playwright said. “Filled with shallow, underinformed people making decisions involving literally millions of dollars. And the things they want to do to The Apostrophe Thief—Kelly, at one point they were actually talking about sending you over a waterfall in a canoe.”

  “What?” Kelly screeched.

  “Wa-ter-fall?” Ian overarticulated incredulously.

  “All part of opening out the play that those meddling fools love so much,” Abby said. “But don’t worry—they’ve abandoned the idea of the waterfall. Now they’re talking about a hot-air balloon.”

  “I feel ill,” Kelly said.

  “They’ll probably talk themselves out of that as well,” Abby said reassuringly, and then changed the subject. “The man who talks in iambs—is he there?”

  Holland smiled and matched her rhythm. “For ever and a day, ye wist, fair maid.”

  The telephone laughed. “Thanks for that ‘fair maid.’ How are you doing, Holland?”

  “Better than ever, thanks.”

  “Abby,” Kelly interrupted, “is it all right with you if I ask Ian to go to a wedding with me?”

  “Sure,” Abby said amiably. “Ask away. Who’s getting married?”

  “Ivan Malecki.”

  “I don’t know the name.”

  Marian said, “My former partner.”

  “Ah. Well, everyone have a good time!”

  Ian took the phone out of the room for a few minutes’ private talk with Abby. Marian turned to Holland. “That reminds me—”

  “Yes, I’ll go to the wedding with you.”

  Kelly laughed. “Let her ask you first.”

  “Sorry.” He wasn’t.

  When Ian came back in, he was looking thunderclouds at Kelly. “A wedding? I don’t want to go to any wedding.”

  “Oh, come on, Ian. It’ll be fun.”

  “Why isn’t Roger going with you?”

  “Roger’s a jerk.”

  “Who’s Roger?” Marian asked.

  Ian said, “You didn’t think he was a jerk the last time you let him come backstage.”

  “That was two days ago,” Kelly retorted. “I know him better now.”

  “Who’s Roger?”

  “His feelings will be hurt if you don’t ask him,” Ian said.

  “How can they be? He doesn’t even know there is a wedding.”

  Marian rapped a spoon against the side of her glass. “Who’s Roger?”

  “Roger,” Ian explained elaborately, “is the love of Kelly’s life—and in her heart of hearts, she knows this is so. Why is she doing this cruel thing to Roger?”

  Kelly said to Marian, “He’s someone I’ve gone out with a few times, that’s all. Roger is not the love of anybody’s life, except Roger’s.” Back to Ian. “Don’t be stubborn. You’ll get a kick out of this wedding, I promise you.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Guess who’s going to be best man.” She looked over to where Marian and Holland were sitting.

  Ian looked too. “Holland?”

  “Nope,” Kelly said gleefully.

  The look on Ian Cavanaugh’s face told Marian more than anything else yet what a nonsensical situation she’d allowed herself to be dragged into. She groaned and buried her head in her arms on the table. She felt Holland’s hand on her back and heard him laugh.

  When she raised her head, Ian was laughing too, with his whole body. “Just tell me when and where,” he said. “I’ll be there!”

  30

  Marian went into the stationhouse Monday morning determined not to wait around until Hook Nose had been found.

  Perlmutter and O’Toole had already done standard background checks on David Unger and Elmore Zook, finding nothing they didn’t expect to find; but now Marian told them to dig deeper. “Forget the paper chase—talk to their acquaintances, the merchants they do business with, like that.” She gave them Dowd to help, and told Walker she wanted him to follow Dave Unger if he went anywhere during the day.

  “Why Unger and not Zook?” he wanted to know. “My money’s on the lawyer.”

  “Zook will spend the day doing lawyer things,�
�� she said. “But O.K. Toys is swarming with IRS accountants, so Unger most likely will avoid the place. See what he does with his time now that things are crashing down around him. And Walker—it’s okay if he spots you.”

  The detective grinned. “Gotcha.”

  “You other three—before you get going on the background checks, I want you to bring Austin Knowles in for questioning. I’ll do the questioning, but you do the bringing. Go get him now, before he leaves home for the day.”

  Perlmutter groaned. “Lieutenant, Police Regulation Three-Six-Four-A expressly forbids the display of excess energy on Monday mornings.”

  “Go, go.”

  They went. Marian called the DA’s office and told them what she had in mind, asking if she could dangle a deal in front of Austin Knowles in exchange for information about O.K. Toys. After some consultation, one of the lawyers called back and said go ahead, but don’t specify terms. That was good enough for Marian.

  When Knowles was brought in, Marian let him sit in an interrogation room for an hour with only a mute police officer for company. When she walked into the room, the architect practically screamed at her for keeping him there incommunicado.

  Good.

  “Now, Mr. Knowles,” she said briskly, “I know that you know what your father was doing at O.K. Toys. That business was just a front. By the way, did he ever make toys?”

  “Of course he did!” The man was nervous and hostile. “He was a toymaker—that’s what he did. Right up to a few years ago, when he went into distribution only.”

  “But the company wasn’t doing any distributing of toys. Not anymore. It was only pretending to. Somewhere along the line your father got out of the toy business and into … what?”

  “I don’t know! I didn’t know the business was a sham until Dave Unger told me the IRS was after him.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I thought they were still distributing toys.”

  “Mr. Knowles, we just don’t believe you were unaware of what was going on. Let’s cut the crap, shall we? What kind of racket was your father running?”

  It went on like that for another twenty minutes, with Austin Knowles getting increasingly jumpy until he started yelling at her. At that point, Marian switched her attack.

  “Did Dave Unger also tell you that he’s the one who ordered the hit on your father?” she asked sharply.

  He turned white. “What … did you say?”

  “He killed your father, Austin. This man you’re protecting. He took out the contract on your father.”

  “I … I don’t believe it. You just suspect him, you don’t really know.”

  “Oh, we know. It’s just a matter of time before we charge him with murder. And that’s where you come in. You can save us time. Tell me as much as you know about O.K. Toys.”

  He continued his denials, growing more agitated by the minute. The man’s perpetual edginess could stem from the unsettling loss of both parents followed by the police’s pointed interest in him as a suspect. Austin Knowles’s naked despair and fear could be that of any man under such pressure. But Marian could not allow herself to doubt his involvement—not now, not during the interrogation. One sign of wavering on her part and she’d lose the advantage she’d built up.

  Finally the time came to dangle her bait. “The DA’s office is willing to make a deal,” she told Knowles. “What kind of deal, I don’t know. Reduced sentence, total immunity—it would depend on your degree of involvement with the business.”

  “I wasn’t involved at all!” Then something sank in. “Total immunity?”

  “I can’t make the deal for the DA. But if the only crime you’ve committed is withholding evidence, they’ll drop that charge, I’m sure. It all depends on what you tell us.”

  He swallowed visibly. “I want my lawyer.”

  “Certainly. But a word of advice.” Marian leaned toward him across the table. “Get a new lawyer. The one you have now is involved in this mess up to the top of his shiny bald head. Or do you think Elmore Zook wouldn’t throw you to the wolves to save his own hide? You know him better than I do. What do you think?”

  He swallowed again, trying to lubricate the dry mouth that fear induced. “I’ve known Elmore Zook for most of my life.”

  “And he’s always been like a father to you—right? You’d trust him the way you’d trust your real father—right?”

  Wrong, his eyes said. “Am I under arrest?”

  “No. But get yourself a good lawyer, Austin. And do it fast.”

  “I need a phone.”

  “Use the one in your office.”

  He hesitated. “Does that mean I can go?”

  “Yes.”

  He got up slowly, watching her to see if she was toying with him. He shot a glance at the uniformed officer standing silently by the door and darted out.

  The bluesuit grinned. “That’s one scared rabbit you got there, Lieutenant.”

  She nodded. “It didn’t look like acting to you?”

  “Shi—er, heck, no. That guy was ready to piss his—er—”

  “Shit, no, that guy was ready to piss his pants,” Marian finished for him. “I think so too.”

  Marian had no problem with using a suspect’s guilty fear against him. It was the reason she’d sent Walker to tail Dave Unger. Of the four detectives crowded into her office earlier that morning, she’d picked the one black one. White men got nervous when they saw black men following them.

  Sergeant Buchanan waved her over on her way back to her office. “Gloria Sanchez just called. Robin Muller’s boyfriend has skipped town.”

  “Sensible of him. Do you think he told us everything he knew?”

  “Yeah, he did. Once he decided to talk, he couldn’t wait to get it all out. I seen it before.”

  So had Marian. Perlmutter, O’Toole, and Dowd were still out trying to find something more about Dave Unger and Elmore Zook. Walker hadn’t called in yet. Noon already; where had the morning gone?

  The desk sergeant called to say that Kelly Ingram was downstairs.

  When Marian had gotten home from spending Sunday with Holland, she’d found a message from Kelly on her answering machine. Monday was the one day of the week Kelly had free; and on Sundays she had only matinee performances so it was possible for her to get to bed at a decent hour. Kelly’s message said she had some errands to run in the morning but they wouldn’t take very long and she’d stop by the stationhouse when she was through so they could go have lunch if that was all right with Marian and she wasn’t too involved to break away. That was the way she’d said it; all in one breath.

  They ate at an Armenian restaurant that Kelly liked and were interrupted by autograph-seekers only four times. “Can you take time to run home with me a minute?” Kelly asked as they were finishing. “I have something there I want you to take a look at.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “It’s the wedding present I got for Ivan and … Claire? I’ve never met her. Anyway, I want to know if you think it’s something they’ll use. It’s a set of Venetian glassware—goblets, champagne flutes, like that.”

  Marian’s own wedding present was embarrassingly mundane: a TV with a built-in VCR. But Ivan and Claire both had made a point of telling her that’s what they wanted. They had a big-screen set for their living room, but they wanted a smaller set with a VCR for the bedroom. For those times they’d feel like taking a break from honeymooning, Marian supposed.

  They went back to Kelly’s apartment. As Kelly was unlocking the door, Marian said, “I have to use your bathroom. Like immediately.”

  “Help yourself. I’ll go get the present.”

  Marian turned left down a short hallway to the bathroom while Kelly went on to the living area. Marian took her time in the attractive black-and-white bathroom, using the opportunity to wash with something other than the sickly green liquid soap found in all police stations everywhere. When she left the bathroom, she heard voices. Curious, she walked back down the carpeted hallway.
/>
  In the living room, Carla Banner was pointing a gun at Kelly Ingram.

  31

  Marian jerked back; Carla hadn’t seen her.

  Quietly Marian put her coat and bag down on the hall floor and slipped out of her suit jacket. She took a pair of handcuffs from her bag and tucked them into the waistband of her trousers in the back. Then she took her gun out of its holster.

  She moved quietly to the end of the short hallway and turned right into the kitchen and from there slipped into the small dining room. She stood flattened against the wall by the open doorway to the living room. Cautiously she looked around the side of the doorway.

  Carla was standing with her back to her. The gun in her hand was wobbly; Kelly was staring at it with eyes like saucers. “What do I have to do to make you understand?” Carla’s voice was a screech. “I offer to live my life for you, and you … and you, you just brush me off as if I were a mosquito! Don’t you see? I love you, Kelly!”

  Kelly managed to speak. “Is that why you’re pointing a gun at me?”

  “The gun is to make you listen! You don’t listen, Kelly! I can make your life so much easier for you. You need me. And all I ask in return is to be close to you … to help you, to take care of you. You don’t have to love me back.”

  Marian eased through the doorway behind Carla, her gun pointed toward the floor. Kelly, the professional actor, didn’t reveal by so much as a flicker of the eye that she’d seen her. She started talking, keeping Carla’s attention focused on her. “What kind of life would that be, Carla? Complete self-denial! Nobody should live that way.”

  “I don’t mind, I—”

  “You don’t have to be a slave. And I don’t want a slave. There’s got to be something better for you than that. If you—”

  Marian stepped up behind Carla and stuck the muzzle of her gun into the younger woman’s ear. “Drop the gun, Carla.”

  Carla shrieked and dropped the gun. “Don’t shoot me! Don’t shoot me!”

  “Hands behind your back.” One-handed, still holding her weapon on Carla, Marian put the cuffs on her. She shot a look at Kelly. “You all right?”