Sergeant Carson turned with obvious relief. “Oh, Detective Sergeant Lempson, up here, sir!” The young policeman’s face relaxed and his shoulders dropped as tension left his body. He all but leapt downstage to bring the detective supervisor up to speed on the happenings.
A few minutes later Lempson asked the little group still standing on the stage to come down to the theatre seats and set his team to work securing and photographing the scene. The stocky detective, who had been introduced to them as Detective Rory Fellows, and Sergeant Carson wrapped the stage area with yellow crime scene tape. As a photographer began firing flashing light bulbs from every angle, the medical examiner opened her kit. Activity swirled around the lifeless Desdemona, as immobile on her bier as a stone effigy.
Lempson turned to the little group sitting in the front row of seats. “Now,” he turned to Gregg. “Tell me what happened.” Gregg explained about Desdemona’s death scene, stressing how thoroughly all the action had been rehearsed.
“I held the pillow over her face. I mean, it looked to the audience like I was really pushing down hard, but I left air space upstage. Always.”
“But that was with a different actress, is that right?” The officer looked back at his notes.
Gregg gasped and hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Oh, no. Could that have possibly been it? Erin knew to turn her head when the pillow came down. Maybe Sally didn’t know. You don’t think. . .?”
“She didn’t struggle.” Elizabeth said.
“What?” Everyone turned to her.
“Desdemona—Sally. She didn’t struggle. I thought it was an oversight in her acting. But she should have, shouldn’t she? Wouldn’t a person being suffocated struggle?”
The officer looked at her for a full three beats. “Yes. They would. That’s good, lady.”
“Could she already have been dead?” Tori’s voice was thin. It was clear how desperately she wanted this awful situation to be anything but Gregg’s fault.
The officer shrugged. “That’s for the medical people to decide. I just want to get a picture of what was going on.”
The medical examiner stood up and put her stethoscope in her bag. “Looks pretty straightforward. All the symptoms of cardiac arrest. Of course we’ll need a full postmortem, but I’m betting on natural causes.” She looked at Elizabeth. “You’re quite right. There are no signs of struggle. If she’d been suffocated there would be petechiae.”
“Huh?”
“Small broken blood vessels. From the neck up. Especially in the whites of the eyes. And bruising. There would be bruising around the nose and mouth.” Dr. Hilliard sketched a circle around her own features with her forefinger.
Gregg gave a deep, shuddering sigh as if he had been holding his breath for hours. He hadn’t inadvertently smothered her, then.
The medic turned to the Detective Sergeant. “I can tell you more some time tomorrow. That’s all I can do here.”
Lempson called Officer Fellows over. “Right. Looks like that’s it for tonight. Get the name and contact information of everyone involved in the production tonight, then let them go. It doesn’t look like you’ll need to take statements tonight.”
Trevor Stevens strode forward gesturing toward the bright yellow plastic tape circling his stage. “Now see here, what about all that? We have rehearsals tomorrow morning.”
“It will have to stay that way tonight. I’ll let you know as soon as I have Dr. Hilliard’s report. You may need to postpone your rehearsals.”
Trevor opened his mouth to argue, but apparently changed his mind. Mouth still open, he turned on his heel and strode off.
It seemed that the little group remaining down front was free to go as Lempson had already taken their names and addresses, but no one moved. They all sat in silence until the tiny, lifeless form of Sally Wallace, who such a short time ago had been a compellingly vital Desdemona, was placed on a stretcher and covered with a sterile sheet. Elizabeth crossed herself as the little procession passed before her on the stage.
Behind the authorities, actors and crew trailed out talking of their shock, their palpitations; the tragedy, the horror—each one suddenly Sally’s very dearest friend in the world who would never recover from her death. Soon all were gone except one electrician who squinted nearsightedly even through his glasses and periodically flipped his thin brown hair out of his face. As lighting console operator, it was his job to wait with whatever patience he could muster to throw the final switch that would leave the stage in darkness for the night.
Only four remained. Elizabeth, Richard, Tori and Gregg stood like a silent island, as the chatter and footsteps receded. Victoria spoke first. “I can’t imagine what the shock will do to Erin. She’s so tightly strung anyway, and she and Sally worked very closely together.”
Richard glanced at his watch. “It’s too late to see her tonight. Let’s hope that strong-eyed nurse can keep the news from her until morning.”
“Come back to our place with me,” Tori pleaded. “I don’t want to be alone just yet.”
Although it was not a cold evening, Tori was shivering violently by the time they reached her apartment. Elizabeth settled her, wrapped in a blanket, in one corner of the sagging brown sofa and went into the kitchen to put the coffee pot on.
She re-entered a few minutes later just in time to hear Richard say to Gregg, “Yes, I understand what you’re saying, but do you really have the faith to be an atheist?”
Elizabeth shook her head. What could Gregg have said to bring this on? Philosophy again. It had once irritated her to no end the way Richard turned to theoretical contemplation in times of stress. But then, on a cold night on a precipice in the Rockies she had come to see the value of Richard’s thoughtful approach to life.
Now she smiled as she set her tray on the coffee table. It never ceased to amaze her how comfortable people seemed to feel opening up their deepest thoughts to Richard. Once she had let him past her own barriers, it had been their long, serious conversations that had first attracted her to him. And here he was now, showing the same concern to an almost total stranger. She couldn’t be more thankful that both men had the sense to talk about something other than Sally’s death. Tori looked dreadful. Elizabeth put a heaping scoop of sugar in her sister’s coffee as the men continued.
“Faith?” Gregg spat the word out. “I don’t have any faith. I’m not sure I ever had much, but when Ellen walked out on me and my whole family took her side, I just let them take their legalistic religion with them, too.”
“And you haven’t found anything to replace it?” Gregg shook his head, so Richard continued. “That’s the problem. Everyone has to believe in something. An atheist doesn’t have God to believe in, so he has to believe in himself or in money or power or philosophy— something.”
Elizabeth looked at her watch. These men had been talking for less than ten minutes and they were already on to the meaning of life.
Gregg took a slow sip of his coffee. “Sometimes I think I believe in art. The universality of truth in Shakespeare. . .”
“Is that enough?”
Gregg shrugged. “It’s a start.”
Richard nodded. “Yes. A good start, I’d say. Searching for universal Truth is the only place to start.”
“Mmm, but it gets confusing. There’re so many philosophies, so many religions out there. How do you choose?”
“Ah!” Richard leaned forward in his chair, his eyes bright. “That’s the whole key. You don’t choose. Truth isn’t something you choose like a brand of toothpaste or a flavor of potato chips. Truth is eternal, unchanging. It’s there to be found.”
Gregg and Richard continued, and Elizabeth saw, gratefully, that Tori’s eyes were beginning to droop. “Come on, Miss Vicky, to bed with you.” She put her arm around her sister and guided her, zombie-like, to her bedroomas she had so often done for her little sister after their mother died.
When she returned to the sitting room some time later, Gregg had gone an
d Richard was sitting in deep thought. Elizabeth curled up beside him on the sofa. “So tell me, what was that all about with Gregg? How on earth did you get to be his Father Confessor after knowing him for only a few hours?”
“Well, sometimes it is easier to confess to a total stranger, but it wasn’t quite like that.” He thought for a moment. “Actually, I’m not sure how it happened. I was just making conversation. Getting to know him.” He laughed. “I guess I got to know him a little better than I expected.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked him something about his family. The innocuous sort of thing one asks.”
“But in his case it wasn’t innocuous?”
“Apparently he was married briefly several years ago.”
“Ellen.”
“That’s right. She had an adored older brother who was studying for the priesthood. Gregg felt he never could live up to the idealized standard Stephen set, and apparently Ellen agreed, so she left. I’m sure it was more complicated than that. There’s naturally a lot he didn’t go into.”
“It sounds like an uncomfortable situation. You’d think he might have found it a relief when she left.”
“I think he might have except his whole family—three sisters, if I got it right—all sided with Ellen.”
Elizabeth nodded. “So that left Gregg feeling abandoned and blaming the universe.”
“That’s about it.”
“Bitter enough that he might take his stored-up rage out on Sally? Maybe he suddenly thought she was this Ellen who had ruined his life and—”
“Whoa. You’ve always had an active imagination, but that’s really taking your hurdles at a gallop. And he was genuinely distraught at the thought that he might have killed Sally.”
“Yes. Except that he’s an actor. A very, very, good one. And Emilia seemed so certain.”
Richard shook his head. “He’s in a really difficult situation. Going through a bit of a rough time, I’d say.”
“Well, I’m sorry for him, but I don’t want him taking his troubles out on Tori. He doesn’t sound at all like the right person for her. She needs someone mature and stable and—” she looked at the man beside her. “Someone like you.”
Richard bent over and kissed the tip of her nose. “Thank you, Mrs. Spenser. But I’m taken.” Elizabeth returned his kiss, then, he continued, “But give him a chance. I quite liked him.”
“That’s fine, but you’re not thinking of marrying him.”
“And Tori is?”
“I’m very much afraid so. And I don’t trust him, or this highly-charged dramatic atmosphere around here. Especially. . .” She didn’t want to go further. All her strongest desires screamed at her to leave her next question alone. Warned her that she didn’t want to go there.
But Richard was right. Truth had its own demands. And Elizabeth couldn’t deny the certainty she felt pushing at her mind. Surely it was just too coincidental that both Desdemonas—apparently healthy young women—should have heart attacks within a few hours of each other.
Chapter 5
AND WHEN ELIZABETH, RICHARD and Victoria saw Erin in the hospital the next morning, the actress agreed. “It was meant to be me. I know it was! Whatever happened—whoever did whatever they did—I was meant to be the victim. Now will you believe someone is trying to kill me?” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch.
“I don’t know.” Dirk who was already there when Richard and Elizabeth arrived, answered. “It is an awfully big coincidence, but I don’t see how anyone. . .”
Erin, freed from yesterday’s tubes, jolted upright and hit the bed with her fist. “Don’t you use that ‘calm down, Erin,’ tone of voice on me. Flats fall on me. My makeup is sabotaged, my pills are switched, my understudy is murdered—”
“Murdered?” Tori turned so pale Elizabeth was afraid she’d faint.
“Of course she was murdered. Isn’t it obvious? And it was supposed to be me!”
Richard’s calm voice settled her back on the pillows as firmly as if he’d guided her with his hands. “We understand how upset you are, Erin. But think a minute. If your pills were switched, surely that would have been done by the same person you claim did something to Desdemona. And they would have known you weren’t playing the role last night.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth jumped in. “It looks far more as if someone wanted to get you out of the way so they could set Sally up.”
Erin was calmer, but no less certain. “No, don’t you see? They didn’t want me to be in the hospital, they just wanted to weaken me. Then whatever they had set up to happen would finish me off.”
Richard raised a dark eyebrow, making his long face even longer. “There is a logic to what she says. What could have been rigged onstage?”
“Something in the pillow?” Elizabeth suggested. “Chloroform or something?”
Richard shook his head. “The doctor would have noticed, surely.”
Tori’s brown-black eyes got almost as big as her oversized glasses. “The costume. A needle or something in it?”
“The drink. The bridal toast. She really drank that, didn’t she?” Elizabeth asked.
Erin nodded. “Yeah, it’s unusual to do that onstage, but with those crystal goblets the audience could see if she didn’t. It was just apple juice. . .” Her voice trailed off as her hand went to her throat. “Tell the police.” It came out in a whisper.
Richard nodded. “I expect the police have already thought of all this. And something may have shown up in the autopsy, but I’ll mention it to Detective Sergeant Lempson. He gave me his card in case we remembered anything else.”
Erin’s face contorted and she struggled to control her sobs. “You can’t imagine how awful this is for me. No one can. Nothing in my life has ever been like this. I’ve always been so happy. I know I was spoiled, but my parents were so good to me. My life was perfect. I just don’t know how to handle something like this—I haven’t had any experience. . .”
“None of us have had experience with murder, Erin.” Dirk stroked her hand.
Elizabeth didn’t want to talk about the experience she had had with murder. It was time to change the subject. “What about the play?” Then she realized that if the police didn’t take that tape down, there would be no performance.
But Elizabeth had no intention of mentioning that gloomy thought to Erin, who brightened with the dedication of a professional. “Shouldn’t be any problem. It’s Henry tonight, then Twelfth Night tomorrow. I’ll be back by then. Doctor said I can go home this afternoon, but he wants me to stay quiet for a while.”
In spite of her earlier near-hysteria, it seemed that they left Erin in a remarkably improved mood a short time later. Elizabeth commented on Erin’s mercurial disposition as they walked down Siskyou Boulevard. “I suppose it could have been Dirk’s presence. He was certainly doing his best to cheer her up. That fruit basket he brought her was gorgeous. But I don’t know, she didn’t seem to be responding to him as much as I would have expected. Most of the time she acted as if he wasn’t in the room.”
Richard shook his head. “Theatre people. All of life is played on the edge.” He grinned. “Academics, on the other hand, are capable of perfect calm until in need of feeding.”
Elizabeth squeezed his arm. “Right. I get it. Time for lunch.”
Richard held the door of a shop called Paddington Station and Elizabeth led through the aisles of stuffed animals, carousels and imported cards and soaps to the stairway down to the Underground Restaurant. It took them all some time to settle on which of the elaborately concocted salads they wanted. Then there was the choice of dressing. “Mmmm, I guess I’ll have the creamy avocado lime,” Elizabeth finally decided.
When the patient waitress had departed, Tori returned to their earlier conversation. “She doesn’t like him. Not really. She just tolerates him to irritate her beastly father.”
“Huh?” Elizabeth asked.
“Erin and Dirk. I think they met at Vail or Aspen or som
e jet set place like that. Sort of a shipboard-type romance a couple of years ago. Erin would have gotten rid of him ages ago if her father hadn’t hit the ceiling and demanded she never see him again.”
“So what about this ‘perfect childhood’ Erin claims?” Elizabeth had thought that definitely sounded like the lady doth too much protest.
Tori shrugged. “Well, at least there’s no doubt about the spoiled part. But I like her a lot anyway. It isn’t her fault her parents are filthy rich. And she can be really thoughtful and generous.”
“‘Daddy’ sounds charming,” Elizabeth said.
Tori grinned. “I think I agree with him about Dirk. But ‘Daddy’ doesn’t approve of Erin’s acting either, and he’s wrong there—she really is talented. I hope you’ll get to see her play Olivia tomorrow night. She’s great.”
The salads arrived to appropriate oh’s and ah’s. Elizabeth speared one of her succulent pink shrimp and dipped it in the creamy green dressing. After taking time to savor the bite she continued, “But what is Dirk doing here? Does he have a job?”
“I guess he must be independently wealthy. He’s always talking about places he’s been in France and Switzerland. Must be nice. Anyway, right now he’s just hanging around Erin as far as I can tell.”
Richard had been silent while Elizabeth and Erin talked, his brow furrowed in thought. Now he asked, “This father of Erin’s—just who is he?”
“I don’t know.” Tori’s long, thick braid swung from side to side as she shook her head. “He owns about half the oil wells and cattle ranches in Texas, I guess. And a construction company, too, I think.”
“Renton?” Richard repeated Erin’s last name.
“No. That’s her stage name. I think she uses it so no one can say she got a part on Daddy’s reputation. Her real name is Erica Wooton.”
The name didn’t mean anything to Elizabeth, but it was clear it did to Richard. “Eric Wooton! That’s her father? No wonder she wanted to get out on her own. I don’t think he owns quite half of Texas, but maybe half of their politicians.”
“And you tease me about using overstatement.” Elizabeth grinned at her husband.
A Midsummer Eve's Nightmare Page 3
