by Rick Copp
Chapter 35
“Wallace Goodwin wasn’t the only one having a secret affair with someone in the cast,” I said, staring Sir Anthony down. “So was his wife, Katrina. She was sleeping with you.”
Sir Anthony didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. A key was inserted into the door, and it swung open. Katrina Goodwin flounced in, wearing a heavy fur coat and high heels.
“Darling, I thought I would surprise you and show up a little early,” she said.
Sir Anthony stood frozen, his eyes popped open, desperately trying to signal her, but she blathered on, not realizing I was standing to her left, out of her line of sight.
“Why not make the most of our last night together before we bid adieu,” she said, dropping the fur coat to the floor and revealing her stark naked and remarkably well-preserved body.
“Those Pilates sure have paid off, Katrina,” I said.
She whipped her head around to face me and let out an audible gasp. “Jarrod, what . . . what are you doing here? I thought you were—”
“In jail? Arrested for a murder you committed?”
“Me? What are you talking about?”
She looked to Sir Anthony for some help, but he was so stunned, so flabbergasted at having been outed as a straight man, he didn’t know what to say in Katrina’s defense.
“I know what happened now. You discovered that Wallace was having an affair with Claire Richards, and it drove you wild with rage. All those years you stuck by him when he was nothing, all those years you were the architect of his career, you pushed him and pushed him to be the best that he could be, and then he committed the ultimate act of betrayal. He strayed. And with a woman much older than you, which made it even worse. You didn’t know it was just a forgettable one-night stand. Claire made a point of building it up to be much, much more than that, didn’t she? She didn’t like you and wanted to screw with your head, so she made it sound like she and Wallace were going to run off together to the south of France or something. Only thing was, she was gloriously happy with Liam. He was much more of a stud than Wallace. The only reason she slept with Wallace was to make sure he worked hard to keep her role in the play the most colorful and interesting. God forbid that Dame Sylvia get all the best lines. But you didn’t know she wasn’t serious about Wallace. You thought all your years of sweat and sacrifice to turn Wallace into a successful Hollywood writer and renowned playwright were for nothing. You had to do something. You had to take action. You had to kill Claire to save your marriage.”
“You’re not making any sense, Jarrod,” Katrina whined as she reached down and picked up the fur coat to cover herself. “You’re delusional.”
“No, I’m afraid not. You remembered my long-standing tradition of delivering gifts to my fellow castmates every opening tape night of the first show of the season when we did Go to Your Room. You knew I always gave my leading lady fresh flowers. That was when you formulated your plan. You were certain I’d give Claire flowers, and you knew that Sir Anthony’s dressing room was next to Claire’s. It would be logical that I would stop by his room first. During rehearsals, you befriended Sir Anthony, hoping you’d become pals and he’d invite you to visit his dressing room. But you hit pay dirt. You found out that the flamboyant Sir Anthony was only pretending to be gay. It would certainly explain him always leering at you. So you used that new information to seduce him. It wasn’t some act of revenge on Wallace for cheating, it was a coldly calculated strategy to be in his dressing room before the curtain. You told Sir Anthony to play up his love of flowers in front of me so that I would be sure to give him a bouquet as well.”
Sir Anthony was shaking, not knowing what to do or how to react. Katrina stood her ground, eyes narrowed, face like stone.
“I played right into your hand,” I said. “I gave both Sir Anthony and Claire fresh flowers. I included a peach carnation in his because he made such a point of telling me he loved peach carnations. After Sir Anthony left for make-up, you sprayed the peach carnation in his bouquet with poison, and knowing Claire abhorred the flower, you managed a last-minute switch while she was distracted. Claire went to remove the carnation, inhaled the poison, and died a few hours later.”
“This is all fantasy, Jarrod. You’re making this up as you go along,” Katrina said. But there was no passion behind her words. It was an automatic response. She knew I was on to the truth.
“You were certain Sir Anthony would never tell a soul that you were in his dressing room that night. It would raise too many questions about the exact nature of your relationship. He couldn’t have that because he was afraid it would expose his secret. And you were even more afraid it would expose yours.”
Sir Anthony kept glancing at Katrina. He was a bundle of nerves and on the verge of collapse.
“When you ran into me at the Savoy a couple of days later, you used that opportunity to solidify your story. You made a big point of telling me you had only just found out that Wallace was having an affair with Claire. That way, if you were in the dark about your husband’s infidelities at the time of the murder, there would be no motive for you to kill her. It was the perfect murder. Except for one hitch. Akshay Kapoor.”
Sir Anthony furrowed a brow, confused, obviously unaware of this wrinkle in Katrina’s plan. Katrina continued to stand firm and give nothing away.
“Akshay saw you leave Sir Anthony’s dressing room that night. It was the luckiest break he could have hoped for. He owed Uli Karydes thousands of dollars and had no way to pay it. So he tried blackmailing you for the money, thinking he could alleviate some of his staggering debt. He knew Wallace had socked away a lot of his earnings from his heyday as a sitcom writer. You were understandably upset and incensed. How dare this second rate Bollywood star mess up your perfect plan? And even if you did pay him off to keep quiet, what would guarantee that at some point he wouldn’t piss away the money and call on you again for another payday? He could haunt you for the rest of your life. You’d always be looking around, waiting for him to show up at your door or send an e-mail and threaten to tell the police what he knew if you didn’t write another check. No. That was unacceptable. Especially since Wallace was back on track and you fully expected him to be a huge success in the theater and perhaps one day even break into movies. Akshay had to be dealt with immediately. So you pretended to be returning to the States, but instead you followed him to Greece. You waited for your opportunity and then gunned him down on Super Paradise Beach. You are, after all, a good shot. Wallace told me at Starbucks that you fared better than he did on the firing range while researching his play.”
Katrina finally flinched. The accusations were dead on and wearing down her stoic resolve.
“When you returned to London, the press was screaming for my head. It was perfect. You never liked me anyway. I always got all of the attention when we did the show back in the eighties. Wallace took a backseat to me for five years. You saw it as poetic justice that you got what you wanted and I would pay the price for it. You found Wallace, probably a blubbering mess, at the hotel. I’m sure it was a wildly romantic scene. He was so lost without you. You grandly announced your change of heart. This, I’m sure, was followed by lots of kissing and hugging and hours of lovemaking. You were both ready to resume your life together, with Claire out of your hair forever and Akshay no longer a threat to your future.”
Katrina flipped back her hair and laughed. “What a compelling and fascinating piece of fiction you’ve come up with, Jarrod. With not one shred of evidence to suggest that any of it is real.”
“Oh, I’ll leave that up to the police. I’m sure your passport will have a stamp from Greece on it. A gun in Mykonos will turn up eventually. And then, of course, there is Sir Anthony.”
“Sir Anthony would never back up these pathetic lies,” Katrina said, eyeing him warily.
“Oh, yes, I believe he would when he thinks about it,” I said.
Sir Anthony looked at me curiously.
“He’s an actor, and if
there is one thing I know, it’s actors,” I said. “Once Sir Anthony reviews the situation more carefully, he will understand that a story this rich with drama, this potent with scandal, can only help his career. Especially if he’s in the red-hot center of it. Think about it. Actor pretends to be gay in order to compete with his rivals for the juiciest roles. But this little white lie, the most innocent of offenses, gets him embroiled in a sinister murder plot. And the victim? A fellow thespian, a dear, beloved colleague he’s known for years. He would have to step forward, confess the truth about himself, and testify in court against his beautiful secret lover.”
Sir Anthony’s eyes lit up with the possibilities.
Katrina boiled with rage as she spun around to face Sir Anthony. “No! All you will get is ridicule from the press and public and possibly a charge of obstructing justice.”
“No, what he will probably get is a book deal and a role as the villain in the next James Bond movie,” I said.
That was all it took. Sir Anthony couldn’t contain himself.
“You were right. Katrina was in my dressing room the night of Claire’s murder. I think you might be right about everything.”
Furious and desperate, Katrina began pounding Sir Anthony about the face and chest with her fists. I bolted across the room and pulled her off him. She fought me like an alley cat, but I managed to hurl her to the floor, where she finally gave up and began sobbing. Sir Anthony was now the second man after her husband to betray her.
Sir Anthony called a press conference the following day to confess his bad judgment about misleading the public regarding his sexual orientation and admit his indiscretion with the wife of a promising playwright. He denied any knowledge of the murder plot, and in a surprisingly bold move, announced his retirement from acting. Everyone knew this was just a ploy, and after a huge outcry from his fans, he graciously accepted a costarring role opposite Ian McKellan in a new comedy about an aging gay couple, together for thirty years, who sue to get married. It was a perfect comeback vehicle. And Dame Sylvia Horner even signed on to play Sir Anthony’s doddering aunt, who fires off a barrage of sharp-tongued zingers.
All of the charges against me were dropped and my passport was finally returned to me. Charlie and I booked a flight home immediately. As for the state of my own career, that would remain a mystery for now. Whatever momentum I had hoped to gain from my West End theater debut had been clouded by all the allegations and scandal, but at this point I really didn’t care. I just wanted to go home and see my friends and my dog Snickers and hike in the Hollywood Hills with my soul mate, my Charlie.
Laurette had flown back to the States a few days earlier and was reunited with her boyfriend, Larry, who came back from Maui armed with a new script that surprisingly sold to Universal in the high six figures. Lucky bastard. And back in the office for only a day, Laurette called with a firm acting offer for me. A small comedy troupe was mounting a show called Go to Your Room Live on Stage where the actors recreated the original scripts from my sitcom word for word. It’s fun and nostalgic and has worked for several other shows ranging from The Brady Bunch and The Facts of Life to The Golden Girls. They wanted me to play myself at twelve years old. The idea of me, at thirty-four years old, playing myself at twelve struck me as hysterical, and since no other offers were forthcoming, I agreed. Why not? If you can’t live down your past, then play to it.
For the first time in my life, I was not going to worry about the sorry state of my career. Too many other facets in my life were heading in the right direction. Katrina Goodwin was losing the man she had made a life with, the man she loved, and was driven to desperate measures. At one point during this challenging ordeal, I too thought I had lost the most important person in my life. I will never forget that chilling phone call from him in the middle of the night, his flat voice explaining to me that he was leaving me for Akshay. It was the most devastating moment of my life. The idea of losing him was unthinkable, and it forced me to contemplate a future without him. There were no guarantees in life. There was always the possibility of some crazy man shooting Charlie again in the line of duty, and this time the bullet might strike a vital organ. I hated to even think about that happening. Or of the possibility that one day either of us could somehow fall out of love. There were so many variables, so many possible outcomes in this unpredictable game of life.
Our plane taxied down the runway for takeoff, and Charlie and I sat side by side in our seats, holding hands. A conservative, middle-aged woman across the aisle sniffed with distaste at the sight of two men showing affection for one another. But I didn’t care. Love is love no matter who it happens to, and some day the world will understand that. Charlie Peters was the love of my life, and we were about to begin a long journey home together, and for right now, at this moment, and for however long God allowed it, I was going to stay right next to this wonderfully compassionate force of nature. My man. My Charlie.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2005 by Rick Copp
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Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2004113888
ISBN: 978-0-7582-7465-6
