The Final Curtain Page 8

  “Ten minutes to go,” Simon warned Jonathan. “You pulled them together!”

  Dani was standing in her usual position, and she looked past both men to see Tom coming through the curtain.

  “Special delivery for you, Jonathan,” he explained, handing the actor an envelope. “Trey signed for it. Probably just good wishes from an admirer.”

  “Oh, all right,” Jonathan said. “But you could have saved it until after the performance.” He tore the envelope open, glanced at it—then Dani saw his features freeze and the color drain from his face. He slumped, and both Nero and Calvin grabbed his arms.

  Dani took the paper from his hand and gave it one quick look. “Another threat—in glued-on letters like the last ones,” she said to the other two. She read it aloud: “‘O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain’—that’s from Hamlet! Then it says ‘Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.’”

  “That’s Julius Caesar,” Nero whispered. “What else?”

  Dani said, “Only a line from Macbeth—‘She should have died hereafter.’ It looks like the other ones, doesn’t it, Jonathan?”

  But Ainsley was staring off into space, his eyes wide with shock.

  “Jonathan, come out of it!” Tom ordered hastily. “The curtain’s going up any minute!”

  “He can’t go on the stage in that condition!” Nero worried. “Why, he can’t even stand! I’ll have to postpone the play.”

  “No—Wait!” Jonathan pulled free from the two men. He took a deep breath, then another. Finally he said, “I’ll be all right. It—it just caught me off guard.”

  “You’re sure?” Dani asked. “You’re trembling all over.”

  “I tell you I’m all right!” Ainsley shook his shoulders together, and at that moment the curtain began to rise. “Call the police,” he directed urgently. “This is serious!”

  “It always was, Jonathan,” Dani commented quietly.

  Ainsley walked onto the stage, and a thunderous ovation filled the theater. “Simon, call the police,” Dani said, and the director scurried off. Dani and Tom stood there, muscles tense, as the first scene unfolded itself. “You’d never know he was so helpless five minutes ago, would you?” she whispered. “The man is an actor, no matter what else he is!”

  The first act seemed to fly by. Just as the second act started, Dani heard her name called and turned to find Lieutenant Goldman standing beside her. “I picked up the call,” he explained. “Nero told me what happened.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Danielle confessed fervently. “I think you should move around a lot—let all of us see you.”

  He gave her a quick grin. “The sight of the fuzz might discourage the killer? Not a bad idea.” He watched the actors on stage, then asked, “Anyone in particular you think I ought to watch?”

  Dani gave him a startled glance. She was exactly his height, and their faces were close. “No, Lieutenant. Why ask me?”

  He held her eyes, then explained, “You’re new to the troupe—and you’re the smartest one here.” He grinned at her look of surprise, then added, “I’m pretty smart myself, Danielle. It takes one to know one. Maybe sometime we can have dinner. I’d like to pump you—as a trained officer of the law.”

  He was an unusually attractive man, and Dani found herself drawn to him. At the same time, she knew that there were several reasons why she could not afford to get involved—not the least of which was the fact that when he found out she was a private investigator, he would not be happy, to put it mildly.

  “Sometime,” she put him off.

  “Nero said Jonathan took the threat very badly.”

  “Well—yes, he did. It hit him much harder than the others. At least he was much more shocked at this one than when he got the last one.”

  “You were with him at the time?”

  “For the last one, not the others. He was alone when he got them.”

  Goldman stared at the stage, where Jonathan and Amber were going through a scene. “Wonder why it took him so bad? Jonathan is pretty tough—for an actor.”

  Dani didn’t answer, for in truth she couldn’t explain the raw shock that had washed across Jonathan’s face when he had first seen the letter. “I suppose it caught him at a bad time—just seconds before he was to step out there,” she suggested.

  Goldman thought about that, then nodded and left. Dani saw him several times as the play progressed, always moving about, watching the cast and crew.

  “What’s the cop doing?” Ringo muttered as he came off the stage after a scene. “He’s underfoot everywhere I turn—and that ugly one, Sharkey, is on the other side of the stage. What’s going on?” He listened carefully as Dani explained, then whistled. “That’s something! But with those two guys watching every move we make, nobody would be nuts enough to pull something.”

  “I pray not,” Dani said shortly. “But keep your eyes open, Ringo.”

  “Yeah, you, too, kid. And thanks.”

  “What for, Ringo?”

  “Why, you wouldn’t tell me to keep my eyes open if you thought I was the killer!” He touched her shoulder lightly with his huge fist, smiled, and added, “That means something!” Then he left, disappearing into the darkened area toward the rear.

  The second act ended, and the third was half finished when Amber came from her dressing room. She was wearing a snow-white evening gown that made her look very beautiful. “Nothing yet?” she asked Dani nervously.

  “Nothing will happen, Amber,” Dani encouraged her, noting the way the woman wrung her hands. “It’ll all be over in fifteen minutes. You’re doing a great job.”

  Amber LeRoi licked her lips, then asked, “Really, Danielle?—I hope so!” She stood there silently, watching Lyle and Lily for a long time. She turned to face Dani again. “I guess you think I’m the worst baggage God ever made, don’t you? Well, you’re right, I guess.”

  The words caught Dani off guard, for this woman had never shown any softness, had barely been polite. Now there was some sort of brokenness in her, perhaps the fear that touched all of them. Her eyes were bitter, and she spoke shortly. “I’ve never done anything but show business. It’s a bad scene, Danielle. Men after you all the time—always there’s the choice. Do I give in to climb the ladder to the top? And I gave in.” The mood was strong on her, and she suddenly looked straight at Danielle and said, “Sounds crazy, but I wish I could have been like you. My dad was a Christian. I remember that about him most of all. He’d take me to Sunday school, then we’d talk about the lesson on the way home.”

  Dani said quietly, “I’m glad for that, Amber.”

  “Yeah, he was one sweet guy. It nearly killed him when I went wrong.” She ducked her head, then dabbed at her eyes. “What’s got me thinking about him? I always cry when I do.”

  “We all cry over things like that, Amber. Things we wish we’d done—or hadn’t done.”

  Amber stared at her. “Not you. I’ve watched you. I’m not too smart, but one thing I’m good at—and that’s spotting phonies. Which is what I picked you for. But you’re the real goods—just like my old man.” She looked out at the stage and whispered, “Here I am, wishing I was what I’m not. Too late for me.”

  “No, it’s never too late, Amber,” Danielle contended. She heard the lines that led up to Amber’s entrance and added, “Jesus loves you, just as He loves me. Just one look at Him, and you can become that girl who got lost somewhere.”

  Amber LeRoi was diamond hard—yet when she looked at Danielle in that instant, something of that little girl appeared in her eyes. Her lips parted, and Dani told her quickly, “Ask Him into your life—right now.” Then Amber’s cue came, and Dani whispered, “We’ll talk later—but I’m believing God right now for you!”

  Amber nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on Dani’s. She paused and said, “All right,” then turned and walked onto the stage.

  As Amber spoke her first lines, Jonathan came to stand beside Dani, awaiting his cue. “I don’t like th
is scene,” he muttered. “Where’s Trey?”

  “Right here.” Trey appeared suddenly at his side.

  “Give me the gun,” Jonathan ordered.

  “There it is. And don’t point it at her eyes,” Trey directed. “These blanks throw off black powder that can damage the eyes.”

  “You tell me that every time,” Jonathan whined. Trey left, and he put the revolver in his pocket. “I’ll be glad when this is over,” he muttered.

  “It’s going well. The audience loves it.”

  “Do they?” He seemed nervous and moody, and when his cue came, he strolled out onto the stage in a jerky walk, not at all his usual stride.

  Goldman suddenly appeared and asked, “Well, almost over, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. This is the next-to-the-last scene. Did you like the play?”

  “Not much. I don’t believe what it says.”

  Dani stared at him in surprise. “I don’t either.”

  “Old hat, that biological determinism.” Suddenly Goldman tensed. “What’s this?”

  Dani turned to watch the stage. “Haven’t you guessed the ending? I hate to spoil it for you—well, just watch.”

  On stage, after a heated discussion, Jonathan pulled the gun from his pocket. He read his line well. “You’ve become unnecessary to me, my dear. I’m afraid I’m going to have to rid myself of you.”

  “You can’t!” Amber whispered.

  Jonathan spoke again, but Goldman’s voice in her ear caused Dani to miss the lines. “Nobody said anything about a gun,” he rapped out.

  Danielle started to speak, but just at that moment, Amber raised her eyes and looked full at her. Her back was half turned to the audience, and she suddenly smiled and lifted her hand. It was a secret smile, just for Dani.

  At that moment Jonathan raised the gun and spoke his line: “Good-bye, my dear.” Then he pulled the trigger.

  The gun’s explosion filled the stage with noise, and Amber was driven backward as if a giant fist had struck her!

  That’s all wrong, Dani’s numbed mind objected. Every other time, in practice, Amber had staggered, then collapsed gracefully to the floor.

  Goldman yelled, “Get that curtain down!” and swept across the stage even before he finished the words. The curtain fell as he reached the crumpled form of Amber LeRoi. Shaking off her shock, Danielle had followed closely. Goldman knelt at the woman’s side, and as Dani looked over his shoulder, she saw a brilliant crimson stain flowering at Amber’s breast. She had forgotten that blood was such a violent red, and the sight of the stain against the pure white dress brought on shock—weak knees, nausea, and difficulty breathing.

  She turned away, stumbling as she left the stage. Others rushed to where Goldman bent over Amber, and the air was filled with voices crying out—but she saw only Jonathan Ainsley.

  He stood there, holding the gun in his hand, and his eyes were so wide that she could see the whites on all sides. Goldman suddenly appeared, snatching the gun from his hand with a handkerchief. She heard Lady Lockridge say, “Well, you always said you’d like to kill her—but I didn’t think you’d do it!”

  Dani stopped suddenly, then forced herself to go and kneel beside Amber. As she leaned down and put her hand on the dead woman’s hair, all she could think of was the last thing she’d said to the actress: “We’ll talk later.”

  There would be no later for Amber LeRoi—no time at all. Dani Ross knew that she would never forgive herself for letting so many chances go by to speak to her about Jesus Christ! One hope came to her: She smiled at me—and she heard the gospel, even if it wasn’t much! Dani knew that her only hope was to believe that somehow, in the last few minutes, the soul of Amber LeRoi had responded—and that she had found the Christ whom her father had pointed her to so many years ago.

  6

  All the King’s Horses

  * * *

  Jake Goldman’s office was completely out of keeping with the “decor” of the homicide department of the New York Police Department. Every other member of the squad had an office battered and scarred by a thousand days and nights of encounter with the denizens of the underworld—desks ringed by a thousand cups of coffee and branded by a thousand cigarettes and cigars, walls punctuated by oily spots from a thousand greasy heads, tile floors bearing the hieroglyphics of a thousand pairs of guilty feet. The odor of crime was a definite and certain thing, composed of sweat, fear, guilt, stale coffee, rancid bodies, and whiskey breath; every office in the section, except Goldman’s, reeked with it.

  Sharkey hated Goldman’s office as he despised everything else about the dapper lieutenant—always had and always would. He sat down in the pale-blue chair and felt tempted to dump his cigar ashes on the mauve carpet—but Goldman’s eyes nailed him, so he gingerly deposited them in a crystal ashtray, immaculate and virginal. The odor of Goldman’s office was money, not crime, and as he looked at the solid-walnut bookcases on the left wall, the rosewood desk with matching chairs, the austere brass lamp that cast its light over a small painting of a small boat riding green ocean waves, Sharkey wondered sourly why Goldman didn’t leave the department. The picture, he had been told, cost more than Sharkey’s annual salary. The sight of it always enraged him.

  But he said nothing of this to Goldman. The dapper officer who sat staring at the wall knew how he felt. He knows how everybody feels! Sharkey thought with a twinge of envy. He took his mind off the picture, interrupting the lieutenant’s thoughts with, “Well, it looks like an easy one.” Goldman’s eyes flickered toward him, and Sharkey added nervously, “Well, it’s got to be Miller!”

  Knowing the other man’s prejudices, Goldman said idly, “Ainsley pulled the trigger, Jack.”

  “So what? Anybody can see he’s a basket case. Nero had to get his private doc up here to give him a shot before he fell out.”

  “He’s an actor. That means, Jack, you can’t believe a thing about what he looks like.”

  Sharkey shook his head and puffed on the cigar. “Naw, he’s really had it, Jake. I seen enough guys put on an act to know the real thing. His eyes were like a dead man’s. Anyway, Ainsley’s not crazy—which he’d have to be to kill that broad before two thousand witnesses!” When Goldman turned to look at the picture, Sharkey got angry again. “Anyway, the LeRoi woman was where he went to the well to get the dough to put on the play, right? He wouldn’t kill the goose with the golden egg!”

  “Get Miller in here. Let’s hear his story.”

  “Jake, why don’t you let me help him—down in the interrogation room? I could open him up. . . .” Sharkey got the full effect of Goldman’s eyes, then rose abruptly. “All right! All right, I’ll get him!”

  Sharkey lumbered out of the office and came back with Trey Miller. “Sit down there,” he ordered, and stationed himself with his back to the door.

  Goldman swiveled his chair around and commented, “Trey, you’re in a bad spot. I’m going to have to book you for attempted murder.”

  Goldman’s words brought Miller up out of his chair. “What! You can’t do that, Goldman!” He brought his fist down on the desk, shouting, “I knew it would be this way! Why don’t you arrest some of the white suspects?”

  “Because none of them handed a thirty-eight with live ammunition to Ainsley,” Goldman pointed out. “You’ll be able to get out on bond. I can help you if you give me the truth, Trey. Do you want my help or not?”

  Miller stared at Goldman, brought up short by the abrupt manner of the policeman. He had been informed by several black leaders that Jake Goldman was one policeman who could be counted on to give a black man a fair shake.

  Trey swallowed—then nodded and sat down. “I want your help,” he agreed humbly.

  “All right. Let me say that I don’t think you did it, Trey. You’re not stupid, and I can’t think of anything more stupid than your killing Amber LeRoi by such methods. You had a motive for hating Ainsley, but as far as I can discover, you and the woman weren’t enemies. Now, how did live ammunition
get into that gun?”

  Miller’s face contorted with doubt. “Lieutenant, I only know two things. One, I didn’t put it there! Why, I’m on top of the world! My sets are going to win every award this year, and I’ve got producers lined up, begging me to work for them! Why would I throw all that out the window to kill Amber? We weren’t friendly, but she never did me any harm.”

  “What’s the second thing, Trey?”

  “The second thing, Lieutenant Goldman, is—that anybody in the cast or in the crew could have put real bullets in the thirty-eight.” Miller shook his head mournfully, then plunged ahead. “I buy the blanks from Blake’s Gun Shop, over on Ninth Avenue. Owner is a friend of mine, Orson Green. When I got this job and found out it meant using blanks for a scene, I went to him and told him to fix me up. He made up one hundred blanks. You can check that out.”

  “That wasn’t no blank that wasted LeRoi,” Sharkey interposed.

  “I don’t even have a gun, and I never bought any ammunition in my life!” Miller snapped. “But in a way, I guess I’m to blame. I kept the gun and the blanks in the prop room. That’s stage left, just outside Amber’s dressing room.”

  “Was it kept locked?” Goldman asked.

  “Not the room itself, but I kept the gun and the shells in a wall cabinet. It has a combination lock.”

  “How many people know the combination?”

  “Just me—but I only locked it when we left for the day. And last night I opened it before the play started—and I didn’t lock it again.”

  “Pretty careless, ain’t you?” Sharkey accused.

  “Careless with blanks? I guess so.”

  “When did you load the gun, Trey?”

  “Before the performance. I’m plenty busy after the curtain goes up, so I loaded it ahead of time and put it in the cabinet.”

  “How do you know it was blanks you put into the gun?”

  “Well, Orson showed me how he made the blanks,” Miller explained. “He took the lead out of one of the real shells and just put some sort of packing in its place—to hold the powder in, I think he said. Then he made me hold it and hold a real shell in my other hand. The real one had the lead sticking out in front—and it must have weighed four times as much! So that’s how I knew. I looked at it, like I always do, and saw that it didn’t have any lead in it.”