by Sarah Fox
I got Olivia settled on one of the couches and retrieved a small packet of tissues I kept in my locker. She accepted them with tremulous thanks and pulled one from the package to dab at her tears. I set my bag on one of the tables, my steamed milk next to it. What remained of the drink had gone cold, but I didn’t care. At the moment the mere thought of eating or drinking anything sent my stomach into a sickening twist.
Sitting down on the couch across from Olivia, I stared blankly at the crying woman for a minute or two before the worst of the shock of seeing Ethan dead wore off.
Another victim. Another murder.
I could hardly believe it, but I’d seen the evidence right there in front of me.
Pavlina’s murderer had killed again. I didn’t doubt that for a second. The chance that the two murders could be unrelated was infinitesimally small in my opinion. The deaths were most likely connected, caused by the same hand.
But who was the killer?
Ethan had been one of my top suspects, but I could now strike his name off my list. That left Jeb at the top of my list, followed by Sasha. I also hadn’t ruled out Olivia’s involvement. As the first person on the scene of Ethan’s death, she easily could have killed him and then started screaming, pretending she’d stumbled across his body. She’d also had an opportunity to kill Pavlina.
Studying the woman across from me, I thought she looked genuinely distressed, but I couldn’t discount the possibility that she was a great actress. I didn’t spot any signs of blood on her skin or clothing, but Ethan’s wound was more of a seeping one, with no splattering at the scene, and Olivia could have easily washed her hands after stabbing him since the murder took place right outside the washrooms.
But why would Olivia kill Ethan?
I recalled Ethan’s recent behavior. He’d snapped photos of pictures on Jeb’s phone and he’d had a heated conversation with the judge earlier that evening. My guess was that Ethan had threatened Jeb with exposure, hoping to force the judge to vote for him in the competition. If Ethan was willing to blackmail a judge, maybe he was also willing to threaten a murderer.
Had he known who the killer was? Had he tried to use that to his advantage in some way?
If so, that would be strong motivation for the killer to get rid of him.
That could have been Olivia’s motive, but it also could have been Sasha’s. And if Ethan really had threatened to expose Jeb’s relationship with Pavlina, that could have been enough for the judge to kill him, if Jeb had worried that his professional reputation and career would be at risk. So, basically, Ethan was the only suspect I could rule out.
My heart skittered about in my chest as I realized I could be sitting mere feet away from the murderer. I was glad I’d left the lounge door open, and I was also relieved when I saw two police officers pass by the room, heading toward the crime scene.
Minutes later, Harold, Jeb, Yvonne, and Sasha entered the lounge, accompanied by a uniformed officer.
“We’d appreciate no talking amongst yourselves until all your statements have been taken,” the officer said.
“And when will that happen?” Yvonne Charbonneau asked.
“Soon, ma’am” was as specific as the officer got.
As the new arrivals scattered about the lounge to claim seats, I observed each of them in turn. Jeb’s eyes passed over me, pausing and filling with dark anger before moving on. He took a seat on the other side of the room, and for that I was glad. Yvonne sat primly on the couch next to Olivia, her hands folded in her lap. She was the one person in the room—aside from the police officer and myself—whom I didn’t suspect of killing Pavlina and Ethan. Perhaps she’d had an opportunity to commit the second murder, but she’d remained in the audience for the entire concert on the night of Pavlina’s death and hadn’t had a chance to commit that crime.
Sasha perched on the table where I’d left my belongings, prodding the screen of his smart phone. From his actions, I guessed he was playing a game to help pass the time. He didn’t seem too disturbed by what had happened to Ethan, but maybe he was just good at hiding his emotions. Harold and Jeb both had grim expressions, but beyond that I couldn’t read anything from their faces or body language.
It seemed like forever before Detectives Van den Broek and Chowdhury made an appearance in the lounge. Several people had gone back and forth along the corridor before their arrival—other police officers, crime scene technicians, and the coroner. When the detectives asked who had found the body, Olivia stood up, her lips still quivering, although her tears had stopped flowing.
Detective Chowdhury asked her to accompany him out of the lounge and Van den Broek’s eyes settled on me.
My stomach dropped.
“Ms. Bishop, would you come with me, please?”
Of course he had to be the one to question me. I would have much preferred to speak with his partner, but I doubted a request of that nature would be well received.
“Excuse me,” I said to Sasha as I retrieved my bag from the spot next to him on the table.
He barely looked up from his game.
Dropping my cold steamed milk into the garbage can by the door, I followed Detective Van den Broek around a corner and down the hallway before he led the way through a door and into the large room used for the Point Grey Philharmonic’s receptions and other gatherings.
Someone had already turned on the lights and set out two folding chairs. Aside from four busts of famous composers decorating the red-carpeted room, it was otherwise empty. I suppressed a shiver as I remembered how one of the symphony’s benefactors had dropped dead of poisoning in that very room a few months earlier. Once again, murder had found its way into the theater, contaminating the otherwise pleasant building.
Detective Van den Broek directed me to take a seat, and I did so, placing my bag on the floor at my feet. I wondered if he’d make a snarky comment about me being at the scene of the crime again, but fortunately he didn’t, instead going straight to his questions.
“What brought you to the theater this evening, Ms. Bishop?”
Most likely he knew by now that there was no rehearsal or concert scheduled that night, and I realized he probably wouldn’t be too impressed by my answer.
“I came by to gather information.”
As usual, the detective’s face revealed no emotion. “Information.”
I told him about my conversation with Jeb and how the judge had said Pavlina’s charm bracelet was a gift from her best friend who died a few years ago. When I’d finished recounting that exchange, we sat in silence for a moment. Judging by the shifting of his jaw, I suspected the detective was grinding his teeth.
“Ms. Bishop,” he said eventually, “we discussed this earlier today. You said you were simply making observations and wouldn’t get in the way of the official investigation.”
“The information I shared this morning did consist of observations,” I defended myself. “And I wasn’t getting in the way of the official investigation. All I did was ask some questions. I didn’t obstruct the police in any way.”
He was less than pleased by my answer, and I got the sense he was struggling to keep his temper in check.
“Do you realize,” he said, his words measured, “that if you ask the wrong questions of the wrong person, you could be putting yourself in danger?”
“I had thought of that, yes. And, I’ll admit, Jeb Hartson isn’t pleased with me.”
“Then you’ll agree that the sensible thing to do would be to back off and leave the investigating to the professionals.”
I’d heard this so many times before from JT, Detective Salnikova, and her partner. As much as their lectures had exasperated me in the past, I much preferred hearing those things from JT and Salnikova than from Detective Van den Broek. Still, as much as it irked me to have Van den Broek scold me, I couldn’t argue with him.
“I d
o agree,” I said. “And I’m the first to admit that my curiosity sometimes gets the better of me.”
“So you’ll stop asking questions?”
That was almost like asking me not to breathe, but the detective’s unflinching gaze told me he wasn’t going to back down on the subject and, as I’d just admitted, he was right. I’d already ruffled feathers by asking questions and as much as I wanted the murderer caught, I didn’t want to put myself in any more danger than I already had.
“I’ll stop asking questions.” I had to pull the words out of myself like sore teeth, but I managed to say them.
Van den Broek’s eyes weren’t completely without suspicion, but he didn’t voice his doubt.
“There’s something else you should know,” I said.
The detective let out a breath, and I had a sneaking suspicion he was counting to ten in his head, once again trying to keep his temper reined in. “And what’s that?”
“I overheard Ethan talking to someone shortly before he was killed.” When a muscle in his jaw twitched, I hurried to add, “It was purely accidental.”
He didn’t believe that. It was clear on his face, but I forged on.
“I don’t know who he was talking to, but he said something about recognizing the person, like ‘Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?’ I don’t know if that’s significant or not.”
“And you have no idea who that person was?”
“No. I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or woman. Whoever they were, they were talking too quietly.”
Van den Broek let out a heavy sigh and wrote something in his notebook. “I’ll need you to start from the beginning, from the moment you entered the theater. Tell me where you went, who you saw, what you heard. As best as you can remember.”
I did as requested, and as I recounted how I’d met Olivia on the stairway and helped to clean up her papers, I realized that she most likely hadn’t killed Ethan. Even if she’d had the murder weapon—a knife, probably—secreted beneath her clothing, she would have had mere seconds to stab Ethan and dispose of it. Knowing that didn’t make me confident enough to eliminate her from my pool of suspects, but it did bump her down to the bottom of the list.
Once I’d finished telling Van den Broek everything I could remember and had filled out a witness statement form, he reminded me about my agreement to stop asking questions and I assured him that I’d stick to it. After that, he allowed me to escape from his presence. I left the reception room and headed down the hall. Several official personnel still lingered near the crime scene, but I spared them no more than a glance. I wanted to get out of the theater, to go home.
Exiting through the stage door, I made my way along the side alley toward the parking lot. As I reached the edge of the building and was about to turn the corner to enter the lot, I heard a voice and stopped in my tracks.
It was Jeb’s voice, and he was the last person I wanted to meet alone in the dark. I waited out of sight from the parking lot, hoping he’d get in his car and leave without seeing me. It sounded like he was on the phone, and the next words I overheard sent an icy chill along my spine.
“They still don’t suspect anything.” A short pause followed before he said, “I’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow morning.”
My heart thudded in my chest. What did nobody suspect? That he was the killer? And what would he take care of tomorrow? Was he planning to kill someone else?
My mouth had gone dry and I found it hard to swallow. I leaned against the rough exterior of the building, my legs suddenly shaking beneath my weight. I listened as Jeb said goodbye to whomever he was speaking with, and seconds later I heard a car door slam. An engine roared to life and I peered around the corner in time to see Jeb drive toward the lot’s exit.
I hurried toward my own car and climbed inside, shutting and locking the door as quickly as possible. Jeb’s words had left me spooked, on edge. I considered returning to the theater to tell Van den Broek what I’d heard, but I was worried that might be the final straw. If he lost his temper with me, would he slap me in handcuffs and haul me down to the police station? I didn’t think he could actually charge me with obstructing justice or anything else, but I wasn’t sure that would stop him from using his authority to give me a good scare.
Starting my car, I decided to go home as originally planned. When I pulled out of the parking lot and into the alley, the taillights of Jeb’s car shone through the darkness ahead of me and then disappeared as he turned out onto the street.
You promised Van den Broek you wouldn’t ask any more questions, I reminded myself as I considered abandoning my plan to return home.
I have no intention of asking questions, I argued with myself.
That was true. By following Jeb I wouldn’t be going against my word to the detective. Although I’d told him I wouldn’t ask questions, I never said I’d stop investigating completely.
And this time I’d do a better job of tailing my suspect than I had with Cameron.
My mind made up, I turned out onto the street and set off in the same direction as Jeb’s vehicle.
I didn’t expect to gather any significant clues by following the judge. What I had in mind was to find out where he lived. Once I knew that, I could return in the morning and follow him again. Hopefully I could then find out what he was planning to do. If he did anything suspicious, if I felt I was in the slightest danger, I would call the police. But for now I simply wanted to know where I could find him in the morning.
It didn’t take too long to tail him to his home. It turned out that he lived in a townhouse not far from the University of British Columbia. I was a bit disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to pinpoint his particular unit because he turned into the gated underground parking lot and I couldn’t follow him any farther. Pulling up to the curb, I shut off my car and sat there in the dark, tugging at my left earlobe. Should I wait and see if any lights came on in one of the nearby units, or give up and go home? I decided to wait for a while, but when no interior lights flashed on nearby, I resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t be able to identify his unit.
Perhaps that wasn’t a total loss, though. Since he’d parked his car in the underground lot, he’d have to come out that way in the morning too. If I returned to this same spot in the morning and waited, I could still catch him leaving to do whatever suspicious deed he had planned.
Deciding that was the best course of action, I finally set off for home and what I hoped would be a good night’s sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I ARRIVED AT my apartment a short time later, but sleep eluded me when I went to bed. Images of Ethan lying dead kept appearing every time I closed my eyes, and snippets of all the conversations I’d had or overheard that night went around and around in my head.
Eventually I drifted off, but still the events of the night didn’t leave me alone. I had uneasy dreams of shadowy threats lurking out of sight. At one point I awoke with a start, and it took me several panicked seconds to remember I was safe at home rather than trapped in the derelict building of my dreams, a killer haunting the hallways.
When morning arrived, I gladly left my bed behind, hoping my next night’s sleep would be far more peaceful. I was up earlier than usual, but that suited my plans well. I didn’t know if Jeb was an early riser or not, and I didn’t want to miss his departure from his townhouse.
After a quick shower, I dressed in jeans and a black sweater, pausing only to eat a piece of toast before brushing my teeth and donning my coat. Pulling on my slouchy knitted hat, I grabbed my bag and violin and set off down to the underground parking lot.
Less than twenty minutes later I pulled my MINI Cooper up against the curb, parking it across the street from the entrance to the underground lot at Jeb’s townhouse complex. I knew there was always a chance that Jeb had already left, but it wasn’t yet eight o’clock, and I figured my
chances were even better that he was still at home.
Over the next half hour I watched three cars leave the underground lot, but none were driven by Jeb. Rubbing my gloved hands against my cold legs, I wished I’d thought to bring a travel mug full of hot tea or coffee. The frosty, cloudy morning was proving less than ideal for my stakeout.
To help pass the time, I decided to text JT. As I dug through my bag, searching for my phone, I came across a folded piece of white paper. Puzzled, I pulled it out. I didn’t remember putting it in my bag. As soon as I unfolded the sheet, my movements stilled and I felt the blood drain from my face. Someone had written a note with a black Sharpie, a note that wasn’t the least bit friendly.
Leave the past in the past, or else, it read.
I dropped the note onto my lap, appalled by it. My hands trembled ever so slightly as I picked up the paper again. I stared at it, but the words became no less frightening. I folded the sheet and tucked it back in my bag, out of sight, but the words had firmly imprinted on my mind.
Leave the past in the past, or else.
Or else what? Nothing good, that was certain. Most likely it meant I’d be the next victim.
Snatching up my phone, I pulled off my gloves. More than ever I wanted to get in touch with my best friend. Although my fingers shook, I managed to type out a message to JT.
Someone left me a threatening note, I wrote. I’m a little freaked out.
As soon as I’d sent the message, I realized JT had no idea what had transpired at the theater the night before.
Ethan was killed last night, I typed. At the theater.
Once again I wished I’d brought a drink with me. Even a cold one would have sufficed at the moment. My mouth had gone dry and my pulse was skipping along faster than normal. I checked to make sure the car doors were locked and returned my eyes to the driveway across the street. Jeb still hadn’t emerged.
Had he written the note?
I thought back, searching my memories for any possible opportunity that he might have had to slip the note into my bag. The only time he’d been close to me since I’d last rummaged through my tote was when I questioned him about Pavlina’s charm bracelet. Unless he was highly skilled in the art of misdirection, I didn’t think he would have been able to put something in my bag without me noticing.