The Final Curtain

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Wait and see!”

  4

  Too Many Suspects

  * * *

  Jack Sharkey chewed his cigar slowly, stared at Jonathan Ainsley, then nodded. “All right, lemme see if I got this straight. You and Jamison was alone on the stage, right, Ainsley? So that lets you two out.”

  The burly policeman had come bustling into the Pearl within twenty minutes of Ainsley’s call. He was a big man, tall and with hulking shoulders. He had a flushed red face, a flattened nose, and a network of tiny scars around a pair of muddy brown eyes. He looked, Danielle thought, like a parody of a third-rate prizefighter who’d taken too many punches. He shuffled his feet when he moved and spoke aggressively with his hoarse voice. He was, Dani thought, the worst type of police officer and at once jettisoned the idea of sharing her secret with him. He would be exactly the type who would despise private investigators. He didn’t appear to be highly intelligent, but she had to admit he did go at the thing in the only way possible.

  “All right.” Sharkey grunted, sending a cloud of foul-smelling smoke from his cheap cigar into the air. “I wanna know where everybody was when this thing fell. One at a time—and I want the straight dope, see? I catch any of you lying, and you’ll be in the slammer!”

  He even talks like a detective in a grade-B movie, Dani thought.

  Charlie Allgood spoke up first, “I was in the front row, Jack. That lets me out.”

  Sharkey stared at him and asked suspiciously, “You ain’t no drama critic, Charlie. What you doing here?”

  Dani exchanged glances with Jonathan, sharing the same thought. Would Allgood tell the policeman about the threatening letters and the attempts on Ainsley’s life? But Allgood only answered, “Why, Ainsley’s a friend of mine, Jack.”

  “Yeah? Didn’t know you had any,” Sharkey snapped. “Well, you wuz watchin’ the whole thing, and you snoopers are supposed to have pretty good eyes. What happened?”

  “The play went fine, Jack,” Allgood said. “I was caught up in it, and in the scene where the light fell, I was watching closely.” He blinked his eyes, thought carefully, then drawled, “Ainsley was in the chair, sort of laid back and looking up, and Lyle Jamison was right in front of him. Course, I wasn’t expecting anything to happen, so it caught me off guard.”

  “You must have seen something, Charlie!”

  “Well, there was one thing, Jack,” Allgood remarked vaguely. “Just before the whole thing happened, I heard kind of a funny sound—sort of a tinkling. Right at the same time, almost, I saw Jonathan jump up and tackle Jamison.”

  “That’s right, Officer.” Ainsley nodded. “In that scene I was in the recliner, looking up at the ceiling. In the play, I’m supposed to be ignoring Lyle. The tinkling sound Charlie heard was the sound of the glass pendants on the chandelier. I was staring right at the thing—you can’t help it when you’re in that chair, you know—it was right overhead. Anyway, the chandelier was perfectly still, as it always was—and then I saw the thing drop! It swung and jerked to a stop, and that’s what Charlie heard. The thing didn’t move much, maybe only a foot or two.”

  “What happened then?” Sharkey demanded.

  “Why, the whole thing suddenly gave way,” Ainsley explained, and the memory seemed to make him nervous. He pulled a cream-colored silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “I saw it coming down and tried to get out of the way.”

  “You saved my life, Jonathan,” Lyle spoke up. “I’d be dead meat if you hadn’t pushed me.”

  Ainsley stared at him, then shrugged. “Well, Lyle, it would make me happy to think I was that sort of hero. But I think you all know me a little too well for that.” A smile curled the corners of his wide lips upward, and he shrugged. “I was just trying to get away from that blasted thing—and you were in the way.”

  Sharkey directed, “Never mind the hero stuff. We can get along—” He stopped and twisted his huge body around quickly. A man had entered the theater and was mounting the steps leading to the stage. He was no more than average height, trim and well built. He wore an expensive suit and the exposed label on the camel’s hair overcoat he held over his arm, Dani saw as he moved closer, was Hart, Schaffner, and Marx. He had a lean, olive-tinted complexion and a pair of sharp black eyes that missed nothing. He was handsome enough to be a leading man, and she was taken off guard when Sharkey called out, “Hey, Jake, what you doin’ here? Didn’t they tell you I caught this squeal?”

  Dani didn’t miss the note of irritation in the burly policeman’s voice. He dresses too well and seems too good-looking to be a policeman, Dani decided, but then she saw that the appearance of this man caused Ainsley to react most peculiarly. Surely the great actor had not expected this, and a sudden worried expression crossed Ainsley’s face. Dani had grown to know the man’s moods well and wondered what in the dapper new arrival would disturb him.

  “I finished with the Ullman thing quicker than I expected.” The man’s voice was pleasant. He continued, “Hello, Jonathan.”

  “Glad you’re here, Jake,” Ainsley said, and now no sign of worry appeared in his eyes. On the contrary he seemed genuinely glad to see the man. Moving forward with alacrity, he shook the man’s hand, then turned to say to the others, “This is Lieutenant Jacob Goldman. The Pride of Homicide they call you, don’t they?”

  “Certainly.” Goldman nodded, but the smile on his lips didn’t touch his eyes. “Fill me in, Jack.” He stood quietly, his eyes going from face to face as Sharkey, with some reluctance, went over the details. When he came to Dani, and Goldman fastened his dark eyes on her, she felt as if she were being shaken down—not physically, but roughly nonetheless. She forced herself to meet his gaze. After a long time, he nodded as if to confirm something and let his eyes move on.

  When Sharkey had finished, Goldman turned suddenly to Allgood. “I’ve been reading your Phantom stuff, Charlie. You think this is more of the same?”

  Allgood was a pretty tough fellow, but he flinched under the gaze of Jacob Goldman. “Why, Lieutenant, that stuff was just standard procedure. You don’t think I believe the junk I write, do you?”

  “But you came here tonight, Charlie. You must have believed some of it.”

  “Anything Jonathan Ainsley does is good for a story,” Allgood answered defensively. “He told me someone took a couple of shots at him, and the stories went over pretty good. So I just dropped by to get some more grist for my mill. To tell the truth, I didn’t really believe Jonathan’s tales about somebody trying to kill him—until tonight! I saw Jamison nearly buy it. One thing is sure—somebody is trying to kill somebody!”

  Goldman took a platinum cigarette case from his inner pocket and removed a thin, brown cigarette. Drawing out a gold lighter, he lit it, then said, “All right.” Smoke curled around his lips, and he asked almost idly, “Anyone want to confess?” He smiled at the silence and shrugged his tidy shoulders. “I always think how much time and effort it would save if murderers would do that—but they never do. As they say, murder will out. Sharkey had the right idea. Which one of you could have cut the rope?”

  “Not me, Lieutenant,” Amber LeRoi spoke up at once. “I was in the dressing room, getting ready for my next change. Tom was with me all the time.”

  “That’s right,” Tom Calvin chimed in at once. “She was trying to get me to convince Jonathan to make her name larger on the marquee. We heard the crash and rushed out to see what had happened.”

  Lily sought to exonerate herself, “And I was in my dressing room with Carmen—” She paused, and Goldman picked up quickly on her doubtful expression, “Think of something, Lily?”

  “Well, only that I left the necklace I wore in the next scene in the prop room. I asked Carmen to get it for me.”

  Carmen Rio glared at the blond girl, anger firing her dark eyes, but she explained, “The prop room is just outside the door to your dressing room, Lily. The rope that held the chandelier is all the way across to the right—just outside the men’s dressin
g room.”

  “What about the timing?” Goldman asked. “Lily, how long was Carmen gone?”

  Lily gave a frightened glance at the angry Carmen and whispered, “I hate to say these things, Carmen! But she never came back, Lieutenant. She left my dressing room and was gone for a while—and then I heard the crash and ran out to see what had happened.”

  “I couldn’t find the necklace,” Carmen objected tartly. “It wasn’t where you said it was.”

  “Jack, take Lily with you and check that out,” Goldman commanded. When the two left, he continued, “What about the rest of you? Trask—that your name? Where were you?”

  Mickey Trask looked like a young boy—a guilty young boy at the moment. He licked his lips and gave Jonathan a worried look. “I—I ducked out for a quick one, Lieutenant. There’s a bar next door, and I didn’t have to be on stage for the next four scenes—over half an hour.”

  “Somebody can vouch for that at the bar, Trask?” Goldman demanded.

  “Well, not really. The place was packed. Tony keeps a special bottle for me, right under the bar. He was busy, so I just reached under the counter and got my own drink.”

  “Somebody must have seen you.”

  “I—I really don’t think so,” Trask said uneasily. “There was a big party there—some kind of club celebration. I didn’t see anyone who knows me.”

  Goldman stared at him until Trask grew angry. “Well, it’s the truth! I may drink a bit—but I’m no killer! And if I were, why would I want to kill Lyle? He’s a friend of mine.”

  “But Jonathan isn’t, is he, Mickey?” Amber LeRoi’s voice was not loud, but everyone turned to look at her. “You’ve hated Jonathan since he didn’t give you the job of directing this play. And that chandelier could have been aimed at him, couldn’t it, dear?”

  Mickey moved toward Amber, his eyes blazing with anger. “You harlot!” he cried. “If anyone would want to kill Ainsley, it’d be you! He dumped you, didn’t he?”

  Amber at once began cursing and screaming. Only the cool, sharp voice of Goldman quieted them both. He turned and said to Sharkey, who had just returned with Lily, “What about the necklace?”

  “Right where it was supposed to be,” Sharkey answered, his eyes on Carmen.

  “But it wasn’t!” Carmen cried. “I looked everywhere for it!”

  Goldman’s dark eyes bracketed her, and she suddenly broke off. He said, “All right, you’re a suspect. What about you, Ringo?”

  Jordan stared at the dapper officer defiantly. “No matter what I say, you’ll start talking about my record, won’t you, Goldman?”

  “You’re bringing it up, not me.” Goldman shrugged.

  “What record?” Simon Nero demanded.

  “Hey, you didn’t know Ringo done time?” Sharkey grinned. He puffed on his cigar and took pleasure in stating, “Attempted murder, wasn’t it, Ringo?”

  “No, it was manslaughter,” Goldman broke in. “But never mind that. Where were you when the chandelier fell, Ringo?”

  “Stage left, waiting to go on.”

  “Anybody with you?”

  “No.”

  Sharkey moved over and nudged Jordan with an elbow. “Hey, the inmates up at the pen will be glad to see you again, Ringo. I’ll bet—”

  He never finished his statement, for Jordan suddenly raised an arm and struck him across the chest with an iron forearm, the sort of blow that had flattened 230-pound linemen. It knocked the cigar from the policeman’s hand, sending sparks flying, and Sharkey himself took two backward steps, almost falling. He caught himself, and his face turned beet red. Falling into a crouch, he moved forward, his massive right fist cocked and ready. “Why, you dirty con! I’ll tear your dumb head off!”

  “Sharkey—cut that out!” Goldman was a head shorter than either Sharkey or Jordan, and his trim figure looked frail beside their solid bulk, but he stepped between the two men, his black eyes flashing. “Throw one punch, Jack, and you’ll be back pounding a beat—and you’ll be back for violation of parole, Ringo.” He turned from them in disgust. “Two kids playing at being tough!”

  “Officer, I think you might take us off your list of suspects. I’m Adrian Lockridge, and this is my wife, Victoria.”

  “Of course, Sir Adrian,” Goldman nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you—though not under such circumstances. Can you give me—just for the record—an account of your role in this business?”

  Lockridge smiled. “I’m afraid we must exonerate each other, Lieutenant. Victoria and I were in our dressing room. I was trying to help with her dress—but not doing too well. It was a little tight under the arm.”

  “Did you hear the crash, Sir Adrian?”

  “Oh, yes, it was quite loud actually. When we got to the stage, Jonathan and Lyle were already on their feet. But the devil of it is that if you don’t believe us, you could decide we could have cut the rope. It was, I believe, one of those just to the left of our dressing room.”

  “And do you have a motive, Sir Adrian?”

  “Of course!” Lockridge’s voice was light, but a serious fire brightened his fine eyes. “As anyone here can tell you—and no doubt will!—there is little love between Jonathan and myself. You see, he is convinced that he is the best actor in the world, and I am quite as convinced that he is mistaken.”

  “He thinks he is.” Ainsley grinned. “But the real reason he hates me, Jake, is that I love acting better than I love a bottle—which he doesn’t!”

  Victoria Lockridge’s cold eyes suddenly turned venomous. “You—you creature! Stand under another chandelier, and I will cut the rope with great joy!”

  “Now, now, Victoria—” Sir Adrian interjected hurriedly, casting a worried look in Goldman’s direction. “You don’t mean that!”

  “Yes, I do,” she enunciated clearly. “He’s a disgrace to our profession.”

  Goldman studied her, then said suddenly, “And you—Danielle Morgan, is it? Where were you when it happened?”

  “Where I always am at that point in the play, Lieutenant Goldman,” Dani explained at once. “Perched on my stool, stage left. No one was with me—and it would have been very simple for me to walk no more than twenty feet and cut the rope,” she added.

  Suddenly Goldman smiled at her. “I see. And your motive?”

  “I can’t think of one.”

  “Certainly not!” Lady Lockridge snapped. “She’s the one person in the entire cast who could have no motive. But give you time enough, Jonathan, and you’ll corrupt this poor child—as you have corrupted Amber and Carmen and as you are trying to corrupt Lily.”

  For all his poise, Ainsley seemed taken aback. He opened his mouth to answer in kind, but Goldman forestalled him, “All right, you can have your backstage quarrels on your own time. What about you?”

  “I thought it would come to me, fuzz,” Trey Miller said, his back rigid with indignation. “Can’t wait to pin it on a black man, can you?”

  His attitude seemed to interest Goldman, who lit another cigarette, then stared at it. “I’m going to quit these things!” Then he gave Miller a straight look. “I can’t stand people who think they’re innocent just because of their race,” he said conversationally. “If you’re guilty, Miller, I’ll do my best to nail you—and I don’t give a pin who you are or where you came from—got that straight?”

  Dani was startled at the hardness that had suddenly surfaced in Goldman. He was not tough in appearance—quite the contrary—but from that smooth exterior he had unleashed a steel will that made Trey Miller draw his lips together. “Now I’m Jewish,” he added softly, “but I can’t stand those among my own people who think everyone in the world is out to get them. So let’s just keep this thing on the basis of evidence, not race.”

  “All right, Lieutenant.” A humbled Trey nodded. “That suits me. But it’s not just that I’m—I mean—” When he broke off, perspiration drenched his forehead. “Well, the props are my job—and that includes the ropes that hold up the equipment. I
designed the whole thing, and it’s my job to see that nothing goes wrong. So when it happened, the first thing that popped into my mind was that I was going to be blamed for it.”

  “Anybody could cut rope,” Goldman pointed out. “Two questions. Could you have cut the rope without being seen—and do you have any motive for cutting it?”

  “I could have cut it, sure.” Trey nodded. “It’s dark back there, and the boys and me, we keep so busy that we could be anywhere.”

  “Who are ‘the boys’?”

  “Julio and Earl—they help set the scenes. Right there.” He motioned to the two young men, who were watching from as far away as they could get. “But I’d sent them up to the balcony to take some lighting equipment to Pinkie, our sound-and-light man. He’ll tell you that they were up there with him when the chandelier fell.”

  “That lets all three of them out,” Goldman agreed quietly. “But what about my second question?”

  Trey ducked his head, suddenly unable to meet the policeman’s eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t kill anybody—but I guess you’ll find out pretty soon that Mr. Ainsley and I have had our ups and downs.”

  “Nothing to that, Jake!” Jonathan spoke up. “Trey and I have fought like cats and dogs over the setting, but that always happens. I’m a blasted perfectionist, and that means I’m impossible to work with. I know that as well as anybody. You can pay no attention to what Trey says about our differences.”

  Miller interrupted sharply, “Don’t lie to the man, Ainsley! You know that’s not what I meant!” He turned his angry eyes from Ainsley to Goldman. “He stole my sets—from the last play, not this one. Took all the credit and gave me nothing!”

  “Why, you blasted ingrate!” Ainsley’s face turned purple as he sputtered in his attempt to explain. “I took him from Harlem—taught him everything he knows. He did some work on my last play, but it was my ideas that made that set, not his! Now he’ll never work on another set of mine!”