by Parnell Hall
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. He goes out through the lobby, down the stairs, through the greenroom, up the stage right stairs, kills him, and goes back the way he came.”
“Without anyone seeing him?”
“Who? Everyone’s in the audience watching the show. Or onstage. Think about it. They all enter, one at a time. After Catherine’s entrance, they’re all onstage until you exit. That’s a good four or five pages. Plenty of time for him to kill Goobie Wheatly, then make his way downstairs through the greenroom, upstairs through the lobby in time to be sitting there in the back of the theater when the curtain doesn’t come down.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“What about Nicola? He comes on and off after that.”
“Yeah, but from stage left. No reason for him to see what’s happening stage right. So there’s no reason Herbie couldn’t have done it.”
“Good lord.”
Chief Bob held up his hand. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying he did. Herbie’s my friend. I don’t think he did it for a minute. I’m just saying he could have. For that matter so could everybody else.”
“What about his wife?”
“Who?”
“Herbie’s wife. She was there. She wasn’t sitting in the back row, and if she’d gotten up to go out someone would have seen her.”
“They did.”
“What?”
“They did see her. The middle of Act Three, she got up and went out the back door.”
I stared at him. “Are you kidding me?”
“No. She admits she did. The play was running longer than she’d expected, and she went out to the box office to call the babysitter.”
I frowned. “Is that true?”
“I don’t know if it’s true, but the baby-sitter confirms it. She doesn’t remember the exact time of the call, but she remembers Martha Drake making it.
“But what the hell. That got her out there, and if she wanted to, she could have gone backstage and killed Goobie Wheatly too.”
“Why would she do that?”
Chief Bob held up his finger. “Again with the motive? I still want opportunity here. But that is a valid point. I can’t imagine Martha doing Goobie Wheatly in.” He shrugged. “If it was Margie Miller lying there, I might have second thoughts. But Goobie Wheatly?”
“That’s interesting,” I said. “You concede she has a motive for killing Margie Miller?”
“I should think that was fairly obvious.”
“Yes. Do you think she knew she had a reason for killing Margie Miller?”
“There I can’t be sure.”
“Did you ask her?”
“No. It has nothing to do with the current investigation.”
“But it is a matter to consider.”
“Sure. In your wildest dreams. We’re talking realities here. Anyway, who else could have killed him? The whole damn audience, for my money. Every stinking apprentice, every stinking trustee. They try to alibi each other, but there’s no two of them do a good enough job of it to cross anybody out.
“Then there’s the people in the playhouse but not in the audience.”
I frowned. “Who would that be?”
“Actually, just two. Ridley up in the light booth, and Mary Anne.”
“Mary Anne?”
“During the dress rehearsal she was in the costume shop, sewing.”
“Sewing? For what?”
He looked at me. “For the next show. I know you have a limited viewpoint, but wake up and get with the picture. Arms and the Man is not the last show of the season. They’re rehearsing right now for Glass Menagerie.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I just didn’t think of it in terms of our dress rehearsal. I mean, that she’d be working on something else.”
“Yeah, well, she was. She was down there sewing dresses all night. Or so she says. She also could have been climbing the stage-right stairs and killing Goobie Wheatly. Just between you and me, I doubt it. Anyway, if she really was there as she claims, and some unauthorized person had come up the stage-right stairs, he would have had to go right past the costume shop and she might have seen him.”
“I take it she didn’t?”
“So she says. Granted she wasn’t looking for anything like that. But still, if some unauthorized person had come by, she probably would have noticed. It’s a small point, but possibly a valuable one.”
“You’ll pardon me, but they all seem small points right now.”
“Sure, ’cause we’re just getting started and we don’t know what we’re looking for. Anyway, that’s her.
“Then there’s the kid. Ridley. He’s up in the light booth. On the headset but as I said, he probably took it off. If so, he could go out of the light booth, down the ladder to the balcony, down the steps to the lobby, downstairs to the greenroom, upstairs, kill Goobie Wheatly, then retrace his steps and be up there on the headset in the light booth waiting for a cue he knew would never come.”
“Why in the world would he do that?”
Chief Bob looked at me. “Are you going to ask that about every person we discuss?”
“Sorry. Yeah, you’re right. He could have.”
“There you are. Far as I can see, everybody in the theater could have done it.”
“I guess so.”
“But the word is could,” Chief Bob said. “The most likely to have done it are still the actors.”
“Of course,” I said.
Chief Bob nodded. “And of all the actors, the most likely of all is you.”
24.
TO A NEW YORKER LIKE me, the words “domestic disturbance” conjure up images of minorities in housing projects armed with guns and knives involved in, at best, brawls and, at worst, hostage situations.
At the reported domestic disturbance Chief Bob and I checked out that morning, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table having coffee and homemade doughnuts pressed on me by both Mrs. Etheridge and her husband, while Chief Bob tried to mediate their differences. The exact cause of the dispute never surfaced, but by the time we took our leave—armed with a bag of homemade doughnuts—the Etheridges were smiling and waving good-bye just as if it had been any other social occasion.
I was not as easily placated. Back in the police station, I took Chief Bob to task.
“I’m sure you’ll pardon me,” I said. “But before we were so rudely interrupted, you had just accused me of a crime.”
Chief Bob, who had been digging into the bag of doughnuts, looked at me in surprise. “No such thing.”
“Didn’t you say I was the most likely suspect?”
“Oh, that,” Chief Bob said. He bit into a doughnut. “There’s no reason to take offense. You are the most likely suspect. In terms of opportunity, I mean. After all, we were only talking opportunity. And in that category you’ve got the others beat hands down. You had, after all, two separate and equally good opportunities to kill the man. At the end of the show, while all the rest of the actors were onstage at the time you claim you found the body.”
“Claim?”
Chief Bob held up his hand. “Please. We’re having a hypothetical discussion here. We’d get a lot further if you’d discuss it rationally instead of taking offense at every statement. Look, we’re taking the overall hypothesis here that you committed the crime. I’m not saying you did, I’m just saying, for the purpose of this discussion. But take it for a given that’s what we’re discussing and don’t fly off the handle every time you realize that it is.”
“Fine,” I said. “You’ve made my day. In terms of this hypothetical discussion, at the end of the play when I claim I found the body, would you mind if I pointed out that all the evidence suggests that that’s exactly what I did? I mean, opportunity, hell. It’s not like I had this wonderful chance to kill Goobie Wheatly. You saw the show. I walk offstage, there’s one more line, ‘What a man! Is he a man!’ by Avery TV-star Allington, a
nd the show is over. Now, how long could that take? Even with Avery Asshole emoting and doing six outrageous takes before speaking, we’re talking a few seconds at most.”
“Till the end of the act, yes. But the lights and curtain didn’t come down at the end of the act. There was a pause, a hole where nothing happened. Then finally you appear onstage and say there’s been an accident.
“Well, now, witness statements vary. But the time between when the curtain should have come down and the time you appear onstage has been estimated at as long as fifteen seconds.”
I looked at him. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
“Plenty of time for you to walk up behind the gentleman in question and stab a knife in his heart.”
I put up my hand. “No,” I said. I shook my head. “Doesn’t fly.”
“Why not?”
“Goobie Wheatly was found sitting in the chair with the headset on and the prompt script in his lap.”
“Yeah. So?”
“That’s all wrong. For a lot of reasons.”
“Why?”
“We’re talking now about me killing him at the end of the act. After my exit, right? Well, that’s what I mean. Couldn’t have happened that way.”
“Why not?”
“First off he was wearing his headset. Now, you will agree that after my exit there were only a few seconds until Avery Allington delivers the line, ‘What a man! Is he a man!’ It doesn’t matter if there were fifteen seconds after that. The point is, there were only a few seconds before it. And that is the cue for lights and curtain. So even if Ridley took his headset off in the light booth, by the time I exit he’s got it back on because it’s the end of the act and he’s only seconds away from his light cue. So if I stabbed Goobie then, Ridley would have heard it on his headset.”
“Unless you turned it off. Isn’t it possible to turn those things off?”
“I suppose so, but—”
“So you sneak up behind Goobie Wheatly, click his headset off and stab him in the heart. When you’re finished you click it on again so no one will know.”
“Yes, but you can tell the difference. Ridley would hear it being clicked on and off and he’d report that. It’s just the sort of thing a kid like that would be sure to remember.”
“Yeah, if he wants to. A kid like that generally wants nothing to do with the cops, he just wants to get out of there. He didn’t see nothing, he didn’t hear nothing. So if it had happened, he wouldn’t talk about it because he’d figure it could get him in trouble.”
I frowned. “That’s really stretching.”
“Hey, we’re talking hypothetical here.”
“All right, fine,” I said. “Forget Ridley. It still won’t wash.”
“Why not?”
“Just like I say. He was sitting in the folding chair with the prompt script in his lap.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything. It’s the end of the act. Just like Ridley’s got the headset on, ready for it, Goobie Wheatly would be ready for it. Now, in the middle of the act he might have been sitting there in the folding chair with the prompt script in his lap ready to throw me cues, but not at the end. At the end of the act the prompt book is back on top of the lectern, and he’s standing up next to it with the headset on, ready to give the light cue and pull the curtain.”
“That’s the way you see it?” Chief Bob said.
“Yes, it is.”
He nodded. “Very good. That’s the way I see it too. And I think it’s a very convincing argument. Frankly, I don’t think there’s any way you could have killed him when you came offstage at the end of the act.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said.
He shrugged. “Unfortunately, you could have killed him in the middle of the act just fine.” He smiled and held out the bag. “Care for a doughnut?”
25.
THIS TIME IT WAS—I kid you not—a cat up a tree. Chief Bob captured it with the aid of a ladder dragged out from a two-car garage, suffered only superficial scratches bringing it down, and delivered it to its owner, a sweet old lady who was so grateful it was all we could do to escape without another round of coffee and doughnuts.
“I thought it was the fire department did that,” I said as we drove off.
“It is,” Chief Bob said. “But they’re volunteers. And it’s Sunday. Why should some poor salesman have to leave his barbecue and get out the hook and ladder on his day off when I can handle it?”
“Nice guy.”
“Yeah. I finish last,” Chief Bob said. He hung a left, headed out of town.
I frowned. “Where we going?”
“Just down here a ways.”
There was a billboard near the edge of town. Chief Bob pulled in behind it.
“You’re kidding,” I said.
He shrugged. “Gotta pay the rent. Let’s see if we can nab us a speeder.”
Chief Bob had brought along the bag of doughnuts. At the time, I’d wondered why. He pulled one out, took a bite. “So, as I was sayin’. About the murder. We’ve made admirable progress so far, knocking out the possibility of you killing Goobie Wheatly at the end of the show. Now, let’s suppose you killed him in the middle.”
“I didn’t. I was sitting on the steps studying my lines.”
“So you say. But we have only your unsubstantiated word for that.”
“Didn’t anyone see me there?”
“Actually, I believe Margie Miller did. She comes offstage a few lines after you. She claims when she got offstage she went down to her dressing room and passed you sitting on the top of the stairs with your script.”
“There you are,” I said.
“Yeah, but that’s when you first got offstage. Well before your reentrance. Look what happens next. Louka, who came onstage before your exit, plays a scene with Nicola. Who enters from stage left. So they’re both out of the picture. He also exits stage left, so he would never see you at all. And she is onstage till your entrance, so she’s out of the picture too. The only other actor to enter before you do is Avery Allington.”
“He enters from up right,” I said. “Didn’t he see me?”
“Yes, he did, but it doesn’t help you at all. He claims he came up the steps, saw you sitting at the top with your head in a book. He walked right by you and took up his position at the door. You recall no one exits before his entrance—he walks in on the two servants and then Nicola goes out. So he’s in position by the upstage door, waiting to go on.”
“You’ll pardon me, but why doesn’t that help me?”
“The masking flat.”
“What masking flat?”
“The one in the doorway. Look, I checked this out myself. When you’re in position to enter by the upstage-right door, that masking flat screens you off from the rest of the wing. With Avery standing there, it’s perfectly possible for you to walk from the stage-right stairs to the downstage wing where Goobie Wheatly was without anyone seeing you at all.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “I’m going to trust my murder to masking flats and sight lines with the guy standing right there?”
“We’re talking possibilities here. The fact is, it was possible.” Chief Bob shrugged. “Possible, but not necessary.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, as soon as Avery Allington goes onstage, you could have killed Goobie Wheatly, no problem. I mean, he’s got the whole scene to play with Louka before you come in. Nicola goes offstage left, no problem there. You’d have plenty of time to do it.”
“Yeah, but why?”
Chief Bob gave me a look. “Slow learner? Okay. I’ll give you a break. We’re gonna get to why. Promise. But for now, play what-if. What if you had a reason—could you have done it? You gave me a great explanation for why you couldn’t have done it at the end of the act. Can you give me as good a one for why you couldn’t have done it here? How about it? What was there to prevent you from killing Goobie Wheatly before you went onstage in the middle of Act Th
ree?”
I took a deep breath, blew it out again. “I don’t know.”
Chief Bob shook his head. “I don’t either. It’s a shame, but there you are. I’d really like to cross you off the list. But the sad fact is you could have done it. You could have done it just fine.”
A blue Nissan with New York plates whizzed by.
Chief Bob pulled out and nailed him. I stayed in the car, but I could see the entire operation. The driver was a young jock type, and he was pissed. Tough luck for him. Chief Bob took his license and registration and wrote the ticket.
“You nail him ’cause he was from out of state?” I asked, as Chief Bob climbed back into the driver’s seat.
“No. I nailed him for doing fifty-two in a thirty-five-mile-an-hour zone.” Chief Bob shifted into gear and pulled out. “Okay I got my speeder. Whaddya say we go back to the station and celebrate?”
“Celebrate?”
“Yeah,” Chief Bob said. “We’ll do what you’ve been dying to do all along.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Discuss the motive.”
26.
CHIEF BOB PICKED UP A paper from the stack on his desk. I have here a list of people involved in this case. The suspects, if you will. I’ve attempted to put them in order, ranging from those who had the most reason to kill Goobie Wheatly to those who had the least.” He shrugged. “Once again, you head the list.”
I looked at him. “Are you kidding me?”
“Hey, there’s the whole Captain Kirk episode. It was highly dramatic and highly visible. Hell, everyone saw it. So you had a motive. You may not think it’s much of a motive, but it gains force from the fact that virtually every person in the theater commented on it.”
“Yeah, but—”
Chief Bob held up his hand. “Hey we’ve been over this before. I don’t want to beat it to death. That’s your motive. At least your obvious motive. You may have had some other motive we don’t know of yet. But in terms of popularity, if this were “Family Feud,” that’s the one would have been voted the number-one answer.