“Put that thought out of your head.”
“How can I? What about Sam downstairs? I keep thinking of his family. He’s not going to come home from work tonight. Alan Grant left a huge trail of destruction behind him.”
Shannon put her hand on Dan’s shoulder and looked in his eyes. “He was stopped. It would have been even worse if you hadn’t come through. Dobbin’s men found enough jugs of liquid paraffin in the kitchen to light up this place like a Canada Day bonfire. It’s pretty obvious that after killing the three of you, he would have doused the entire apartment. There was also an incendiary timer. Everything was ready to go. The resulting fire would probably have taken the entire building with it. You don’t easily stop something that’s burning that hot. By the time the fire marshal sorted through the ashes, Grant would have been long gone.”
Dan Hudson could only shake his head. “I can’t wrap my brain around any of this.”
“It’s still too close. While you were talking to Dobbin’s man, I took a look around the apartment. You would not believe all the makeup stuff Grant had in the bathroom. The beard he was wearing today was a fake, for instance. It would not surprise me to find out he stood right next to us a few times. Dobbin found the passport for that second identity he told you about. You would not recognize him from the photo in it.” She sighed heavily. “When you run up against a psycho, bad things happen. When you run up against someone who’s as screwed up and as brilliant as Alan Grant, truly horrible things can happen.”
Hudson nodded at that. “Please don’t tell me again what a bloody genius this guy was, okay?
“You’ve got a promise on that.”
“Do I look as bad as you do?”
Shannon snorted. “We all look and feel horrible. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”
“What about Marta?”
“They had her pretty drugged up when they wheeled her out of here. She’s not going to be able to sing for awhile, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Tony?”
“He was given a shot, too, to calm him down. I don’t know how he’s going to react when it completely sinks in that he killed somebody — even if it was completely justified. I know from experience that everyone reacts differently. When I next get a chance to talk to Tony, I’m going to tell him he did the only thing he could. He stopped a madman.”
Dan chuckled. It was low and carried absolutely no humour.
“When I found out I was going to Italy and would be hanging out with the opera crowd, I figured I better read up. The only things I knew about opera were from Bugs Bunny cartoons. I read about one opera called Pagliacci. That mean ‘clowns’ in Italian. It’s about a seriously evil man inciting another man into killing his wife because she rejected the first guy. I downloaded a video so I could see it. The story is very sordid, very powerful, even if I didn’t understand a lot of it. The final words in the opera are spoken: ‘La Commedia è finita! — The comedy is ended!’ That’s what happened here today.”
Finale
The sound of crashing waves came from the rocks seventy feet below us. Tony and I were out on the deck built right above the edge of the cliff, seemingly floating in space, and enjoying yet another glorious Bruce Peninsula sunset. Since early April we’d been blessed with many of them and that was unusual for this time of year.
He reached over and took my hand. “A bit windy tonight.”
Even though I was chilly, I answered, “It’s perfect. I adore the feeling of wind on my face.”
We’d jumped at the chance when one of the COC board members offered us his beautiful modern cottage perched high on the cliffs at the end of the Bruce Peninsula.
Tony had wanted to go to Italy for the nearly eight weeks I had off since I’d been forced to withdraw from singing in The Passage of Time. The idea of Italy did have merit, but I didn’t think I could face being there. The Italian press and paparazzi don’t know the meaning of backing off.
No lasting damage had been done to my throat. After a pretty bad seven days, it began to feel better, but it was far too late for me to be involved in the production of the new opera. The young woman who moved from understudy to star did a decent enough job according to the reviews. The notoriety my problems brought to the opera provided over-the-top tickets sales. The opera itself was the star, though, and if the cast didn’t commend itself all that well to the critics, McCutcheon’s composition sure did. The reviews for the music, libretto, and Simon Stone’s staging were absolute raves.
I was heartbroken I hadn’t been able to take part in it.
“You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” Tony asked. “I can see it in your face every time you do. It’s like a black cloud crossing over the sun.”
My sigh was a heavy one, the direct descendant of many others over the past weeks. “I’m sorry. It just washes over me sometimes. I wish I could stop it happening, but so far …” I couldn’t hold another sigh back. “No luck.”
“I’ll say it one more time, Marta, you really should consider professional help.”
“And I’ll answer right back again, so should you.”
“I’m at ease with what I did — was forced to do.” He gave my hand a hard squeeze. “For instance, if I hadn’t ended the life of that animal, I couldn’t have squeezed your hand just now. I would be alone and missing you more than you can imagine.”
“I wish I had your ability to just step back from it all.”
“You will, given time and some help.”
“Lili is still all the help I need, Tony. She’s still living up here, you see.” I tapped the side of my head. “I can hear her talking to me, giving advice in her no-nonsense manner.” I started to tear up yet again. “God, I miss her so much.”
“I do, too.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “I talked to Shannon while you were napping. She told me Peter Grant has been more forthcoming lately with the police about his son. She thinks she finally understands the deep connection between Grant’s son and Lili — and why he did what he did.”
Both of us found it difficult to use my stalker’s first name. It seemed to humanize him somehow, made him seem less of the monster he was, and neither of us wanted that.
Tony didn’t continue and I turned to watch him staring north at Flowerpot Island six miles away. Ever since that awful day he occasionally zoned out like this, but would never reveal where his thoughts took him. I didn’t want to break into his reverie, but I needed to know everything Shannon had told him.
“Earth to Tony. Come in, please.”
“What? Oh sorry … Yes, dear?”
“What else did Shannon say?”
“Right.” He gathered his thoughts. “Peter Grant told the police that his son always accompanied his mother to her coachings with Lili — even well into his teens. He said the boy liked her very much. It seems there was a request from him to help his mother with her depression. Lili refused. Like he did with his father, the boy never forgave her when his mother took his life.”
“I’m sure Lili didn't forgive herself, either. Perhaps that’s why she came to my assistance.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“I keep asking myself why this happened in the first place.”
“Do you mean all of it, or Lili, or just the part that involved you?”
“All of it, certainly, but also: why me? Why did this creature pick on me?”
“Apparently Grant senior often compared his wife’s abilities and talents to yours — in very disparaging terms.”
“Surely he didn’t admit that to the police.”
“No. Shannon heard that from a COC director who knew the Grants socially. He really is an odious human being. He had a whole string of barely concealed affairs over the years, brutalized his wife and son verbally, and treated many of those around him with utter contempt.”
I shook my head. “He sure covered it up well. I always found him so charming and genteel.”
“Sociopaths ar
e often like that. And if Lili were here, I bet she would call him just that.”
“Yes, if Lili were here….”
Inside the cottage, the phone rang. Tony jumped up to answer it.
I turned to look at the whitecaps disappearing into the watery distance. One of the local tour boats was making its way from Tobermory’s Little Tub Harbour on my left to travel down the coastline on one of those nightly cruises.
It struck me that my life right now was very much like that boat, fighting its way over the waves to an unknown future off in the hazy distance. I would begin performing again very soon with renewed energy. The one positive I had taken from my dark ordeal was that I would never again take anything in my life for granted.
Tony opened the sliding screen door, holding the phone. “It’s Alex. He wants to talk to you.”
On the subject of not taking my life for granted, I put my ear to the phone, even though I really didn’t want to speak to anyone at the moment — not even my manager in New York.
“Are you sitting down, Marta?” Alex asked.
“Yes, Alex. I’m sitting down.”
He always said that when he had something exciting to tell me.
“I finally got everything nailed down, contracts in hand.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t Tony tell you my big surprise?”
“It would hardly be a surprise if he’d told me, would it?”
“I didn’t want to jinx it by mentioning it to you early in the process, but how would you feel about singing Naomi in the first recording of The Passage of Time?”
I was flabbergasted. “Who? What?”
“They’re using the London Symphony and McCutcheon will be conducting. The rest of the cast is outstanding, too. This is going to be a big deal.”
“And they want me?”
“McCutcheon insisted, apparently.”
“Probably feels bad because of what happened.”
“Perhaps, but who cares? I can just fit it into your winter schedule. Know that gap you had after Christmas until the second week of January? Well, that’s now filled up!” When I didn’t respond right away, he added, “You are willing to do it, aren’t you?”
“Of course, Alex. It’s just that I’m completely taken aback, that’s all. I thought that boat had sailed without me.”
“Well, it didn’t. And if you want to know something else, I think you’ll be asked to do the role in Sydney in two year’s time. McCutcheon’s also conducting the Australian premiere. And Toronto will be staging it again, of course. Tallevi’s promised me you’ll get it.”
“I thought McCutcheon didn’t like me.”
“Everybody loves you, Marta. When are you going to believe that?”
I knew where the truth lay, but good managers always talked that way to their clients and Alex was one of the best.
“That’s really lovely news, Alex. Thank you so much for all your hard work. Just send anything that needs my signature up here. Tony will give you the address before he hangs up.”
My husband took the phone and disappeared back into the cottage. Now I knew the reason for those secretive phone calls over the past two weeks. Alex was probably trying to find out if I could face up to the challenge.
It was now pretty dark, the sun well past the horizon. The few clouds were dissolving in the coolness of the night air. A couple of stars were already twinkling overhead and low in the east I could see many more joining them. The heavens tonight would be spectacular. Perhaps Tony and I could sit out here again after supper.
I began humming Naomi’s opening aria from act 1 of The Passage of Time. I’d finally found her in the darkness of that awful prison. Now I’d have the chance to share her with the world.
But to my mind, she seemed most at home, comfortable, in the darkness.
Perhaps she always would be.
Acknowledgements
While books always have only the author’s name on the cover, they are the result of a great deal of work by many people. As always, I have relied on my “mighty three” the most: my wife Vicki, Cheryl Freedman, and Andre Leduc, whose photographic skills always come through for me and for to whom I’m very grateful. I also want to thank my agent, Robert Lecker, for his steady hand on the tiller; my editor, Jennifer McKnight, who so diligently worked with me on “getting it all right”; and everyone at Dundurn who helped in getting this book into your hands. Also once again lending his vocal knowledge and operatic experience most generously was Robert Künzli. Thank you everyone!
Copyright © Rick Blechta, 2014
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