“About time! Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I gather up my goods and chattels and put my coat on.”
Ten minutes later, I strolled jauntily back to the set. It was deserted. Where on earth was the Barney? Typical cop attitude: He sends for you and then keeps you waiting.
I walked across the floor to the podium. Now that all the technicians had left for the night, the set looked tattier than ever. The walls, dressed up with lots of gaudy plastic tinsel – interspersed with kitsch photos of a few TV celebrities here and there – were far less menacing than the floor which was now something of a hazard, thanks to a large number of six-inch cables criss-crossing hither and thither like a brood of snakes.
On Monday, the life-size Total Service signs would come down and the whole set would be cleared to make way for Mother Blue’s Bedtime Cruise.
Suddenly, all the lights went out. Some dumb Scotsman among my security guards was earning his pay. Not even the auditorium lights were left on. Fortunately, I’d left the door to the corridor open and there was just enough of a glow from the corridor’s lights for me to see my way out. But I’d taken no more than three paces towards the door when it was suddenly slammed shut.
Hell! Now the set was black as a tomb. No use screaming for help, as the whole megalithic set was sound-proofed. I was locked in – with no avenue of escape. Even if I could stumble my way to the corridor door, the wretched thing had an automatic lock and there was no way I could open it from this side without a special key. And no use hoping that Inspector Borne would raise the alarm. He’d find the door locked and simply assume I’d gone home – unless one of his men was eager enough to have taken note of my car and noticed that it was still parked in the lot.
Hell! Even if someone stumbled across my car, they’d simply assume I’d taken a lift with Boss Kent or one of the crew to Hollywood’s traditional wrap-up party that marked the end of shooting a movie or a TV series.
And this set wasn’t due to be opened again until Monday! Hell! Hell! Hell! But surely someone at the wrap-up party would notice I was missing – before they got too inebriated to notice anything?
Besides, Inspector Borne needed me. Surely he’d want to take my evidence against Darin tonight? And he himself had asked me to meet him here, and no doubt he’d realize I was locked inside.
No, maybe he’d just assume I’d found the door locked and gone off to the party? Hell!
I was panicking. The room was pitch black. I was trapped in a coffin. Buried alive!
Fighting down my fear, I forced myself to think calmly, rationally. I was a fool. There were two ways out: A door at the end of the corridor on the other side of the set – the audience exit – and the phone in the control booth.
The exit door was locked, and I had no key. But maybe I could pick the lock? What did I have in my pockets that I could use for a tool? In any event, that door wasn’t sound-proofed. Maybe if I banged on it for half the night, I would eventually arouse the permanent guard?
But it was a long shot – feeling my way in the dark, even if I could set myself in the right direction.
The control booth’s phone was a much easier proposition. For one thing, it was much closer. If I turned around, Sedge’s podium should be no more than four or five feet on my left. Then I had only to walk along cautiously, trying to keep in a straight line until I reached the ladder to the landing that housed the control booth. Oh, hell! Monty kept the control door locked. But what of it? I’d just have to smash its glass panel, reach in and unlock the lock. Easy!
I took a couple of exploratory steps towards the podium – then froze! I could hear something – and it wasn’t just the echo of my own foot-steps. It was a humming sound, a muffled but unmistakable vibration in the air.
“Bastardo! You think to play games with old Peter, eh? You think he is kidding around? You think he is not playing for real? You think he is not playing for – what you say? – for keeps?”
Peter’s voice seemed to come from everywhere. A mocking, menacing, startlingly magnified whisper! Therefore Peter himself was up in the control room, making use of the loud speakers.
“What in hell are you going on about?” I yelled. “Why turn off the damn lights?”
“So now you are in the dark, Manning – you, you devil from hell! And now I see. And now I see!”
“Where’s Inspector Borne? I’m supposed to meet him here. He sent for me.”
“I send for you. I ask the sergeant to fetch you. I say it is important work for Inspector Borne.”
“He’ll remember that.”
Peter laughed. “What if he does? What if he does?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you hold against me, Peter? I’ve always treated you fair and square. I’ve not carried tales to Borne about you. Even though I’ve had my suspicions – plenty of suspicions! – I’ve always given you benefit of the doubt.”
I was trying to stay calm and clear-headed, even though I now knew who he was, as well as what he was. He had all the edges. My position was hopeless. I knew he could see me in the dark – and worse still, he knew that I knew. He’d told me himself. And his whole plan was now so plain. It wasn’t elaborate. It was bloody simple: Darin was his stooge. He’d planned that Darin should win and thus he’d have to pay out only a mere fraction of the prize money. A cunning scheme! A really cunning scheme! My lovely Kathie Williams had either found him out or he had used her to gain access to Sedge’s questions. So, he’d killed her! And now I’d blown his whole, murderously elaborate plan apart by singing!
And he came from Verona! I knew Verona only vaguely – but enough to know that the good Veronese stage a great medieval joust every year or so. They have knights in armor fighting with swords and axes and marksmanship contests with javelins and cross-bows!
I had only one advantage: His eyes. He had supernatural sight in the dark all right, but his eyes were super-vulnerable to light – even a crack of light. But I’m no smoker. I carried no matches or lighter – and they were forbidden on the set anyway!
A torch! There was a torch somewhere. Where? Where? Bloody hell! In the control booth!
“Isn’t business all that good, Peter? Couldn’t you spare the eighty thousand?”
A throaty, echoing laugh. “Life, she is so very strange, Mr. Manning. Very strange. I have the big idea, but I have no money. Where you think I get it from, eh?”
“The Mafia.”
“Very good, Mr. Manning. Very good! You are the good pupil. I am sorry I have to kill you. Really sorry!”
“Why? If you don’t have it already, you’ll soon have enough money to repay the mob. They won’t let you out of their clutches, but you’ll still have money to spare. So why kill me?”
“Because you know my secret. I must protect myself.”
“Did I ask you to share your secret with me? Have I told anyone?”
“You told Inspector Borne?”
“Not me! I’ve told no-one.”
“Borne knows. I’m sure of it!”
“Not from me.”
“You lie!”
“Don’t you think Borne will start putting the answers together when they find me here on Monday?”
“Yes, it is too bad. To kill for your ambitions. And then to die. Die! Die!”
“How?”
For an answer, I felt a sudden gust of air over my left shoulder, followed by a loud thud on the wall behind me. The crossbow! Peter had collared it. He had it all the time!
“That is just a warning, Mr. Manning.”
“I won’t be frightened like Sedge!” I shouted. “You can wear your blond wig and whiten your face and show me your sightless eyes – and I’ll laugh right back at you.”
I dropped to the floor. Another sudden rush of air overhead and a loud bang against the wall. I stood up and then fell down so that he could hear the noise.
He laughed. “I see you, Manning,” he said. “I see you. Play acting. Play acting!”
How could he see where there
was no light at all? I waved my hand in front of my face. I could see nothing. I waved my hand again, slowly and closer. Almost nothing. I could just make out – oh, so impossibly dimly! – the vaguest outline of my thumb.
“Waving goodbye? That is so appropriate, Mr. Manning. Goodbye!”
The bolt struck me in the shoulder with such force that it spun me around like a top before hurling me to the floor. I fell heavily over a heap of camera cables.
I felt my shoulder for blood. Surprisingly, there was none. No bolt either. For some reason I couldn’t figure, it had bounced off my jacket – which wasn’t even cut!
“You like to play 80 Questions?” he asked. Another missile thudded into the floor, just missing my foot.
“And now, Mr. Manning, you would like to sing, eh? A requiem, perhaps?”
I raised my leg on a quick hunch that he would try again for my foot. In a shower of sparks, the bolt skidded into the tangle of cables on the floor.
“Ahhhhhhh!”
Of course, he had removed his dark glasses! His normally, pin-pointed pupils, his ultra-sensitive eyes were now wide open. Even the smallest spark of a flame would have him recoiling like Frankenstein’s monster.
Why had I given up smoking? Not a single match in my pocket!
I scurried across the floor, trying to make for Sedge’s podium which the crew used for a general hold-all. It was just possible that someone was using it to house matches or even a lighter.
Hell! I couldn’t see where I was going and completely misjudged the direction. I bumped right into one of the contestant tables, sending it spinning on its side.
Another bolt! I’d crouched behind the table, but it wasn’t much protection. The bolt sliced into the wood like a carving knife into cardboard. I tested the point with my finger. This bolt was so sharp, it drew blood. I felt carefully down the haft. The murderous bastard was using both blunt-ended bolts and razor-sharps.
I stood up. Best to get it over with. My position was hopeless.
Peter laughed. “You would like a song, Mr. Manning? I will sing you a song. A funeral song.”
“Before you do, would you answer me a question? Just one question! Why did you kill Kathie? She liked you!”
“Me? Kill Kathie? You killed Kathie!”
“I didn’t kill Kathie. I loved her! I wanted to marry her!”
“Something very wrong here, Mr. Manning. You are trying to trick Peter.”
“I’m not trying to trick anyone. You can check with Inspector Borne. He believes you’re in cahoots with Gino Paletti, and that you conspired with him to kill Kathie.”
“You lie! Gino Paletti is my enemy. But all your lies and false accusations will do you no good. I will sing you a song. A funeral song: Addio, addio.”
“Wait! If I didn’t kill Kathie and you didn’t kill Kathie, who did?”
“You killed Kathie, Manning. You are trying to trick Peter. But Peter knows you killed her, you devil from hell! Go back to hell where you belong!”
I dropped to the floor, as Peter shot off three bolts in quick succession. Then I ran madly across the floor until I bumped against a wall. It was the back wall, decorated with streams of tinseled paper. A bolt thudded overhead. As I pulled madly at the tinseled streamers, sending spools showering noisily all over the floor, my fingers encountered a switch. Why had it been left on? What was it for? What did it matter? I flicked it off.
Silence. Utter silence. That invisible, impalpable hum in the air was gone. I had turned off all the speakers. Peter could no longer talk to me, taunt me, mock me.
I decided to remain perfectly still. Peter could still see me all right. He could finish me off right now if he wanted to. That’s what any sensible adversary would have done. But Peter could have killed me at any time. He didn’t have to stage this elaborate farewell on the 80 Questions set. I had robbed him of $80,000. He wanted revenge. Slow revenge.
I waited. I couldn’t see him coming down the ladder from the control booth. But that’s where he was. Where he had been talking through the mike. Where he had the door open so he could fire at me with his crossbow. But now he knew the mike was dead. So he was creeping down the ladder. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t hear the slightest sound. But I knew that’s what he was doing. There was another switch on Sedge’s podium. He would try that.
Was there nothing I could do but wait? Rashly, I kicked out at the tinseled streamers and at all the stupid lengths of cable that lay all around. Fool!
But no bolt came! What was Peter up to? Creeping towards me to strangle me with his bare hands? Or plunge a knife into my throat?
Wait! These cables – although they doubled up and skewered all over the place, there were actually only three of them. Two of them led to cameras and the other to the autocue. I didn’t know how to set the cameras going. And it was too dark for them to record this bizarre scene anyway. But the autocue had a light. A powerful light!
God help me! Which cable led to the autocue, and which end was which?
I’d lost all sense of direction. Then I heard the click that re-started that familiar hum in the air. I was right! Peter had headed for the speaker switch so he could continue taunting me. I had robbed him of $80,000. Doubtless, he was now making his way back to the ladder that led to the control booth.
Right! If Sedge’s podium was on my left, that knocked out cable number two. But which of cables one and three led to the control booth? That was the one to avoid. I would just have to trust my instincts and hope that the cables didn’t double back on each other! My dad was left-handed, so I trusted my instincts, picked up the cable on my left and scurried off with it, playing it between my hands as I ran cautiously over the floor. With luck, Peter was still closing in on the ladder, or even ascending it. Now that the mike was back in business, he’d torture me some more from the booth. He’d wonder what I was up to, but hopefully I could beat him before he worked it out.
Peter laughed. Hell! My thoughts were all wrong. He was obviously much closer to me than I imagined.
“Too dark for the camera, my friend. Perhaps you forget your lines? Allow me to refresh you: Addio, addio.”
I butted right into a camera. Damn! But if this was the main camera, the autocue was standing nearby. On the other hand, if this was the second camera, the cue could be anywhere!
Whishhh! A bolt hit the side of the camera, spinning it around and knocking me on the chin. I dropped the cable and dived to the floor. I was threshing about madly for the cable, when Peter suddenly woke up to what I was doing.
“Maledetto bastardo!” he cried.
I’d no idea I was so close to the autocue. A dim shape bulked out of the darkness to the right. This was it!
Abandoning caution, Peter was rushing across the floor.
I had my arm around the autocue, but where was the switch that turned the blasted thing on? My hands grappled around the smooth metal surface. Here now was the plastic screen, so the light switch must be at the back! But with one bound, Peter was upon me with such force we both went crashing to the ground. Instinctively, I grabbed hold of the cue to lessen my fall when my fingers fell against the switch at the back. Peter’s hands were around my throat! I flicked the switch!
“Ahhhhhhhhh!”
Never will I forget that hideous cry! He covered his eyes with his hands. I slammed my fist into his belly and as he doubled over, I threw all my weight into a quick uppercut under his chin. He crumpled to the floor. I jumped on his chest, knocking the wind right out of him, side-straddled him and tore his hands from his eyes. He was screaming. I forced open his eyelids with my thumbs for a second or two before I fell back in fright.
His eyes were dead eyes – black microdots of pupils set in blood-red baths of unspeakable horror. They were the eyes of nightmares, of ancient terrors and whispered fears, monsters, ghouls and changelings.
By the light of the autocue, I ran to the main door. I’d momentarily forgotten it was locked and that Peter had the key. Although I shuddered at
the thought of going through his pockets, I had no choice. Also I’d need to collar his dark glasses. But first, I would turn on the emergency lights. They at least would keep Peter under control.
There was also a dimmer next to the emergency switch. I turned the dimmer up full blast and the whole set – including its little auditorium – was flooded with light.
What the hell! There was young Trevor Holden, bold as life, sitting right smack in the middle of the second row of the audience’s seats.
“How long have you been sitting there, Trev? I was almost killed right in front of your eyes!”
“Almost, but not quite! Peter was always a sloppy operator. Never trust a guy who wears glasses! That’s what my dad used to say. Bum eyesight will always let you down. Particularly when you most need the bastard thing! A pity you never knew my dad. Dead now. Died in jail. A real smart operator, he was. Managed to kill himself before he was executed. Think of that! It was all hushed up. They even managed to proceed with the ‘execution’. They executed a corpse. Yes, my dad could have taught you a thing or two, Manning. But you’re like Peter there, a real sloppy operator. You just don’t have the guts for success. And you’re anything but smart. But above all, as I say, you got no guts – just like Peter. Big ambitions, but no guts to carry them out. You’re sentimentalists – that’s what you are! If I told Peter once, I told him a dozen times to get rid of that Jane. But not him! He fell in love with her. She was getting too close to him – and even worse, she was getting too close to me. I dunno know how she did it, but somehow she tumbled to my identity.”
“You told her. You told Kathie yourself.”
“You’re right. In a moment of weakness, I told the bitch. We all of us make mistakes. I don’t mind admitting it. Mistakes are part of human nature. We learn by our mistakes – that’s what my dad used to say.”
“So which mistake are you? Trevor Holden or Gino Paletti?”
“What does it matter? What matters is that I handled that whole scenario rather cleverly. I even put it into Peter’s mind that you killed Kathie/Spookie or whatever you like to call her!”
“That was real smart!” I said.
Merryll Manning Is Dead Lucky Page 20