Foul Deeds: A Rosalind Mystery (24 page)

“Are you staying at the house?” I asked.

“I am. I'll be here for the next few days.”

“We'll talk again soon,” I said.

He and Arbuckle went up the stairs to the main level.

“I'm going to leave a message for Harvie,” I said to McBride. “He's in court today, but he'll be anxious for the news.”

“Then what?” he said. “Should we have lunch?”

I looked at McBride and realized that for him the case was over. He would probably be called to testify but his investigation was done.

“Alright, let's have lunch. And then let's go visit Aziz in the hospital. He should know about all this too.”

At rehearsal we'd been working on large sections of
Hamlet
all week, and that evening we were scheduled to have a complete runthrough. Harvie asked if he could join us for the first half, and I had cleared it with the cast. I picked him up at the law courts at 5:30 and we made our way up to the cathedral.

“I got your message,” he said. “Thanks for that. It must have been very gratifying to find out you were right about the taxine.”

“Let's thank Shakespeare, Harvie. He's the one who pointed me towards the yew. The thing is—I knew I was right when Aziz was poisoned. His symptoms fit everything I'd read. He's doing fine now, thank goodness. McBride and I went to see him today. He's ready to leave the hospital, I think.”

“Wonderful! That's wonderful news. He's a fighter.”

“Yeah. He's actually talking about making some kind of documentary around the whole experience because he has that interview he did with Peter King that he could weave into it. And then there's the upcoming trial, right? Which could be part of it too.”

“He wouldn't be allowed to film in the courtroom, unfortunately.”

“No, but he could still interview various people and create a personal record of what's happening. It would be a way for him to turn all this horrendous pain he's been through into something positive. Also a way of showing the world what good work Peter was engaged in. Anyway, it lifted my spirits to see how he's bounced back from those brutal assaults and how he wants to be involved in spite of everything. Human beings are unbelievably resilient, aren't they?”

“And how will he get by?” We had arrived at the cathedral and were walking towards the door that led down to the Crypt. “Does he still have his part-time job with the City?”

“So far. They can hardly fire him for noticing what Spiegle was up to.”

“Well, speaking of jobs…I have news for you, Roz.”

“You do?”

“As of Monday, you are officially on contract as a researcher for the Crown in the cases against Carl Spiegle and Greta King.”

“Seriously? Oh Harvie, I'm thrilled.” I spontaneously threw my arms around him. “Thank you for going to bat for me.”

Harvie looked very pleased with himself as we entered the Crypt. Several actors had already arrived and were getting themselves into partial costumes for the rehearsal—anything that would affect timing or be part of the action: outer garments, cloaks, swords, belts, hats, boots.

I introduced Harvie to the actors and then to Michael, the stage manager, whom I described as the best stage manager in the world because he seemed so to me—always good-natured, tireless, unbelievably well organized, detail oriented, and with a real love for the actors and the play. We were lucky to have him.

Sophie bounded in. “Oh god, I'm late,” she said, meaning she wasn't early, which was her custom. “Harvie. Hi! Good to see you. We'll chat later—I have to get ready.”

“Good, good, right. See you later. I'm looking forward to this. I love
Hamlet
.”

“So you can just take a seat in any of those audience chairs that are set up. I probably won't sit with you because I'll be taking notes at the production table,” I said.

Harvie went over and sat about three rows up on the risers. I took my place beside Michael's chair and opened my script.

“Five minutes to the top,” Michael announced for all to hear.

A striking and very skinny blond girl sat down on the other side of me. She looked about twelve.

“Hi. I'm Rosalind—text stuff.” I smiled at her.

“Margot,” she said, “lighting stuff.”

“Is this your first look at it, Margot?” I knew the actors had been having a difficult time finding someone to light the show.

“Yes. Thank goodness there was a run tonight. I'll figure out a lighting plot as soon as the rehearsal ends and start hanging whatever instruments I can scrounge up tomorrow. Preview's next Wednesday right?”

“That's right, there are two previews, then we open next Friday.” It was Michael, suddenly appearing beside us. “Places, everyone!” he called out. “Did you guys meet?”

“Just now. I can't wait to see it with lights,” I said to her. “But, my god, it's a tall order and there's probably not much available to you in terms of circuits either.”

“Well, the good news is it's so intimate in here that one little lamp goes a long way. Basically, looks like I'll be using anything that takes a bulb.”

“Roz, the actors want me to keep an eye on the blocking tonight, so would you mind being on book?”

“Not at all.” This meant I would be glued to the script and ready to give a prompt if an actor called for a line.

“Okay. Let's get this baby rolling,” Michael said to me with a grin, then announced: “Stand by everyone!” He called out, “And we're going to black in three, two, one,” as a substitute for the real lighting cues, which wouldn't be there until Margot got her work done. Two actors came out and stood at opposite corners of the square space as he noted the start time in his book.

“And lights up!”

The two actors began, imagining themselves on the dark, windy ramparts of Elsinore, knowing that the ghost of Old Hamlet could rise up before them at any second.

Who's there?

Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.

Long live the king!

Bernardo?

He.

The opening dialogue was off to a good start, but then almost immediately the actor playing Francisco stumbled and called for a line.

“
For this relief much thanks. Tis bitter cold and I am sick at heart,
” I said clearly, feeding it to him. Not a good sign, but to my surprise they got right back in stride. Over the last few nights the overall pace had improved and the sense of haste and urgency was finding its way into the scenes. The first half of our production galloped by.

We had placed the intermission at the end of Act 3, scene 1. The devastated Ophelia is left on stage as Claudius begins to grasp the real threat that Hamlet represents.

“
Madness in great ones must not unwatched go
.”

“And lights down. End of part one everybody. Good work. Fifteen minutes.”

Michael sounded pleased and everyone rushed into the dressing room to prepare for part two.

The first part had taken an hour and twenty-five minutes. The goal was to tighten it up and get it down to an hour fifteen.

Margot was making little drawings and writing notes like a fiend.

“What did you think?” I asked her.

“Awesome,” she said, not looking up from her writing. She seemed just a tad overwhelmed. Well, good luck to her, I thought. She has a mountain to climb in the next few days. I stood and stretched my back and walked over to where Harvie was sitting.

“I love it Roz! Everyone is so good. Sophie is heartbreaking.”

“Isn't she fabulous?”

“I thoroughly enjoyed it. The text is really clear and well focused. Good for you.”

“Thanks Harvie.” I smiled, feeling energized by his enthusiasm.

“I'm so sorry I have to miss the second part but I have a meeting set up for 8:30, so I'd better dash.”

“That's okay. Hey, they all die at the end, anyway.”

“Oh man, I thought it was a comedy. Okay, I'm off.” He was putting his coat on.

“Well, I hope you're planning to join us for the opening, so you get to see it with lights, music and full costume—not to mention the party.”

“Definitely. I want to be there on opening night.”

“Next Friday, one week from now,” I said. “I'll book your ticket.”

“Can I be your date?”

“We're on.”

“In the meantime we've got a lot of work to do,” he said running up the little stone stairwell to the door.

“I'm on for that, too,” I called after him.

Mon
day was my first day as a researcher
at the Crown Prosecutor's Office. Arbuckle had begun to work the previous week on preparing the charges. He was coming in at two o'clock to meet with Harvie, and I asked if I could join them.

When Arbuckle arrived we sat down in a well-appointed meeting room, and an assistant named Melanie brought in coffee and biscuits. This is a far cry from McBride's kitchen, I thought to myself, looking at my reflection in the polished mahogany table.

“I'm assuming they both have lawyers by now,” Harvie said to Arbuckle.

“Spiegle's finally hired one. He's maintained his right to counsel so I wasn't able to question him last week.”

“Who did he end up with?”

“Ralph McFadden.”

“The Pugilist,” Harvie said.

“What?”

“Yeah, that's our nickname for him. Well known for delivering the knockout punch too.”

“Greta does not have a lawyer,” Arbuckle said. “She seems to think she can handle this on her own and she has one strategy: denial with a capital ‘D.' She won't even discuss her background, her family history, where she's from, how she met her husband. She's made herself into a fortress of secrets.”

“Let's get Daniel in here,” Harvie said to me. “We can ask him how their meeting went and suggest that he look after securing counsel for her.”

I called the King house and left a message for Daniel, then noticed that I had an Ontario cell number for him. I dialed it and he answered. He was downtown at the bank, still sorting out some details of Peter's estate. I asked him how he was doing and he said he was making progress with the estate, but still feeling stunned by the extent of his mother's apparent involvement. I asked him if he would mind coming in to see us, and he agreed to join us within the hour.

Harvie cut to the chase. “So, what's the best approach, Donald? Do we try them together for the murder?”

“Greta King will be charged separately for her actions against Aziz, and in my opinion, it would be best to try that case later—by then all the groundwork regarding the poison will have been done.”

I nodded in agreement.

“With regard to Spiegle,” he continued, “I'm having my first interview with him as soon as possible. In the meantime, I've been working on all the evidence we've got in terms of sequence of events and on what I've been able to get out of those two clowns that worked for Spiegle. We also have the background information from Aziz's file.”

“That's a good starting point for your research, Roz,” Harvie said. “Find out the scope of those overseas projects, what Spiegle had to gain and what he had already lost and was going to lose because of Peter's actions. Spiegle didn't want Aziz's file to come to light and likely that's because it provides motive. All of Peter's files were packed in boxes and are still at his firm. Let's have them picked up and get as much information as we can out of them.”

“I'll get them delivered first thing,” I said, savouring the feeling of swinging into action as a Crown researcher. “There's also an email Daniel received from Peter the week prior to his death, saying that the situation he was involved in was heating up. I believe Spiegle may have been involved in that deal as well—I'll get a copy of that email.”

“As for Greta,” Arbuckle continued, “she's still denying even knowing Spiegle for heaven's sake.”

“If she didn't know Spiegle, why would she steal the file? Why would she pay that deadly visit to Aziz? We have McBride witnessing them together at the house, which, by the way, I'd prefer we keep to ourselves for the time being. I hope none of us has let her know that she was seen there.” Harvie said this looking at us to make it clear. It was interesting to observe him in his professional role. He was methodically getting control of this large, potentially unwieldy case.

“No. I agree that this is a revelation that could be useful later,” Arbuckle said.

I jumped in. “And let's not forget the detail that alerted me to their connection in the first place—Daniel's telephone message to me saying that she had gone to Paris and that the contact name was Spiegle.”

“Back to the question,” Harvie said. “We can't charge them both with Peter's murder unless we can demonstrate there's a conspiracy.”

“But if we can gather enough evidence to establish motive on Spiegle's part we can certainly charge him with the murder,” Arbuckle said. “There's a record of him being on the premises when the ambulance came for Peter.”

“It's the poison that complicates things,” I said. “The yew tree that produced the taxine grows on the King property, and we have every reason to believe Greta had it in her possession the morning she visited Aziz.”

“If Greta prepared the taxine for the purpose of poisoning her husband, that certainly makes her, at the very least, an accessory before the fact if not an accomplice to the murder. In fact, if she administered it to her husband, that could make her the murderer and Spiegle the accomplice,” Harvie said.

“Or maybe Carl Spiegle really was an innocent bystander,” Arbuckle said.

Melanie came into the room to let us know that Daniel had arrived.