Reign (65 page)

There was little need to keep any of the audience for questioning, since Dan Munro had seen the slaying of Ann Deems as he came through the inner lobby and down the aisle. Even though Dennis Hamilton's savagery at the end had startled and disturbed him, it was as clear-cut a case of self-defense as he had ever seen.

When the first ambulance came, Hamilton remained by Ann Deems as the attendants lifted her body onto a stretcher and carried it to the ambulance. He would not yet let them bandage his wound. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," Munro told Hamilton, although he was unsure if Hamilton heard him, as he made no response. Munro's last sight of him was as he stepped into the ambulance, sat down next to a softly weeping Terri Deems, and took Ann's still hand in his own.

The police found the bodies of Quentin Margolis and Abe
Kipp
after only a short search, and Munro had no doubt that it had been the double who called himself the Emperor who had hung and eviscerated the janitor and killed and horribly mutilated the director. Wallace Drummond's corpse brought the maniac's total to four for the night. But the tally would stop there. Hamilton had seen to that.

How many had this madman killed? The four that evening, and, if his confession was true, the others as well. Five others. Nine altogether. Men, women, a little girl.

Munro thought the son of a bitch had deserved a crueler death. He prayed the royal bastard's soul would burn in hell.

He drove Patty home, then returned to the theatre, where he worked with the state police for several hours more, doing everything that needed to be done, finding that there was an even greater mystery, one final puzzle with which he would have to confront Dennis Hamilton.

Munro did not sleep at all that night. Even if he would have had the time, he knew that he could not. Just after dawn, after the proper judges had been awakened, the proper papers had been served, he drove to the county prison and had Sid Harper released, told him what had happened the night before, and how the confession now made him a free man. Harper seemed strangely subdued, not at all pleased about being free.

Munro had arranged with John Steinberg to meet him and Dennis Hamilton in Hamilton's suite at the Kirkland Hotel at eight-thirty. When they arrived, Steinberg opened the door. He looked at Sid Harper, and his wide, florid face trembled with emotion. "Hello, Sid," he said in a tight, pinched voice. "It's good . . . so good to see you."

They clasped hands then, and Munro thought they would have embraced had it not been for Dennis Hamilton's entrance. At first Munro did not recognize him, for his face was clean-shaven. The reddish beard and moustache were gone now, leaving a broad upper lip and a firm if white-fleshed chin revealed. He was wearing tan slacks and a pale blue shirt with an open collar.

"Sid," Dennis said, and the two men walked toward one another.

"Dennis," Harper said, not raising his hands. "I'm so sorry. For everything."

Dennis nodded, and took his friend in his arms. "I'm glad you're back," he said.

"I've got to tell you," Sid said, "I didn't know that —"

"Later," Dennis said gently. "We've got all the time in the world to explain things."

Munro cleared his throat. "Before we get into anything else," he said, "Mr. Hamilton, could I talk with you alone?"

Dennis nodded. "John, take Sid to your room. Have some breakfast. We'll join you as soon as we can."

"Mr. Hamilton," said Munro when they were alone, "first of all, I want you to know that I have no doubt that the man you killed last night was responsible for the deaths. All the deaths. I had a theory, and I think it's the one that's going to survive — all the papers have come up with it this morning anyway. And that's that this man was a celebrity stalker, that he was . . . unbalanced by his extreme resemblance to you, and that he felt he actually was the character you created, and became fixated on you and the people around you. We don't know who he is, and although checks are being run with every law enforcement office in the country — dental records, fingerprints —I have no doubt we'll come up empty. He'll be John Doe from now till doomsday.

"Because he isn't anybody else, Mr. Hamilton. He's you. A duplicate. I'd say he was an identical twin that you never knew you had, or you didn't tell us about, except for one thing. I've got your fingerprints on file that we took after Tommy
Werton's
death. They're in my office. And not even identical twins have the same fingerprints."

"Mine . . . and his are the same?"

Munro nodded. "In every detail. That's an impossible thing. There's no way to explain that." He took a deep breath. "So I'm not going to try. There's a hell of a lot more here than meets the eye, but all I know is that I saw that man kill Mrs. Deems, and I heard him confess to killing the others, and that's good enough for me. These waters are too deep as it is. If you want to try and explain it to me, I'll listen. But if you don't, it all stops here. Nobody else is going to check his fingerprints against yours. And even if they do, the poor
bastards'll
be just as confused as I am."

Dennis Hamilton looked at Munro for a long time, then nodded. "Thank you for coming in. What happens next?"

Munro couldn't help but smile. He had had enough. "A hearing in a week or two. Just a formality. You won't be charged with anything, I'll see to that.”

“Thank you, Chief Munro."

"Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. Just between us, if that man had been brought to trial, I'd probably spend the rest of my days on this case. Frankly, I'd rather live in ignorance than in court."

~ * ~

Although the management of the Kirkland Hotel closed off the lobby to reporters, they ringed the outside of the building, so that Dennis and Sid left the underground parking garage with Sid driving and Dennis crouching down to remain unseen.

When they arrived at the theatre, they parked in the outside lot and walked around the back to the stage door. Larry Peach was waiting for them, and took several photos, while they averted their eyes from the electronic flash.

"Shaving off the beard," he said. "That's good, but it didn't fool me. And ya didn't fool me at the hotel, either. I knew you'd come back here. There's something about this place, isn't there? You gotta come back. Now look, I know I been rough on you in the past, but how about a few words? Who was that guy you killed? And what about that woman, that Ann Deems? She was your girlfriend or what?"

"Open the camera," Dennis said.

Peach narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Open the camera and expose the film." The words were filled with such a tone of command that even Sid trembled, and took a step away from Dennis.

Peach laughed nervously. "Uh-uh. Remember the last time you played that macho game on me? Didn't work then, why should it work now?"

Dennis walked up to Peach until he was only a foot away. "I'm different now."

Peach tried to wet his lips with his tongue, but no moisture showed on either.

"
Open
it." The words were not loud, only impossible to disobey. Peach, afraid to look away from Dennis Hamilton's awful eyes, fumbled with the catch at the back of his camera until there was a click, the sound of a metal and plastic door opening.

"Now go away," Dennis Hamilton said. "I don't want to see you again." He walked on toward the door, and, in a moment, Sid followed, leaving Peach shaken, angry, and impotent on the sidewalk. Sid didn't look to see if Peach did as he had been ordered.

Dennis unlocked the stage door and they entered. The work lights were still on, and the final set was up. They walked around it onto the stage. The curtain had been raised again, and they looked out over the hundreds of seats.

"Do you think it feels empty?" Dennis asked.

"I never think any theatre feels empty." He looked at Dennis. The man's clean-shaven face seemed pale and vulnerable in the dim light. "Dennis, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for Ann, and I'm sorry because . . . I didn't believe you."

"It was true, though. Everything I told you was true. He wasn't . . . a real person, Sid. I created him, God help me. Maybe by not admitting what was inside me, I gave birth to something far worse. Or maybe it was because I was too good at
acting
, and not good enough at
feeling
."

Dennis shook his head. "Ann," he said softly. "She helped me to feel. She gave herself so that I could feel, she loved me that much. She knew who was who all the time, knew that the only way I could feel again, feel enough, was to see her . . . hurt." He smiled a thin, sad smile. "And the bastard did just what she wanted him to. He thought seeing her die would make me lose everything, lose all hope, all reason to live. Then he could trade places with me again.

"But he underestimated me. And he underestimated her knowledge of me. When I saw her . . .” He broke off, squeezed his eyes shut, and Sid saw tears run from beneath the lids.

"How can I ever thank her? How can I make what she did matter?"

"By going on. By living your life the way she would have wanted you to. And you can. You've still got us with you — me, Curt,
Marvella
, John . . . Terri . . . we can start again. With
Craddock
."

Dennis looked at him. "Don't forget Evan."

Sid nodded. "Evan."

"After all, he's my son." He smiled while the tears shone on his cheeks. "That counts for something." He looked back out over the empty seats.

"But is it gone, Sid? The Emperor? When it died, it said 'Long live the king.' What did it mean? Is it gone?" He turned to his friend. "Or is it only waiting to come out again? Is it still inside me?"

"Maybe it is. I don't know," Sid said slowly, and a thought came to him. "Or maybe the only things inside you are the things that are inside all of us."

"I don't know which is worse to think about," Dennis said, looking out and up to where the rows stretched into darkness. "I don't know which is more terrible."

They stood there for a long time. "Come on," Sid said. "We can always come back. And we will." He looked around and shrugged. "It's a theatre, Dennis. Just a theatre and a stage. It's whatever we want it to be."

~ * ~

As they walked out, Sid's words reverberated in Dennis's mind.
Whatever we want it to be
.

It can only be what we put here
, Dennis thought. The empty stage is ours to fill with what we want the audience to see. It's nothing on its own. Only a space we fill. A lifeless space we make come alive.

And he would make it live. For Ann, for all of them, he would bring the light, make it sing, make it live.

From
Stage World 1990
, Volume LXXIX:

CRADDOCK
(Tony win.)

Cast: Steven Peters (Tony win.), Kelly Sears (Tony nom.), William Winslow, Craig
DeLucca
(Tony nom.), Sarah Wilson

Book and lyrics: Kevin McDonald (Tony nom.)

Music: Teresa Stafford (Tony win.)

Musical & vocal direction/orchestrations: Dexter
Colangelo

Set design: Mack
Redcay
(Tony win.)

Lighting design: Thorne Wilson (Tony win.)

Costume design:
Marvella
Johnson & Terri Deems-Hamilton (Tony nom.)

Choreography:
Ric
Pettrucci
(Tony nom.)

Direction: Dennis Hamilton (Tony win.)

Produced by The New American Musical Theatre Project

Broadway Opening: October 26, 1990, Lunt-Fontanne Theatre (still running) First

Performance: July 27, 1990, The Memorial Theatre, Kirkland, Pa.