Silent Stalker (6 page)

Read Silent Stalker Online

Authors: C. E. Lawrence

BOOK: Silent Stalker
13.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN
The next morning Lee took the subway back up to the theatre to observe rehearsal. The Noble Fools had decided not to cancel the production, and Mindy's understudy was apparently more than willing to step in. Davillia had dramatically quoted the famous dictum that “the show must go on,” though Lee suspected she was more driven by monetary considerations. The landlord had been paid in advance, and a cancelled production would leave a huge gap in the company's finances. Lee had agreed to keep an eye on things at the theatre while Butts and Sergeant McKinney interviewed Mindy's friends and family.
As the Seventh Avenue line rattled uptown, Lee thought about the phone conversation of the night before. He had not told Chloe that Laura was missing, but that she was dead. Of course he didn't know that for certain, but he had long believed it. His training and experience told him the chances of her being alive were remote, but it was more than that. Hope was too alluring and easily dashed—he couldn't afford that particular emotion. It was easier to expect the worst. Hope involved wanting, which meant opening up to the possibility of more pain.
Rehearsal was already in progress when he arrived, so he slid into a seat at the back of the auditorium. They were running the scene with Antipholus of Syracuse and his twin brother's wife, portrayed by Sara Wittier. She was actually quite good, not playing it for laughs, taking her character's dilemma seriously. Antipholus was played by Keith Wilson, the leaner of the two dark-haired twins, and they made a good-looking couple onstage. Lee noticed that Keith wore a long navy blue cloak—part of his costume, perhaps? He remembered the blue fiber found on Caroline's body and made a mental note to tell Butts.
Davillia watched from her director's chair, sipping from a metal thermos and picking at a bran muffin. She stopped the actors from time to time, suggesting stage movement or alternate line readings. She was surprisingly sensitive and thoughtful, given her larger-than-life persona. They were in the middle of a scene in which Sara's character, Adriana, confronts Antipholus of Syracuse, who she thinks is her husband. He is actually her husband's twin brother, and of course has never seen her before. Also onstage was Ryan Atkins, playing Antipholus's servant, Dromio of Syracuse.
Davillia put down her thermos and approached the stage, her bracelets jingling. She wore an emerald-green kimono with a long string of multicolored beads. Lee imagined her bedroom closet full of dozens of various colored kimonos.
“Sara, darling, start that speech again, will you?” she cooed in her affected accent. “But this time really let your emotional reaction to his strange behavior fuel your entrance more—all right, lovey?”
Sara nodded and they went back to the beginning of the scene. Davillia returned to her chair and her coffee, delicately plucking off pieces of muffin, using her fingers with their long, brightly painted nails. Sara entered from the wings and stopped abruptly when she saw Antipholus and his servant. Glaring at them, she flung her arms out angrily. Her face reddened as she sputtered her lines furiously.
Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown:
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects;
I am not Adriana nor thy wife.
When Sara had finished the entire speech, Davillia leapt to her feet, clapping her hands like a child.
“Yes, yes—that's it! Brava—see what I mean?”
“Yes,” Sara said, blushing and looking pleased with herself.
Lee studied the other actors onstage. Mindy's understudy, the young woman playing Luciana, looked on with shy appreciation, and Keith Wilson was smiling broadly. Ryan Atkins stared at Sara with an expression of entranced adoration on his freckled face. His pale blue eyes brimmed with emotion.
Lee spotted Ryan's brother, Danny, watching from the wings. The look on his face was very different—his features were frozen in a mask of intense disapproval. Without changing his expression, he wheeled about and disappeared backstage.
C
HAPTER
T
WELVE
Caroline Porchowsky stepped into the hallway from the overheated apartment and locked the door behind her. She slipped on the lime-colored wool coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. It was one of those bone-chilling February days, the kind that eats right through to your core, though the apartment was so hot she had carried the coat into the hall before putting it on. She felt a little guilty for taking her roommate's coat without asking, but it was such a lovely color, and Sara wouldn't be home for some time. Caroline was only going to slip across the street to the bodega and pick up a few things, and she would be back before her roommate returned from her restaurant job.
Normally Sara didn't work on Tuesdays, but she had been called to fill in for another waitress who had taken ill. Sara had worn her other winter coat, the gray down jacket with the red lining, so Caroline decided it wouldn't do any harm to use the green coat. Besides, it was a rare opportunity—Sara rarely wore anything else this time of year, and could usually be seen a block away in her bright green coat. So Caroline snatched the chance to wear the coveted garment, just this once.
She often wore her roommate's clothes without asking. There was something delightfully wicked about getting away with it. Lately Sara had been asking questions that made Caroline think she had begun to suspect, but Caroline always denied her accusations. The clandestine nature of it was half the fun—if she asked permission, the whole thing would lose its appeal. She was very good at acting innocent—or thought she was—though she worried that Sara, being an actress, could see through her wide-eyed protestations.
Still, she enjoyed the game, and as she pulled the collar tightly around her thin neck, she sighed with pleasure. This particular shade of green went so well with her eyes, she thought—the coat really looked better on her than on Sara. She was pulling on her leather gloves when she thought she heard the soft click of the front door latch. She peered down the narrow flight of stairs but didn't see anyone in the tiny foyer of the tenement building.
Caroline piled her hair up inside a gray wool beret, slid on a pair of sunglasses, and proceeded down the steep staircase, clutching the banister as she went. There was a loose step right before the landing, and she looked down to make sure of her footfall.
She never saw the attack coming. Her first awareness of it was the sensation of the cold metal as it slid into her gut, perforating her small intestine. She made no sound except for a single guttural grunt as she sank to her knees. She stared down in disbelief and astonishment as thick dark blood pulsed from her body. Only then did she look up into the face of her attacker. Curiously, her face held an expression of wonderment rather than fear, as though she was bewildered that anyone could want to do such a thing to her. By then it was too late—life was draining from her body with every beat of her heart.
She was still alive when her attacker fled the building, walking quickly in the direction of the subway. But by the time he reached the platform, she was dead.
C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN
“No mask this time,” Elena Krieger said. “But otherwise the same MO?”
“Yep,” said Butts. “She was ambushed in the foyer of her building, run through with a single stab wound, and left to die.”
“It wouldn't have taken her long to bleed out from a wound like that,” said Lee.
They were staring at crime scene photos taped to the bulletin board in Butts's cramped office. The call had come in about Caroline's death a little after noon, and now it was nearly four. Her body was already at the ME's office, and the three of them were back at the precinct awaiting the autopsy results. Not that they expected to learn much from it, though there was still a thin hope of some trace evidence turning up on the body.
“Why no mask this time?” asked Krieger, studying the photos. Poor Caroline lay on her back, her unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling of the drafty lobby where she had taken her last breaths. Her bright green coat was stained with crimson blotches of dried blood. A pair of sunglasses lay to one side of the body.
“Could have been he was in a hurry because he was about to be discovered,” Butts replied. “Or—”
“He realized he had killed the wrong person,” Lee finished for him. “Caroline Porchowsky was Sara Wittier's roommate.”
“So when he saw that he had the wrong person, he abandoned his plan and fled?” said Krieger. “Without leaving his ‘signature' behind?”
“Right,” said Lee. “The signature only had meaning for his intended victim. Caroline was a mistake—the wrong place and the wrong time.”
Krieger shook her head. “Poor girl.”
“Either that or he heard someone comin' and cleared out fast,” said Butts. “Either way—” The phone rang, and he snatched it up. “Yeah? No kiddin'? Okay I'll be right down.” He hung up and turned to the others. “They think they got DNA this time. I'm goin' down to the lab.”
Lee looked at his watch. “It's almost time for rehearsal. I'm going over there.”
“Okay, see you there,” said Butts. “I won't be long. I'll send Sergeant McKinney in the meantime.”
“Did you manage to reach Sara?” asked Krieger.
“They said at the restaurant she was going to rehearsal straight from work.”
Krieger's eyes widened. “So she doesn't know yet?”
“No, and that's the way we're going to leave it,” said Butts. “Don't worry—we've still got a patrol unit watchin' her.”
“If the killer is in the cast, when she turns up alive, his reaction should give him away,” Lee explained. “
If
he didn't realize he had made a mistake at the crime scene.”
“But these are actors,” said Krieger. “They should be good at hiding their real feelings and pretending, no?”
“Even the best actor won't be able to suppress a micro-expression of astonishment,” Lee replied. “That's what we're counting on.”
Rush hour had already started by the time Lee hailed a cab. It crawled up Third Avenue as far as the forties, where the driver made a few slick moves crossing Forty-second Street. Lee tipped generously when they pulled up in front of the building on West Fifty-fourth Street.
There was no sign of Sergeant McKinney when Lee pushed open the door to the theatre. A few actors were there already—the Wilson twins and Carl Hawkins were sitting on the edge of the stage running their lines. Davillia brushed in a few minutes later, and while she seemed surprised to see Lee, she gave him a friendly smile as she bustled down the aisle with her coffee thermos and white bakery bag.
“I brought muffins for everyone today,” she sang out cheerfully. “I thought you all could use a boost.”
“Why, thank you, Madame Director,” Fred Wilson replied, taking a blueberry muffin from the bag. Lee couldn't help noticing that he was dressed in a dark blue wool coat, whereas his brother Keith wore a down jacket. He was pondering this when the door swung open and the Atkins twins entered. They looked as though they had been arguing—Danny's face was dark and moody, and Ryan looked preoccupied and upset. Ryan declined Davillia's offer of muffins and went straight backstage. Danny sat in the audience, pulled out his iPhone, and began typing.
“As soon as Sara gets here we'll start,” Davillia said chewing on a bran muffin. Danny interrupted his typing to give her a quick look, then, seeing Lee sitting behind him, went back to his iPhone.
“She's late,” Carl said. “That's not like her.”
“Should we be worried?” Davillia asked.
“She's got a cop tailing her around the clock,” said Fred Wilson, finishing his blueberry muffin. “If she's not safe with a police escort, who is?”
Danny looked up from his phone. “What?”
“Fred's right,” said Carl. “NYPD gave her 'round-the-clock protection. She's probably just running late from work. ”
There was the sound of quick, light footsteps on the stairs, and everyone turned to see Sara enter the theatre.
“Sorry I'm late,” she panted. “Got stuck at work.”
Lee studied Danny Atkins's face, though it was hard to read his expression behind the black glasses. But just then his brother stepped out onto the stage, and the astonishment on his face told the entire story. When he saw Sara, he took a step backward, and his jaw dropped open.
Fred Wilson noticed him and laughed. “What's up, Ryan? You look like you saw a ghost, man.”
Atkins didn't answer, but his eyes and Lee's met. Lee stood up, but before he could move, Danny Atkins shot out of his seat, his iPhone clattering to the floor.
“My god, Ryan,” he said. “My god. You—?”
The others looked confused—Davillia stopped chewing mid-bite, and Carl put down his coffee.
“What's going on?” asked Sara, still at the back of the theatre.
Danny took a couple of steps toward the stage, but before he could get there, his brother reached into the prop bin and pulled out a rapier, the largest and most dangerous of the swords. With one violent motion, he whipped it across one of the brick columns on either side of the stage. The blunted cap fell to the floor, leaving a lethal, jagged piece of steel on the end of the sword.
Davillia gave a yelp and dropped her coffee, which splashed onto the ground, creating a thin brown river at the foot of the stage. Carl and Fred backed away from the proscenium, keeping their eyes on Ryan. Sara screamed and put her hands to her face.
“Why, Ryan?” Danny said, his voice more full of sorrow than anger. “Why did you do it?”
“You've never had a clue, have you?” said Ryan. “Little Lord Fauntleroy, always in everyone's good graces. You have no
idea
what it was like being me! You stupid little prick.”
Danny took a step toward him.
“Don't come any closer!” Ryan said, waving the weapon in front of him. “Drop that!” he yelled when Danny reached for his iPhone. “Blood isn't thicker than water, brother—at least, not your blood.”
While this was going on, Lee managed to duck behind the black curtain that ran along the side of the south wall. Flattening his body against the bricks, he shimmied to the steps leading up to the stage. He darted out of the protection of the felt scrim and dove toward the basket of swords. Seeing him, Ryan lunged at him, but Lee grabbed an épée and rolled to the other side of the stage. Regaining his feet, he held the sword in front of him.
With a roar, Ryan charged him, but Lee parried his thrust, throwing Ryan off guard. Ryan stumbled and fell to his knees, but leapt to his feet quickly and came at Lee again, slashing wildly. Lee realized that all his high school fencing, with its decorum and good form, was of little use in this situation—but once again, he was able to parry Ryan's wild thrust. When he reached the back of the stage, Atkins spun around and came at him a third time.
Lee stepped aside and tried a counterthrust, but the edge of Atkins's blade caught him in the face. He felt a burning sensation on his cheek, and lost his footing, stumbling on the edge of the side curtain. Hearing the gasps from the others, he looked up to see Atkins's sword flashing over his head. He rolled onto his back and evaded the descending blade by scrambling to the other side of the stage.
Ryan Atkins's blue eyes burned with fury. “You call yourself a profiler? You idiot—and your sword is no mightier than your pen.”
“We'll see about that,” Lee muttered as he got to his feet.
As Lee prepared himself for another charge, the theatre door banged open and three voices shouted in unison, “NYPD—drop your weapon!”
He looked up to see Detective Butts and Sergeant McKinney along with a uniformed officer, all three with their guns drawn.
“Drop it—
now
!” Butts repeated, clicking off the safety on his revolver.
Ryan Atkins looked at the three policemen confronting him and let his sword fall to the floor.
Sergeant McKinney produced a pair of handcuffs, which he gave to Butts.
The detective approached the stage. “Ryan Atkins, you're under arrest for the murders of Mindy Lewis and Caroline Porchowsky.”

Other books

One Small Thing by Barksdale Inclan, Jessica
The House at Bell Orchard by Sylvia Thorpe
The RECKONING: A Jess Williams Western by Robert J. Thomas, Jill B. Thomas, Barb Gunia, Dave Hile
Silent Witnesses by Nigel McCrery
Wedding at Wildwood by Lenora Worth
The Penitent Damned by Wexler, Django
Wild Submission by Roxy Sloane
Scabbard's Song by Kim Hunter