The Hamlet Trap (14 page)

“Was he with people all night there?”

“No. We have confirmation that he was there during the intermission at eight-thirty; he tried to get a ride with Gray Wilmot a little after nine, and did get a ride with Jerry Alistair at nine twenty-five. As for the night Laura was killed, he was either on the phone or with other people until eleven-thirty. Besides, his car hadn't been out of the carport since before Christmas. Hell, it wouldn't even start.”

“And the rain started at ten to nine,” Charlie muttered. “Doesn't it rain a lot here? Why were so many people surprised by it? No umbrellas, no boots.”

Gus smiled genially. “We don't pay a lot of attention until it's actually coming down. The forecast that night was for clearing. It was a surprise that time. Ro's feet were soaked; Ginnie was soaked, Ellis was. Wilmot and Laura were both soaked. Way it goes. There was a real lake outside the stage door that night. My feet were soaked.”

“Okay. Okay. So that leaves Spotty. Why not him?”

“No motive. But let's say he's a nut and doesn't need a motive. We have the same problem with Laura. He doesn't even own a car. And why go to the park with her anyway? Privacy? Hell, they could have danced the jig all night in the theater without anyone knowing.”

Charlie glared at the floor. Spotty was incapable of it, he had decided earlier after talking with the watchman for half an hour. Not incapable of murder, but of leaving his job for the time it would have taken to get to the river and back. It kept coming home to those with keys, he brooded. The stage door had been replaced sixteen months ago, the locks changed, and only six keys provided, numbered, registered. Of course, copies could have been made in any big city. No copies had been made in Ashland; Draker had checked. But why? As far as he could tell, people wandered in and out all day long. Who would want to enter at night? And why? And if someone had entered and Ellis surprised him, why murder? Ellis seemed the most unlikely victim he could imagine. No enemies in Ashland, none at the university.

“Was Ellis going in or coming out of the office when he got it?” he asked after a time.

“Looked to me like he was done and coming out again. I've got some pictures from one of my officers in here somewhere.” He hunted through a desk drawer and brought out a folder, shoved it across the desk.

The top picture was of Peter Ellis sprawled on the floor of the office. His feet were toward the desk, his head close to the round table. The black raincoat was partially wrapped around his body, clearly wet. There was another picture of his head in a close-up; Charlie did not linger over it. “Where does that door go?” he asked, showing Gus a picture of Ro's desk and a door that was open a crack.

“Little closet and through there to a John.”

The hall door opened inward to the office, revealing first the easy chairs and couch. Anyone had to enter entirely to see the desk area. Charlie peered closely at the pictures of the furniture: no coat, no book, nothing to indicate that anyone had entered, had been busy doing anything. The round table was bare; the desk the same kind of mess he had noticed the day before; nothing else seemed disturbed in the slightest.

“And all the lights were on?”

“Every one. Switch by the door turns on the lamps at the ends of the couch, but the desk lamp has to be turned on over there. Ceiling light's got a switch on the wall by the closet.”

“How about lights in the closet and bathroom?”

“Closet light was on.”

Charlie closed the folder. “So maybe it was a burglar. Why else turn on every damn light?”

“Crazy burglar to do a thing like that. Spotty made checks off and on all night, and Ginnie was sure the office door was open a little. It was dim in the hall and she could see the light from the office as soon as she went in the stage door. Some crazy burglar.”

“Yeah. Well, I'm due to meet my wife in a few minutes. Thanks, Gus. Can't say any of this has been really helpful, though. Owe you a beer or something.”

“No, you don't, Charlie. If there's any way to get Ginnie off the hook, I'm all for it. I'm just hoping you can find that way. I hate to admit it, but I'm stymied. There just isn't anyone else with enough opportunity both times. Give me a call if you want anything else. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't let on to Draker that I showed you the pictures, stuff like that.”

On the sidewalk outside the office, Charlie gazed at the rolling hills across the valley, but it was a long time before he saw that the snow had vanished. The air was brisk, like spring in upper New York, he thought then, and suddenly he wished he and Constance were home with their cats and their fireplace and Irish coffees in front of a sparking fire. Constance had said in the beginning that this was going to be messy, and he was very much afraid that, as usual, she was right.

SEVENTEEN

Constance watched Sunshine
vanish backstage, merging with the actors and various assistants and workers without effort. She wasn't supposed to be there yet, Sunshine had said, not until one, but as long as Ro didn't see her it would be all right. You know? Constance heard that soft voice in her head and turned away with a twinge of irritation. Sunshine could be trying, she decided. On their way back to town all she had talked about was what she had read in the cards for Constance and Charlie. All accurate enough without being very specific until she had said, “You're the High Priestess because you can see into people and because you're not afraid. Why aren't you afraid, Constance? Most people are, you know?”

“Oh, I'm as afraid as most people, I'm sure,” Constance had replied lightly and Sunshine had shaken her head, still smiling.

But she wasn't afraid in the usual way, Constance had realized.

She had taken years of training in aikido and that helped, of course.

She really was not physically afraid of anyone, and yet she had lived in terror for a long time in New York, especially the last ten years that Charlie had been on the police force. The odds got worse and worse, she had thought then, still thought. Every year he escaped life-threatening injuries made the next year that much more dangerous. Charlie had laughed at her, but had not been able to dissuade her.

The little side trip of thoughts had lasted only a moment, hardly interrupting the conversation. “You're not afraid, either,” Constance had said. “It was very brave of you to leave everything and come down here among strangers. Especially a group like this one, so close to each other.”

“People don't scare me,” Sunshine admitted. “If you watch them, and read their cards and look for signs, for auras, things like that, they aren't so scary. You have to understand the relationships, you know? That's what was wrong with Laura, she didn't understand relationships, didn't even look for them. She just saw herself this way and that way. Like looking at the surface of a pond and not through the water to the bottom. If you can do that, you don't have to be afraid. They're all obsessive, you know? That's why Laura was unhappy. She was obsessive about Gray, and they're all obsessive about the theater.”

“Aren't you obsessive about anything? Most people are. Weren't you obsessive about rewriting your play so many times?”

“Up to a point, but that's different. You want things right, you know? As soon as the promptbook was done, I was done. There will be things that come up in rehearsals, maybe, and I'll make little changes, but I'm doing a new play now.”

“And you're not afraid of Ro?”

“Not really. As long as I leave Ginnie alone, he won't bother me. That's his obsession, you know? Ginnie is.”

“I thought the theater was.”

“That too. But mostly it's Ginnie. He thinks I bug her. He's afraid I'll read her cards and scare her.”

“I never could read my own cards,” Constance said, making a last turn before reaching the theater. She wished the trip could have taken just a bit longer. “Can you read for yourself?”

“Oh yes. It's hard, though. You're so biased, you know? I'm the child of inspiration on my way to becoming Empress. You know how to read that?”

“I'm not sure,” Constance said. “How did you?”

Sunshine laughed gently. “You know how. Thank you for the ride, Constance. See you later.”

They had drawn up to the parking lot. Sunshine opened her door and left before Constance drove into the lot to park. Constance watched her for a moment, the awkward-looking bag clanking and jingling as the woman moved swiftly to the rear of the Quonset hut. Well, she thought, the truth was that she did not know how to read that. She didn't know enough about the relationships yet.

She parked, entered the theater, and started for rehearsal room A, where Gray Wilmot was reading. She had just turned the corner of the hall leading to the rehearsal rooms when Ro emerged from one of them.

“Constance, I'm glad you're here. They're almost done, no point in going in there. Come with me, will you? I want you to meet Ginnie's doctor, my doctor. Did you hear that Draker's taking Ginnie for a ride, trying to make her remember where she was last week? Idiot! How can anyone tell one piece of these woods from another?”

Constance went with him to his office. Although he was talking about Draker and Ginnie, she noticed that he was quite aware of everyone they passed, everything going on. For a moment he stiffened, his stride broke, then he continued. Sunshine had slipped into Juanita's office.

“Jack, glad you could come,” Ro said brusquely, entering his office.

Dr. Jack Warnecke was in his middle years, tanned, athletic. When Ro made the introduction, his handshake was almost too firm. Constance felt as if her state of health had undergone a complete scrutiny in that instant.

“Constance Leidl. Leidl. Of course, the psychologist! I've read your books. It's a pleasure, Miss Leidl. Or is it Ms.?”

“Or possibly Doctor,” she said.

He looked taken aback for a moment, then laughed. “Sorry. Please, call me Jack. Do you like birds? Perhaps you could drop in for a drink, see my birds.”

“For God's sake, Jack,” Ro cut in. “Not now. Look, you've got to get Draker off Ginnie's back. He wants to drag her off on a wild-goose chase and I won't have it!”

Jack Warnecke raised an eyebrow. “How do you propose I do that, Ro?”

“You took her away from him once. Do it again. She has no business out being interrogated in a car with that man. He's trying to frame her. God knows what she might say while they're driving around.”

Jack took a step toward the door. “Ro, that's impossible, and you should know it. She was in shock that other night, but she's fit now. I saw her just a couple of days ago and she's fine.”

“She's not fine, goddamn it! She's as disturbed as she was when you said I should take her on that trip! Was she fine then?”

“Ro, you can't direct the world. The police are going to investigate and you can't make them stop. I can't. Sure, she's disturbed; so are you; so is Gray. It would be inhuman if all of you weren't. But she's well enough to be questioned. Tell her to give me a call if she wants to see me.” He turned to Constance. “I'm in the apartment next to his. Please do come by. My wife and I would like to show you the birds. Cockatiels, a macaw, budgies… Ro can tell you they're worth seeing. He feeds them when I'm gone. Take it easy, Ro. Just relax, will you? Ginnie's okay. See you later.”

“Goddamn fool!” Ro stormed when Jack was gone. “He doesn't understand that she's in danger. You said you're a doctor?”

“Sorry. Ph.D.—psychologist, not a medical doctor. He's right. You can't direct the investigation.” She smiled. “I said that just to bring him down a peg. Medical doctors seem incapable of calling anyone else doctor. He's no exception. Does he really have a lot of birds?”

“One whole room's been turned into an aviary. Our leases specify no pets, and spell out cats, dogs, hamsters, but no mention is made of birds, alligators, or rabbits. He decided to make an issue of it and started with birds and got hooked on them. I feed the damn things, all right. Stupid parrot nearly took a finger off once.”

Jack had left the door open; now the noise level from backstage increased perceptibly. The reading was over. Ro sat down heavily at the round table and drummed his fingers on it. He looked as if he hadn't slept much the night before. If he had been unaware of Ginnie's danger before, he was making up for his ignorance now, Constance thought.

“I told Charlie to meet me here,” she said. “Do you mind if I wait for him?”

“No. No. Make yourselves at home as much as you can, please. Ah, here they are.” He stood up as a group entered the office. Ginnie and Gray were in front, then William and Eric, Bobby, the lighting director, others whom Constance had met, some she had not.

“It was a stupendous reading, Gray, really magnificent,” one of the women was saying as they entered. “Inspiring, truly inspiring.”

Eric was not frowning with his usual intensity and William seemed in deep thought. He nodded as if confirming something in his mind and looked surprised when everyone stopped moving and he was forced to stop also.

Ginnie was too pale, down to her lips. She was clutching her paisley bag in a hard grasp.

“Hi, Ginnie,” Constance said. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Oh, hi. I didn't see you. Yes, as a matter of fact, I did sleep. I was a little surprised, but I did. Now I'm off. I'm supposed to be in Ralph's office in a couple of minutes.”

“Wait a minute, honey,” Ro said. “I'm leaving for lunch, walk down with you.” He went to the closet near his desk and brought out a topcoat and put it on.

“Want me to hold on to your bag for you?” Constance asked.

‘That's okay,” Ginnie said. “I can just leave it here and get it later. You don't have to bother with it.”

“No bother,” Constance said and took it from her hand. “Remember, give us a call as soon as you're able.”

Ginnie nodded and left with Ro. As they were going out, Charlie entered. Constance watched how he searched the room for her, how his expression changed subtly when he spotted her. She always felt as if they had exchanged long messages with that one swift locking of gazes.
Hello. How are you? I'm fine. It's okay. I love you.
And more.

Eric, Gray, and the woman who had been talking when they came in were in a huddle. Now Eric stepped back, nodding. An actress, Constance remembered. She was playing Big Nurse. She was shiny-eyed, gazing at Gray with open invitation in her eyes. He was oblivious of it.

The office was emptying, the backstage noise fading. Charlie waited until Gray was finished with Eric and the actress, then said, “I wonder if we could have a word with you, Mr. Wilmot? In here, maybe?”

Gray looked exhausted and wan. Silently he nodded and the last of the group left, murmuring. Charlie closed the door.

“I understand Ro often orders lunch in here,” he said. “Maybe we could do that.”

“Not for me,” Gray said tiredly and sat at the table.

“Especially for you,” Constance said. “Who does he usually call?”

Gray supplied the name of the restaurant and Constance placed the order while Charlie prowled the office. He looked at the bookshelves that lined one wall—all plays: comedies, tragedies, American plays, English, one-act plays. … He surveyed the desk but touched nothing on it. He understood the filing system Ro used; it was much like his own. You fish around and bring out what you were after, but if anyone moves anything, all was lost. He nodded at it and opened the door to the closet, peered inside. A couple of jackets, a mackintosh, a pottery umbrella holder with two black umbrellas with crook handles. A smaller door opened to a tiny lavatory. Of course, Ro was always making coffee, he needed a water supply, his own John. A toothbrush, shaving gear, a large bottle of aspirin were in the medicine cabinet. There were fluffy towels on the rack, more folded on a shelf. The soap looked like butterscotch candy. He thought fleetingly of their cats back home. When he rejoined Constance and Gray, she was speaking.

“Why don't you see a doctor? A mild sleeping pill for a few days wouldn't dull you too much for work.”

He shook his head. “Drugs and theater, they seem to go together, don't they? Except I can't do drugs of any kind. Wrong reactions to them.”

“Mr. Wilmot, would you mind helping me with something?” Charlie asked then.

Gray looked at him expectantly, nodding.

Charlie picked a book from the shelf and handed it to Gray. He opened the door to the hall and looked out. “What I want you to do is come in, walk to the desk and put the book down and go back out. That's all. When I say ‘Start.'”

Gray looked from him to Constance and shrugged. He went to the door and out to the hall, pulled the door closed. Charlie went to the closet and entered it.

“Start,” he yelled.

Gray came back into the office with the book in his outstretched hand. It was only a few steps to the desk. He put the book down and turned and was to the door again before Charlie got out of the closet and caught up with him.

“Thanks,” Charlie said, and retrieved the book, replaced it on the shelf.

“What was that for?” Gray asked.

“One more little scenario first,” Charlie said. “Do you mind?”

“Of course I mind, but let's have it. What this time?”

“I want you to lie down. About here, I think. Your head about here.” This time Gray was even more reluctant; he started to shake his head, but Charlie was not looking at him, was studying the floor instead. Gray took a deep breath and got down on the floor. Charlie watched him stretch out rigidly, then said, “Let me fix your arms and legs… That looks about right. Now the chair…” Carefully he turned a chair over on its side, then stepped back to survey the scene. Gray's feet were two steps from the desk, one leg partly drawn up under him, one hand outstretched almost to the chair. Charlie opened the door all the way; it cleared Gray by less than an inch. “Okay,” he said then. “That's all.”

Gray was ashen when he got up and brushed himself. “That's how Peter Ellis was found?”

“Yes. As a director, how would you stage the action that would lead to that final scene?”

Gray looked at the closet, then at the floor where he had lain. A frown creased his forehead as he studied the room considering it. Finally he said, “Not the way I thought it was before. I thought someone was in the closet and got him on the way out. That's what Spotty seems to think. But he would have been farther down the room, nearly out the door, wouldn't he?”

Charlie nodded.

“And why hit him at all in that case?” Gray demanded. “If someone was in the closet, he was out of sight. Why dash out and kill someone?”