C. Lawrence: Silent Stalker

“I’m afraid Mindy has been murdered,” said Davillia.

A collective gasp arose from the group, and several who were still standing sank into the audience seats. But the most dramatic response came from Sara, who gave a horrified scream and fell into the arms of one of the redheaded twins.

“Mindy was playing her sister in the play,” Davillia told Lee and Butts.

“It’s not that,” Sara said. “It‘s-it’s-”

“What is it, dear?” asked Davillia. “What’s wrong?”

“I found this in my mailbox today,” Sara said. With trembling hands, she produced a folded piece of paper from her purse and handed it to the director. Davillia read it and handed it to Butts, who glanced at it and held it up for Lee to read it. On the paper, printed in block letters, were two words.

YOU’RE NEXT

It took a while to calm Sara, and several other cast members appeared equally shaken. Davillia was remarkably adept at soothing the frayed nerves of her actors. Lee could see why she was a director-she was very good at handling people.

Detective Butts was irritated that the paper containing the message to Sara had been contaminated by so many sets of fingerprints. He pulled on a latex glove, snatched it away from Davillia, and dropped it into an evidence bag.

“Damn thing won’t be much use now,” he grumbled.

“Too many prints on it already.” The detective pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling the precinct,” he told Lee. “Maybe they can send a sergeant to help interview the actors. Since they’re all here now, it’ll save time.”

What he didn’t say was that catching potential suspects off guard was always a good idea. If they postponed the interviews, it would give the perpetrator time to come up with an alibi-that is, if he was one of the actors. The precinct desk sergeant agreed to send over Sergeant McKinney, who Butts had worked with before.

Some of the actors were dismayed to hear they would be detained for questioning, though others seemed eager to help. First to volunteer for an interview were the redheaded twins, but they looked disappointed when Butts said they would have to be questioned separately.

“But we do everything together,” said Danny, the twin with the glasses.

“Not this,” Butts growled. “So, do you want to talk here or later down at the station?”

“We want to help in any way we can, Detective,” Ryan replied, nudging his brother with his elbow. “Right, Danny? ”

“Sure,” said Danny. “Of course we do.”

Just as they were about to divide up the actors, an extremely tall police officer entered the theatre. Even without the uniform, Lee would have spotted him as a cop. He had that combination of authority and wariness, striding down the aisle with a half-swagger, watching everyone’s reaction to him as he took them in with his carefully composed gaze, calculated to give away nothing.

He was a bulky man, not only tall but beefy-but not in an athletic way. His uniform fit awkwardly, the pants gripping his legs, the jacket tight around his fleshy shoulders. His was an ungraceful form, and his buzz-cut dark hair only emphasized his ungainliness. He lumbered up to Detective Butts.

“About time, McKinney,” Butts grumbled, turning to the actors, who had been staring at Sergeant McKinney with apprehension. The appearance of an officer in uniform seemed to sober up even the recalcitrant Danny, who stared at him meekly.

“You got another room in here?” Butts asked Davillia.

“There’s a greenroom backstage,” she replied. “It’s not very big, but-”

“Okay,” said Butts. “McKinney, you take that room and I’ll stay in here.” He turned to the actors and pointed to Sara, who was on the verge of tears. “Go with him, would you, sweetheart? When you’re done we’ll get you some protection before you leave.”

“Do you think the killer will come after me?” she whimpered.

“Don’t worry-we’ll put a watch on you ’round the clock just to make sure you’re okay.”

“Is that really necessary?” asked Davillia.

“Hell, if it was my daughter I’d sent her to a damn convent,” said Butts.

“Get thee to a nunnery,” murmured Keith, the taller of the dark-haired twins. “It’s a quote from Hamlet,” he explained in response to a glare from Butts.

“This killer isn’t playacting,” the detective said. “The sooner you all get that into your heads, the better.”

Lee stayed in the theatre with Butts to observe the first couple of interviews, which he conducted at a table at the far end of the stage. The actors remained seated in the audience, drinking coffee and talking nervously with one another while they waited their turn.

Butts began with the older, dignified-looking black man, whose name was Carl Hawkins. Mr. Hawkins told them he was playing the role of the Duke of Ephesus, as well as some other minor roles. He hadn’t known any of the other actors before this production, and had been “jobbed in”-as the only member of Actors’ Equity in the cast, he was actually getting paid.

“I don’t like to bring it up around the others,” he said. “It’s not a secret, but I don’t want them to feel bad.”

“Or jealous?” Butts mused, studying him.

“That too. It breeds bad blood.” His voice was articulate, educated, and slightly Southern.

“Sounds to me like there’s already some bad blood,” Butts remarked. “Can you think of anyone in the cast you’d suspect of doin’ something like this?”

“I don’t know them that well-we’ve only been in rehearsal for a couple of weeks.”

“Off the top of your head, say. Any suspicious behavior?”

“Not really. Though Ryan Atkins did seem to have a crush on her.”

“He’s one of the redheads?”

“Right.”

Butts made an entry on his notepad. “Did she reciprocate?”

“Not that I could see. Davillia frowns on that kind of thing during rehearsal, so I don’t know what happened outside of here.”

“Hear any gossip about it?”

Hawkins smiled. “Detective, I’m old enough to have fathered most of these young people. If you want gossip, you’d best talk to one of them.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“The Wilson twins are always whispering together. I guess a Harvard degree doesn’t mean you’re immune to tittle-tattle.”

“They both went there?” asked Lee.

“Class of ’96. I wonder if their folks feel the investment is being squandered in a squalid off-Broadway theatre in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Thanks,” said Butts, handing him a business card. “Give me a call if you think of anything else.”

The detective took Mr. Hawkins’s advice and called over one of the Wilson twins, while Lee decided to see how Sergeant McKinney was getting on. The smell of sawdust and shellac hung in the air as he picked his way past half-painted flats of scenery, weaving between backstage ropes and pulleys before squeezing through the tight corridor that led to the greenroom.

McKinney was interviewing Danny Atkins, the redheaded twin who wore glasses. The “greenroom” was a musty area backstage that also appeared to double as a dressing room, with a row of mirrors bordered by bare lightbulbs along one wall. A moth-eaten oriental carpet covered most of the floor, and a pair of shabby couches with protruding springs faced each other in the center of the room. Theatrical posters adorned the walls. Sergeant McKinney was seated at a long folding table, with Danny seated opposite him.

“Did you notice anyone suspicious hanging around the theatre?” McKinney asked.

Danny’s eyes moved up and to the left as he pondered the question. “Not that I can remember. I wish I could be more helpful.”