Thomas Cook - Sacrificial Ground

“I’m sure.”

Jameson’s eyes darted about nervously. “Well, I can tell you that I didn’t have anything to do with a murder.”

“Just tell me about you and Angelica,” Frank said.

“It’s got to be between you and me,” Jameson insisted.

Frank glared at him icily. “If you withhold one thing from me,” he said, “it’s obstruction of justice, and I’ll nail you for it.”

Jameson sucked in a quiet, desperate breath. He seemed to think about it all for a moment, calculate what was to be gained or lost. “All right,” he said finally. “It’s not what you think. I mean, I really didn’t fuck her. I didn’t knock her up, you understand.”

Frank lowered the pencil to the page.

“We were working late one night,” Jameson began. “We were up here on the stage. Everyone else was gone. I don’t know why Angelica decided to hang around that night. She was usually the first one out of here.” He drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly. “Anyway, she hung around for a while, so we started to run lines together. She was standing right next to me. She was so beautiful. Unbearable.” He glanced toward Frank, as if for sympathy. “You know what I mean?”

“She was seventeen,” Frank said.

“But worldly,” Jameson said quickly. “I mean, she knew what she had. She knew what people wanted. I mean, she gave it to somebody, right?” He shrugged. “Well, the fact is, I had a weak moment.”

Frank said nothing. He suspected that Jameson’s life had been made up of a long string of weak moments. “What happened, exactly?” he asked.

“Well, like I said, we were on the stage together,” Jameson said. “We were running lines. She was about three feet from me, I guess. Then something happened. I don’t know what. I heard the back door of the theater open, or something else distracted me, and when I looked back, she seemed so close. To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I moved, or if she moved, but she seemed to have gotten closer to me.” He stopped and shook his head wearily. “Well, when I looked back at her, she sort of smiled. We started running lines again, but it was different. She kept smiling and her voice changed. It was like she was talking to me , not to the character I was playing.” He pointed to himself. “To me , those lines I had written for her.” Then he quoted them: “‘For you, this beauty, arrayed in wanton fire.’” He fell silent again, as if to recall the folly of the moment. “And then I leaned toward her and kissed her.” He shook his head despairingly. “I could hardly believe I’d done it.”

“What did Angelica do?” Frank asked.

“She just drew back and looked at me. There was this expression on her face—I hardly know how to describe it. It was a look of triumph, you know?—and at the same time of utter distaste. It said, I made you do what I wanted … and you disgust me.” He made a small noise, half-grunt, half-sigh. “Talk about a Medusa stare.”

“Then what happened?”

“She just walked away. Neither of us ever mentioned it again.”

Frank started to write it down.

Jameson grabbed his arm. “Please,” he said, “you’ve got to keep this in confidence.”

Frank pulled his arm from Jameson’s grasp. “I’m not your priest,” he said.

Jameson’s body grew tense, but he said nothing.

“You said that some of the kids who were in the play with Angelica were still around, is that right?”

“Yes,” Jameson said stiffly.

“Where are they?”

“Just outside the auditorium. They usually laze around under the trees out there until I call them in.”

“What are their names?”

Jameson stepped over to one of the empty chairs and pulled a piece of paper from a rumpled stack. “Here’s the program for the performance. All the names are in it.”

Frank took the program and put it in his pocket.

They were exactly where Jameson had said they would be, slouched around a large oak tree just outside the auditorium, two boys in white tennis outfits, and a girl in a white blouse and bright red shorts.

Frank pulled out his badge as he stepped up to them.

“You’ve all heard about Angelica Devereaux,” he said.

The three students nodded and glanced apprehensively at each other.

“Were all of you in the play with her?” Frank asked quietly.

“Yes,” the girl said.

Frank took out his notebook. “What is your name?”

“Danielle Baxter.”

Frank looked at the two boys. “And how about you?”

“Philip Jeffers,” the taller boy said.

“Aaron Shapiro,” said the other.

“There were six people in the cast,” Frank said. “Where are the other two?”

“Joanna’s in Europe for the summer,” Danielle said. “She’s spending it with her father.”

“And Stan Doyle couldn’t do the summer show,” Aaron added.

“Yeah,” Danielle said, “he had to take a summer job.” Her voice was almost mournful, as if no worse fate could be imagined.

“I’m trying to find out as much as I can about Angelica,” Frank said. “And to tell you the truth, so far I haven’t been able to come up with very much.”

Danielle nodded. “Yeah, well, she was sort of strange.”

“In what way?”

“She wasn’t friendly,” Philip said. “She wasn’t a joiner.”

“She joined this cast,” Frank noted.

“Well, that’s the only thing,” Danielle said, almost scornfully.

“She wasn’t very well liked then?” Frank said.

Aaron shrugged. “We’d probably have liked her if she’d given us half a chance,” he said defensively. “But it’s like Philip and Danielle said, she was sort of strange, and she didn’t really socialize very much.” He thought about it for a moment. “I don’t think she liked us very much. The kids at Northfield, I mean.”

Philip laughed. “I mean, the way she looked, you can bet she would have been popular. Especially with the guys, right, Aaron?”

“Yes,” Aaron said. He looked at Frank. “All the guys were hitting on her.”

“Yeah, like crazy,” Danielle said. She smiled cunningly. “Even you, Philip.”

Philip bristled slightly. “That was before Tina.”

“How did she react to being hit on all the time?” Frank asked, trying to get them back on track.

Aaron faked a shiver. “Brrrrrrr. She was a cold fish.”

Philip sighed painfully. “Yeah. It was tragic, the chill she could put on you.”

Danielle laughed self-consciously.

Frank turned to her. “How did the girls feel about her?”

“Maybe a little jealous at first,” Danielle admitted with some reluctance. “I mean, the way she looked, she was a sort of threat to everybody. Philip and Aaron are right, all the boys were hitting on her. But then, when she froze them out, she just sort of disappeared in our minds.”

“Because she wasn’t a threat anymore,” Aaron said confidently. “Right, Danielle?”

“I guess so,” Danielle said. “I guess that’s the way it was.”

“Did she have any friends at the school?” Frank asked.

“Not really,” Danielle said.

“How about during the play?” Frank said. “Did she get close to anyone in the cast?”

Almost simultaneously, the three students shook their heads.

“When rehearsals were over,” Frank said, “didn’t the cast go out together?”

“Sometimes,” Aaron said, “but not Angelica.”

“Where did she go?”

“She always left by herself,” Aaron said.

“What about teachers?” Frank asked. “Was she friendly with any of them?”

“No,” Danielle said. “She didn’t really talk in class.” She looked at the two boys. “Were her grades any good?”