You Have the Right to Remain Silent (19 page)

Marian shrugged. “More likely just one. If Quinn's behind this—and he must be—then he and his accomplice might not know which of the four had been telling tales out of school.”

“So they just killed them all?” DiFalco said. “That's one way to make sure.” There was an uneasy movement in the room; whether the killer was Quinn or somebody else, he had to be one ruthless son of a bitch. “I want a tail on Quinn.”

Page coughed discreetly. “That won't be necessary, Captain.”

“The FBI's tailing him? Well, I do thank you for keeping me informed, Agent Page!” Heavy on the sarcasm.

“Surveillance is just starting today. Merely a precaution, since we don't think he's involved.”

DiFalco grunted and turned back to his detectives. “Okay, listen up. You're all on call all weekend. By tomorrow we should have the lab report on whether the platform trucks they have at Universal Laser were used to move the bodies or not.”

“Platform trucks?” someone said.

“Larch's idea,” DiFalco answered. “If they find bloodstains, we've got the scene of the crime at last. In the meantime, I want you all to hit that company again. Talk to as many of the employees as you can. Tell 'em we know about the new weapon, make 'em understand somebody has already talked—that might loosen a few tongues. But don't mention the secretary's name. No need to make things hot for her. Find out who's actually working on the weapon, who else knows about it, like that. I want you to come back with
names
. Got that?”

“There's one other thing I ought to mention,” Page said. “If we're able to prove a money link between Evan Christopher and one of the murder victims, that will put this case into the realm of international secrets-dealing and the CIA is going to want to move in. So we've got to wrap this thing up.”

DiFalco scowled at the thought of even more federal agents horning in on a Ninth Precinct investigation. “What are you all waiting for?” he snarled. “Get going!”

Page said “See you tonight” to Marian and left. She gathered up her raincoat and handbag and joined her fellow detectives for another day of badgering the already nervous employees at Universal Laser Technologies.

16

Marian was regularly scheduled on the day shift, from eight to four; but in the six months she'd been at the Ninth Precinct, she could have counted on the fingers of one hand the number of times she'd been able to leave when her shift ended. But on the Friday of Kelly Ingram's Broadway debut, she got away at four on the dot. She even had time to stop at a Radio Shack on the way home and pick up a new batch watery.

Her day of hassling Universal Laser employees had turned up exactly one name, that of a young engineer who was described to her as hyperactive, frighteningly inventive, and totally nuts. If anyone at Universal was involved in the development of some hush-hush weapon that even the Defense Department didn't know about, he'd be the one. It was only a supposition on her informants' part, but it was all she had.

The other five detectives on the case had come back with the same name plus six other possibles. Nobody was admitting they knew anything, but the middle-management-and-lower employees were now willing to play guessing games, once they'd been reassured someone else had already let the cat out of the bag. But the police had brought none of their possibles in for questioning, because shortly before three o'clock Edgar Quinn had been able to pull enough strings to get them all kicked out. The order had come from the Borough Commander's office.

So they'd all trooped back to the Ninth Precinct stationhouse, where they were surprised to find Captain DiFalco not particularly upset by the Borough Commander's interference. He reminded them they still had another iron in the fire. DiFalco said if the lab found traces of any of the victims' blood on just one of Universal Laser's platform trucks, there was no way in hell Quinn could keep them out then. The Borough Commander himself couldn't ignore evidence like that. All in all, DiFalco was pleased with what they'd learned, and they'd spent the last hour of their workday checking the names they'd brought back against the FBI security investigation printouts Trevor Page had brought them. Their seven possibles were all designers and technicians, and Marian was satisfied in her own mind that they were the target of the warning broadcast by the East River Park murders.

DiFalco had put his detectives on call for the weekend; but Friday night was hers, or Kelly's, rather, and Marian meant to enjoy it to the hilt. While she was getting out a new bar of soap, she came across some aftershave that belonged to Brian and realized with a start that she hadn't thought of him once all day. In the shower the fatigue of the week's labors fell away as if by magic; and then she was dressed, ready, and rarin' to go.

She and Page had agreed to meet for a drink before the play, so at seven o'clock Marian took a cab to a bar on West Forty-sixth, a couple of blocks away from the Broadhurst. The bar was noisy and packed, filled with playgoers seeking a quick precurtain libation. Marian spotted Page and squeezed through the crowd to join him.

Once they had drinks in front of them, they tried to talk without shouting. Page asked, “How's your friend Kelly doing? Did you talk to her today?”

“Twice,” Marian replied. “The woman is a nervous wreck. She's imagining all sorts of disasters, everything from the audience's laughing at her in a serious scene to the curtain's closing during her biggest dramatic moment. She told me she'd dreamed that she showed up tonight only to find the rest of the cast doing Shakespeare. Ian Cavanaugh is supposed to have said, ‘Oh, didn't anybody tell you? We decided to switch.'”

Page laughed sympathetically. “That is a
bad
case of nerves. Is she worrying about that line you said she spoonerized?”

“She didn't mention it. But you see, Kelly's never performed in front of a live audience before this play—all her acting's been done in front of a camera. If you goof before a camera, you just reshoot the scene. Kelly doesn't have that safety net tonight. If she goofs, she could ruin it for everybody. And that's what she's thinking about right now.”

Page took a swallow of his drink. “Don't you imagine that's what all stage actors go through before a performance?”

“Oh, I suppose so. But Kelly has so much riding on tonight. Most of her career she's played sex-object roles, because of her looks. Tonight is the first chance she's had to break the mold.”

“Do you think she can do it?”

“Yes,” Marian said without hesitation. “Kelly has backbone. She can do it.”

Page smiled. “She also has a good friend.”

They decided they didn't have time for another drink and left the bar. The cracked and broken sidewalks were filled with playgoers rushing to their various theaters, and Marian felt her own sense of excitement growing. They hurried the two blocks down to Forty-fourth; twice as they approached the Broadhurst they were stopped by people wanting to buy their tickets. Marian picked up their passes at the box office.

The seats were excellent, almost at the exact center of the theater. Marian looked at her program:
The Apostrophe Thief
, a play by Abigail James. The characters were listed in the order of their appearance; leading off was Ian Cavanaugh, whose character name was Richard. The fourth name on the list was that of Sheila, Kelly's character. The audience was noisy and talkative, buzzing with expectation. The air was electric. Marian loved it.

“Did you ask Kelly what the title means?” Page said.

“Oh lord, I forgot. Well, the play should make it clear.”

It was time. Marian felt the rush of anticipation that ran through the audience as the house lights dimmed and the curtain opened. Ian Cavanaugh stood on the stage alone, big and handsome and authoritative. The audience clapped with enthusiasm and affection.
That must really be something
, Marian mused, impressed.
To reach a point in your career where you get applause just for standing on a stage. Just for showing up
.

Cavanaugh was looking through what appeared to be a small leather-bound notebook. Voices sounded offstage; Cavanaugh quickly locked the notebook away in an old-fashioned writing desk and was smilingly facing the door when a man and a woman came in. And they were off and running.

Marian had trouble concentrating on the dialogue, worrying about Kelly's entrance instead. She wanted it to be soon; the tension was getting to her.
Get out there, Kelly, and do your thing!

She must have heard her. The upstage door opened and there stood Kelly Ingram, one hand resting lightly on the door frame, not acknowledging the smattering of polite applause that arose from the audience. She looked like a million bucks. The Joan Crawford hairdo she'd been trying out during rehearsal was gone, and her posture was erect without being stiff. Kelly looked straight at Ian Cavanaugh and said, “Has anyone seen my address book? It seems to have grown legs and walked away.” Her voice carried, the words were clear, and the line didn't sound rehearsed. Marian wanted to bounce up and down.

After another couple of minutes, Marian began to relax for the first time that evening. Worry about Kelly? Nonsense; the play's female lead obviously knew what she was doing. She wasn't going to trip over her own feet, she wasn't going to forget her lines. Belatedly, Marian began to pay attention to the
play
. The tension between Kelly and Cavanaugh was tangible from the moment of Kelly's entrance; they engaged in some subtle verbal fencing that the other two characters on the stage never caught on to.

People came on the stage, people left the stage. Kelly disappeared and made a costume change. Young Xandria showed up, playing Kelly's (Sheila's) kid sister. Then only the two sisters and Cavanaugh were on the stage, and Marian realized they'd come to the
watch battery
scene. She tensed up all over again.

Here it comes
.

“People,” Kelly said to Ian Cavanaugh, “mean no more to you than a …” She trailed off.

Marian held her breath.

“Than a
watch battery
!” Kelly shouted at the top of her lungs.

Marian exhaled. “That's one way of doing it!” Page whispered in her ear.

“Useful for about a year, then it's time for a replacement,” Kelly finished scornfully.

Marian was so happy she wanted to cry. The play moved on, picking up its tempo and building to a climax. By the end of the first act, the fencing between Kelly and Cavanaugh was over. Their enmity was out in the open, and war had been declared. The stage was set for the battle to be fought in Act II. Applause erupted like an explosion.

Intermission.

“I don't think I ever want to come to an opening night again,” Marian told Page. “Too exhausting.”

They got up and went outside, where the sidewalks and street were jammed with people grabbing a between-the-acts smoke. “I feel the same way,” Page said, “and I don't even know Kelly Ingram. She's great, Ian Cavanaugh's great, and the play is great. Whoo! What an evening.”

“Which one of them is going to win, do you think? Sheila or Richard?”

“I have no idea. It could go either way.”

A couple of TV camera crews were there, looking for celebrities. All around them, the other playgoers were making the same speculations as Marian and Page. Did Richard really do all the things Sheila thinks he did, or is she guilty of a horrible mistake in judgment? Maybe she's doing it deliberately, and
she's
the villain? Neither is a villain; they're both just imperfect. Naw, they're both villains. Too much hostility between brother-in-law and sister-in-law—it'll destroy the family, you'll see.

“Well, this is a surprise!” said a pleasant female voice. “The law takes a night off to go to the theater?”

Marian looked around to see Elizabeth Tanner beaming over her head at Page, looking more than ever like a movie star. With her was a balding, nice-looking man of about fifty with a half-smile on his face.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” Page said with a sigh. “Enjoying the play?”

“Love it, simply
love
it. It's going to be a big hit, don't you think? Do you know my husband? Dr. Frank Tanner. Darling, this is Trevor Page, and, ah, Sergeant, ah.”

“Marian Larch,” Marian said, wondering if Elizabeth Tanner called her husband
Dr. Frank
at home.

“I wish you'd told me you were coming tonight,” the other woman was saying to Page. “We could have made arrangements to come together.”

“Ah, what a pity,” Page said expressionlessly.

Dr. Frank smiled his half-smile.

“But now that we've run into each other,” his wife went on, “we could meet later for a drink? Or a bite to eat, perhaps? How does that sound?”

“Lovely,” Page said, “but Marian and I have already made plans for later. Maybe some other time.”

Elizabeth Tanner looked at Marian for the first time. “I'm so sorry you were thrown out of the office this afternoon. But you have to understand, Edgar is getting a little paranoid. He's not used to having police all over the place.”

She doesn't like my being here with Page
, Marian thought. And:
No, I will not play this bitchy game
. “That's perfectly all right, Mrs. Tanner,” Marian said in her cop-on-duty voice. “We pretty much got what we came for.”

Tanner got the message; there was even a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. Just then the chimes sounded to summon them to the second half of the play. “Time to go in,” she said brightly. “Trevor, you must come to our place soon, so we can all get better acquainted. Perhaps next week?”

Page made a noncommittal noise.

Elizabeth Tanner remembered to flash a smile at Marian and headed back into the theater. Dr. Frank trailed after her, the half-smile still on his face. He hadn't said a word the whole time.