Final Act by Dianne Yetman (best free ebook reader .TXT) 📕

denied there were any problems but I didn’t believe him.”

“Was telling untruths another one of his sins?”

“When it was convenient for him, he never hesitated.”

“Did his problems interfere with his ability to Direct?”

“No.  He remained aware of what was going on.  His antennae quivered at any hint of trouble on stage.”

“You mentioned his wife, Catherine.  Was their marriage a strong one?”

That question was a direct hit if a body jerk means anything.

“Jeffrey was a womanizer.  He never learned to curb his sexual appetite; I don’t think he even bothered to try.  Catherine remained loyal, so yes, I would say the marriage was strong.”

“Is your husband connected with the theatre?”

“No.  He had no interest.  We used to socialize with Jeffrey and Catherine but after our daughter’s death in a car accident, we stopped.  My husband and I are now divorced.”

Kate wondered if the divorce was connected to their daughter’s death but didn’t ask.

“I’m sorry to hear about your daughter.  How long ago was the accident?”

The question wasn’t welcome judging by her demeanour and cold tone.

“Two years ago.”

Kate decided to change tack.

“Do you have any idea who would have wanted Jeffrey dead?”

“No.  He wasn’t well liked but hated enough to kill, no.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Eleanor.  We may need to talk to you again.  In the meantime, here’s my card, contact me if you think of anything that may be relevant.”

Eleanor took the card, nodded, and left the office.

Kate shut down the recorder and stored the tape. The woman’s mistaken about one thing.  Jeffrey’s antenna wasn’t as sensitive as she thought or he would still be among the living.

***

Sgt. Withers sat straight in the chair and looked at the actor sitting across from him.  Not a man to hurry, he wrote in his notebook the time, date and name of person being interviewed even though it would be recorded on tape.  He didn’t trust machines.  He was forced to use a computer at work but there was none in his home.

Although he bored most of the people he worked with, they depended on him.  Rigid he may be; a fool he wasn’t.  They would cue up at the two way mirror when he was interviewing for Withers could shut down people in minutes without any sign of the knock out coming.

A stern look on his face, he looked across the desk at James Thompson, the actor who played Big Daddy. A good match, Withers thought, everything about the man was big.

“Mr. Thompson, what was the status of your relationship with Jeffrey Stone?”

“Well, we didn’t sleep together.”

“I don’t give a damn about your sex life, Mr. Thompson.”

The tone and look on Withers face elicited an apology.

“Sorry.  I can’t say our working relationship was great, but it wasn’t bad either, something more in-between...”

“Can you be more specific, Mr. Thompson?  Was it a good relationship or not?”

“I’m trying.  I’m a bit nervous I suppose, never witnessed a murder before, never ever saw a dead body before and this is my first interview with the police.”  He paused, scrambling for his footing, looked at the impassive, patient face of the sergeant, got the cue to move on but was so nervous he couldn’t.

“I never broke a law in my life.  Well, there was the time I was driving drunk but no one stopped me, so I guess it doesn’t count.”

The steely gaze pierced him.  He took a deep breath.

“To answer your question, our relationship was good.  I’ve been around a long time; I’m a character actor and don’t require much direction.  Jeffrey was satisfied with my performance, if he hadn’t been, I would have been the first to know.  The last couple of weeks he wasn’t himself though; knocked things up a notch, if you know what I mean.  He would lose it over the smallest things.”

“Do you have any knowledge of what was bothering him?”

“No, I don’t.  He was edgy, quick to jump.  His behaviour was unpredictable, erratic.   Everyone on the set was uncomfortable around him, holding their breath, waiting for the next pounce.  Strangely enough, towards the end of the production, he seemed to calm down, became very quiet.  Perhaps he was relieved to be moving on.  Who knows?”

Withers asked if he had noticed anything different, something out of the ordinary, on the last night of the performance.

James thought hard.  He wanted to respond factually and for the first time in years, struggled to compose his words.

“Yes, yes, I did.  I’m not sure it has anything to do with his death. It was when we were called to the stage for his farewell toast.  I was standing back, behind the assembly, and I heard a soft rustling sound to my right, off stage, sounded like it was coming from the hallway, followed by a laugh.  It was strange laugh – choked, eerie sounding.  Curious, I peered into the hallway, but I didn’t see anyone.  I swore that’s where the sounds were coming from.  It may sound weird, but Sergeant, it’s the gospel truth.”

“There’s no need to bring God into it, Mr. Thompson. Did anyone else hear this laugh?”

God, this man is actually intimidating me; I haven’t felt this way since I was in middle grade.  He thinks I’ve imagined the laugh.

He took another deep breath.

“No, not that I’m aware of, at least no one gave any indication they did by turning around, looking puzzled or whatnot.”

He glanced up at Withers and his voice trailed away.  He left the room feeling like a schoolboy who had failed to pass a test.

Withers shut off the tape, walked down the hallway and signalled to Shirley he was ready for the next one.

***

Brenda Parsons came in the room, her face wreathed in smiles.  Seated across from Withers, she listened to him explain the necessity of the interview being taped with all the intensity of a disciple, nodding and smiling in the affirmative.

Withers was puzzled.  He was used handling belligerence, insults and attitude, dealing with the withdrawn and timid, but someone who radiated sweetness and light, threw