A Curtain Falls (38 page)

She muttered something incomprehensible.

“How long has he been killing them, Molly? When did you first find out? Because it’s been going on far longer than just the past few weeks.”

She stared at me, saying nothing. She’d just righted the last of the planks on the table, seeming to forget that previously they had lain on top of me. I needed to keep her distracted.

“A man who can strangle a woman without leaving a single mark is practiced at this skill,” Alistair had said.

“He’s been doing it a long time,” I said quietly. “Have you been helping him all along?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Robby has a . . . a sickness. He loves certain women so much that he ends up hurting them.”

“You mean killing them,” I said coldly.

“He just doesn’t want them to change,” she said. “That’s what he always told me. It’s just that sometimes he goes too far.”

“So why help him?”

“I’m not
helping
him,” she said in a burst of anger. “I’m
protecting
him. I make sure he doesn’t get caught.”

“Which ensures that even more women will die.”

“They would put him in a mental hospital, if they didn’t kill him,” she said stubbornly, “and I won’t stand for it. It’s bad enough our whole family has been destroyed—” She choked on her words.

And in that moment, I thought I understood.

“You wanted to destroy Charles Frohman,” I said softly. “That’s why you’ve involved yourself to this extent.”

She looked up sharply in surprise.

“You blamed him for your aunt’s death,” I continued.

“More than that,” she said. “He owed us.
All
of us. And he never did right, not by any of us.”

“I know Robert had written some plays—”

“Good plays. Plays that should have been produced, not the least because Robby was Frohman’s own son.”

My father collapsed into a coughing fit that sent up more blood.

“Here.” She tossed a stained towel in his direction, shooting him a look of disgust as he maneuvered awkwardly, trying to reach it. Her laugh was brittle as she watched his helplessness, for his hands remained tied behind his back.

“Charles Frohman and Elaine Coby?” I’d not suspected that one, assuming it was true. Jack Bogarty’s— or rather, Robert Coby’s— image popped into my mind. There was no trace of resemblance I could detect.

“Absolutely. What do you think he does with all these actresses he makes into stars? It’s part of the deal— one reason why he never permits them to marry or step out with anyone else. But in Aunt Elaine’s case,” she took a breath, “instead of doing right by her, he blacklisted her and ruined her career. Her entire life, in fact.”

I wasn’t about to argue. Instead, I said only, “I can see how you believe he owed better to Robert and Elaine. But you said he owed
all
of you. . . .”

“And he did owe me.” Her voice was bitter. “I have Elaine’s gifts. I look like her. I act like her. And I’ve more than her share of talent. She even wrote to him, asking him to help me out. . . .”

“And he didn’t, so years later, when he rejected Robert’s work as well, the two of you conspired to hurt Frohman.”

“Robert was going to pursue his women no matter what.” She tossed her head. “It was my idea that he could turn his habits to a productive end. All it took was showing him a few pictures, making a suggestion or two—”

“But the women don’t even look alike,” I said.

“They didn’t have to.” She looked at me in amazement. “You don’t get it, do you? Their appeal didn’t lie in what they
were
. Robby was drawn to who they might
become
— with his help. All I had to do was plant the
seed
—”

“But they were innocent women, all of them. They deserved better.”

“Spare me, Detective. No one’s innocent. And no one ever gets what they deserve. . . .” Her words dripped with bitterness.

“By God, they were murdered! And where you had the power to stop it, you actually encouraged it.”

“They served my purposes,” she said coldly.

There was a noise— voices upstairs.

She turned and left us without saying another word. We listened to her footsteps thud up the wooden staircase; then a key turned in the lock at the top of the basement door.

“I’m so sorry, son,” my father said with another cough. “I really bungled this one up.”

“You couldn’t have known,” I said. Or could he? Had there been some sign that he missed? I’d no way of knowing.

The shift in weight was something I’d sensed immediately— the collapse of the first lumber tower had seemed to knock several planks off the pile that anchored my legs. I’d been lucky that she had put the fallen wood on top of the table. Now . . . yes, it moved. I pushed with all my might, and felt . . . movement.

Inch by inch, I wriggled my legs until my feet appeared . . . first just the heel, then the toes of both feet.

Stiff, and still in painful agony, I began inching my way toward him.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re going to untie me.”

“I can’t,” he whimpered. “Not with my own hands tied.”

“You’ve no choice. And this is no time for false modesty. I know you’ve never met a knot you couldn’t manage to untangle.”

I wrested my body around until my wrists touched his own. Sitting back-to-back with him, I commanded, “Now. Try.”

Minutes later, I was able to wriggle my left hand free, then my right. I rubbed them vigorously, then turned to the task of undoing the knots that restrained him.

I tugged and pulled, trying to loosen them. “Tell me what happened. You and Helen Bell had left, I thought. . . .”

“Me too,” he said bitterly. “I took her out the stage door and through the alley. But he was waiting for me there, just like he knew I was coming. He had a gun, so he forced us back inside. He watched as Molly tied me up in her dressing room. I don’t know where he took Helen.”

“I’ve got a good guess,” I said grimly.

I shook the rope to the floor. “There. Your arms are free.”

He gingerly stretched first one, then the other, around to his front.

“Do you want me to do the one on your legs?”

“No. I’m faster.”

When he removed the rope, I took it from him and shoved it into my pocket— for the simple reason that it might come in handy.

We were up the stairs in a flash, grabbing a small crowbar
and a hammer along the way. Molly had taken my Smith & Wesson from me earlier, when I was tied up, so she and Jack were armed with at least two guns and probably Isador’s knife. Luckily they hadn’t taken the small file that I kept in my pocket. I handed it to my father.

“I daresay you’re faster with a lock.”

He accepted it eagerly and made short work of the flimsy contraption that secured the basement door.

We opened it slowly, careful to make no sound.

I stopped— sniffing the air deeply.

“What’s that?” I whispered.

We both inhaled, deeper this time. It was the unmistakable, acrid smell of something burning.
Fire.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” my father said.

I glanced at my watch.

Was there a chance Mulvaney would come, despite Molly’s claim to have thwarted our plans? It didn’t matter. Even if Mulvaney arrived as expected, he still wouldn’t be in time to save us. Or Helen . . .

“We’ve got to stop Jack ourselves,” I said.

He reached out and grabbed my arm. “If you go out there with no weapons and no help, you’ll never make it,” he whispered in a panic.

“And if I don’t, then Helen will die,” I said.

“They’re armed,” he hissed.

“I’ll think of something. Look,” I pointed to the backstage door, “your way is clear. I’ll watch to make sure you get out okay. There’s a hotel halfway down the block. Get them to call in the fire. And the police, too,” I added as he scampered toward the door.

There was a flash of light from the street when he first opened the door, then the night closed around him and he was gone.

The smoke was getting thicker, so I grabbed a handkerchief to put over my mouth as I made my way through the crossover to the opposite side of the stage.

Where is Louie? Have they found him, too?

Hurrying as fast as I could, I made my way to the stage-left wing— where I stopped short. Molly stood eight feet in front of me.

Any sound right now would be fatal. I grabbed the rope and tiptoed toward her— reaching out and taking her by surprise at the last moment. She cried out and slumped into me, but I caught her arms swiftly and had them tied behind her back in no time.

“Robby!” she half screamed before I was able to cover her mouth and mute her protest.

I counted on his being otherwise occupied. Had he heard her? Maybe, but would he have cared enough to interrupt his own plans? I hoped not.

I dragged her back to Helen Bell’s dressing room, where I made use of several scarves I found there. One knotted her feet tightly together, quieting her kicking. Two more formed a more permanent gag to stop her from calling out to her accomplice. And while I doubted she had my father’s skill for untying a knot, I used an additional scarf to secure her to the chair.

She thrashed about wildly, which only made the knots tighter.

“The police will be here shortly,” I said as I closed the door behind her— and prayed I was right.

I made my way back to the stage, knowing it was likely that I no longer had the advantage of surprise.

It was ablaze in light— a series of torches from some past production, each burning brightly, created a semicircular backdrop.

In the middle of the stage was a chaise longue covered with blankets to resemble a bed. Helen Bell sat on it, hands and feet bound with long scarves.

Stretched out at her feet lay a man. With a sharp intake of breath, I recognized Louie.

The last person who might have helped me tonight.

Helen wriggled violently to protest her restraints, but Louie lay still. Was he merely unconscious— or already dead?

Jack’s back was toward me as he worked over some kind of costume, but he sensed my presence and spoke.

“Detective, we’ve been expecting you.” He slowly turned to face me, holding a blazing torch in one hand, my own Smith & Wesson in the other.

A maniacal grin crossed his face and he made a mock bow in greeting.

“You’re just in time for the grand finale.”

Onstage at the Lyceum Theater

“We’re picking up at the end of act five.
Othello,
of course.” He turned and kicked at Louie’s limp body. “Unfortunately, we had to make a slight change in the script. Normally the African moor is the last to die, after he murders Desdemona.” Jack gestured toward Helen, quaking on the makeshift bed. “But tonight, as you can see, he died first. Ah well,” he said, brandishing his torch, “I’ve always been flexible.”

He put the torch in a stand and marched across the stage toward me. “To night I’m the director. Who shall you play? Iago, perhaps? But I’m not sure you covet our leading lady sufficiently. Perhaps you ought to look at her to appreciate her better. She’s beautiful tonight, no?”

He drew close and threw his right arm around me. His left hand still carried the gun.

I convulsed at his touch— though from fear, repulsion, or both, I did not know.

He didn’t notice, but nudged me forward onstage. “I’m afraid I have you to blame for her lack of cooperation. Normally my leading ladies enjoy working with me. They are anxious to play their little roles. But tonight,” he made a mock frown, “you seem to have said something to put my star in a sour mood. Perhaps now you can cheer her on, encourage her to play.”

My mouth was dry when I responded. “Don’t worry, Miss Bell.”

Jack flopped into the chair opposite us, convulsed in laughter. “Yes, Miss Bell, no need to worry. The great detective here has it all under control.”

He began twirling my Smith & Wesson, spinning it on his right forefinger.

Helen Bell whimpered in fright.

“You put together quite a fine plan, Detective. I was impressed, let me tell you.”

“You’ve got to give this up, Jack. Or— should I call you Robert?” I cocked my head to the left. “Unless you prefer ‘Charlie’?”

“Jack, of course. Name I picked myself. Jack-Be-Nimble, Jack-Be-Quick. Jack-and-the-Beanstalk. Jack and Jill went up the hill. Jack Sprat could eat no fat and his wife could eat no lean.” He leaned forward and spoke in a confidential whisper. “It’s a popular name, you see. All the children love it.”

It was all a game to him. Only another sign that he was raving mad. How was I supposed to talk with someone like this?

More important, how was I going to retrieve my gun from him? I would have fought him then, except for the gun.

I had to buy time until my father could bring help.