Murder on the QE2 (25 page)

Lackman faced the audience again. “Let’s see,” he said. “What do we already know? We know that Veronica Rivers was found dead in a lifeboat on the Boat Deck, her naked, lifeless body discovered by another passenger taking a morning constitutional.”

He cocked his head, waiting for audience reaction.

“Naked!” he shouted. “Why would she have been naked at the time of her death?” He lowered his voice. “Because she was taking a shower at the moment someone attacked her?”

“Nooooo,” came a chorus from the audience.

“Ah ha,” Lackman said. “I have an intuitive audience. No, my friends, she was not taking a shower. She was engaged in—hanky-panky!”

“Yesssss,” said the onlookers.

“Is that what you call it?” a man asked loudly.

“Keep it clean,” Lackman said. “This is a family show.”

Much laughter.

From my vantage point backstage, I could see most of the Grand Lounge. Peter Kunz, Marla Tralaine’s manager, sat at a table near the front with Lila Sims and Tony Silvestrie, Marla’s personal fitness trainer. Ms. Sims attempted to be incognito; she wore oversized sunglasses and a large, floppy straw hat angled low over her eyes.

Interesting, I thought. While the play had enticed Sam Teller out of seclusion in his penthouse, he was not with his wife. He stood alone at the rear of the Grand Lounge, arms crossed defiantly on his chest, a scowl on his face.

Also standing, but at the opposite side of the room, was Sydney Worrell, the gentleman host who’d been in
Dangerous Woman
with Marla Tralaine.

Lackman now started interrogating the other cast members, weaving in clues I’d written into the script.

To “Sal Biceps”: “You were Veronica Rivers’s personal trainer.”

“That’s right,” the actor playing him responded. “So what?”

“So what?” Lackman mocked. “So what? I’ll tell you so what. You were supposed to be loyal to Ms. Rivers, but you seem to have a greater loyalty to a younger actress aboard the
QE2.
Yes, indeed. Judging from what I’ve observed, your allegiance is to Ms. Starlet—Miss Suzie Starlet, the aspiring young actress.”

“You’re crazy,” Biceps said, waving away the suggestion and looking disgusted.

“But Ms. Starlet is a married woman,” Lackman said.

“Big deal,” Biceps said.

“Oh, but it is a big deal, Mr. Sal Biceps. It is a big deal because Suzie Starlet’s husband happens to be the head of a large and powerful television network, Mr. Stan Mogul.”

Sal Biceps looked down at the floor.

“A dangerous move, Mr. Biceps, considering you’ve been angling for your own aerobics television show on Mogul’s network.”

The actress playing Lila Sims—“Suzie Starlet”—got up from her chair, as directed to do in the script, and started walking away.

“Hold on there, Ms. Starlet. Not so fast.”

She turned and opened her eyes with exaggerated surprise. “Yes?” she asked demurely.

“You’ve had some pretty stiff competition for your husband’s affections, haven’t you, you pretty young thing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, pouting.

“I suggest you sit down,” Lackman said, “and I’ll explain it to you.”

She returned to her chair.

Lackman now turned his attention to Peter Kunz— “Bob Manager.”

“You, sir, are an ambitious young man.”

The actor smiled smugly. “Nothing wrong with ambition, is there?”

“Not unless it leads to—murder!”

The actor playing Bob Manager jumped to his feet. “Now, wait a minute,” he snarled. “Are you suggesting that—?”

“Sit down!” Lackman yelled.

“You tell ’em, Billy,” an audience member said.

The crowd started to chant, “Billy, Billy, Billy.”

Lackman stepped to the stage apron and held up his hands. “Please, please,” he said. “I know I deserve your adoration, but save it for when I solve the case.”

Applause followed him back to where he resumed questioning “Bob Manager.”

“You were Ms. Rivers’s manager, negotiating a two-movie contract with Stan Mogul, head of the network.”

“That’s right.”

“Yet the moment your boss, Ms. Rivers, was killed, you began negotiating on your own behalf.”

“No crime in that.”

“But not very sensitive.”

“This is business. There’s no room for sensitivity in business.”

“Alas, how true,” Lackman said, bringing his hands to his bosom and delivering the line in Shakespearean fashion. “But that doesn’t mean murder has a place in the boardroom.”

“I didn’t kill anybody,” Manager said.

“That remains to be seen,” said Lackman.

Ron Ryan, the older actor who’d been Marla Tralaine’s lover years ago, played himself under the character name “Joe Gigolo.” He didn’t know it, of course, because he hadn’t seen the script until just moments before the performance. Now, as Billy Bravo addressed him, he realized what was going on, but couldn’t do anything about it short of leaving, which would have been awkward.

“Joe Gigolo,” Lackman said slowly, as though chewing on the name. “We go back a long way.”

“We do?”

“Oh, yes, we certainly do.”

 

 

Although Jerry Lackman also hadn’t seen the script prior to the performance, he knew where it was heading because I’d told him during our meeting that morning.

At first, he’d denied my accusation that he’d been one of the LAPD detectives who’d investigated the murder of Marla Tralaine’s husband years ago. But he eventually admitted I was right. I asked him during that meeting why he was on this crossing. “It has to be more than just wanting an acting job,” I’d said.

Not only did he agree with me, he told me the real reason for signing on with Rip Nestor. It wasn’t what Mary Ward and I had speculated; it was even more revealing and meaningful.

 

 

“You and Veronica Rivers were close friends, weren’t you, Mr. Gigolo?” Lackman asked.

“I ...”

“Much more than good friends. You were lovers once.”

“Yes, we were.” Ryan said the line as though being tortured with cattle prods.

“And you were close to her late husband, too.”

“I knew him.”

I had the feeling Ryan might bolt from the stage.

“He owed you a lot of money, didn’t he?”

“I don’t have to answer your questions,” Ryan said.

That line wasn’t in the script.

“But you will.”

Ryan started to get up, but Lackman quickly placed his hand on the older actor’s shoulder and kept him in his seat. He then spun around to confront the actor playing the gentleman host, Sydney Worrell, whom I’d renamed “Dan Dancer.”

“You, Mr. Dancer, also have a relationship with the deceased that goes back a number of years.”

“That is correct.”

“You appeared with Ms. Rivers in one of her films,
Dangerous Woman.”

“Right again, Detective.”

I looked out over the audience to where the real Sydney Worrell continued to stand. Then I shifted my attention to the position where Sam Teller had been standing. He was gone. I shortened my focus. Lila Sims, Tony Silvestrie, and Peter Kunz were still at the front table.

“You were in love with Veronica Rivers, weren’t you, Mr. Dancer?”

“Yes. Deeply in love.”

“And you still are!”

The actor raised his chin. “Yes. I have loved her from the first day we met on the set.”

“But she spurned you,” said Lackman. “For all these years you’ve carried a torch for her that was not reciprocated. And when you sent up a note to her penthouse on this crossing, she ignored it—ignored
you.
”

“She—”

“Enough!” Lackman snapped. “It’s time for Billy Bravo to solve the murder of Veronica Rivers.”

The audience erupted in applause and cheering.

“First,” Lackman said, “let me review what we know. We know that Veronica Rivers was found naked, and dead in the lifeboat.”

“Go get ’em, Billy,” an audience member offered.

“Go, Billy, go
^!
Go, Billy, go!”

“Second, we have agreed that she was in her birthday suit because she was interrupted by her murderer while engaging in—hanky-panky!”

“Right on, Billy,” a woman shouted.

“Now,” Lackman continued, “who might have been her partner in hanky-panky?” He asked various members of the audience for their suggestions. They were many and varied, including every male character.

“It’s my contention that Veronica Rivers was killed because she played hanky-panky with the wrong man,” Lackman continued. “We have to decide which partner in hanky-panky would be someone who would make someone else mad—mad enough to murder.”

Again, suggestions flew from the audience.

“The men sitting up here would not fall into that category. Who would care whether Bob Manager, Sal Biceps, Joe Gigolo, or Dan Dancer played hanky-panky with Veronica Rivers? No one!”

“What about him?” a man shouted, pointing to the actor playing Troy Radcliff, a.k.a “Roy Climber.”

Lackman faced Climber. “What about you, Mr. Climber?”

The actor said in a deep baritone, “I didn’t play hanky-panky with Veronica Rivers. Besides, no one would care if I did. She wasn’t married—anymore.”

“True,” said Lackman, following the script. “That no one would care. But you did have an intimate relationship with Veronica Rivers.”

Roy Climber gave out a theatrical sigh and sat back.

“Which leaves,” Lackman said, “only you, Mr. Stan Mogul.”

The actor playing Mogul displayed a smug smile, saying nothing.

“Only you would have upset someone by playing hanky-panky with Veronica Rivers.” Lackman shot the audience a knowing smile. “Because you have a young wife who would be v-e-r-y upset finding you in a compromising position with your former lover.”

Stan Mogul jumped to his feet. “Are you suggesting that—?”

“I am not suggesting anything, Mr. Mogul,” Lackman said. “I am saying without hesitation or reservation that Veronica Rivers was killed because of her sexual relationship with you.”

Mogul started to say something else, but Lackman interrupted. “Not only that, sir, you were happy to see her dead because of the threat she held over you head.”

Mogul, who’d sat again, guffawed. “What threat?”

“The threat of revealing that you and Veronica Rivers had a son together, a son neither of you have acknowledged. Veronica threatened to reveal that the young man was the result of a union between the two of you many years ago.”

“Let’s say everything you say is true,” Mogul said. “But that doesn’t prove I killed her.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Lackman said. “But you know who did.”

A silence fell over the large crowd.

Lackman surveyed them with raised eyebrows. No doubt about it, he was a wonderful actor, completely in control of his role and his audience.

“Excuse me,” Suzie Starlet said, standing. “I have somewhere else I must be.”

Lackman spun around. “Getting hot in here, Ms. Starlet?”

I looked to the table where Lila Sims, Tony Silvestrie, and Peter Kunz had been sitting. Ms. Sims abruptly stood. Mary Ward, who sat at an adjacent table, also stood.

I watched Sims snake her way through the tables and head for the hallway. To my amazement, Mary Ward followed.

“Mary,” I said in a voice loud enough for her to hear.

“What?” Lackman said, looking at me.

Mary started to pass the table where Lila Sims had been sitting, but Tony Silvestrie stood and blocked her way.

Mary looked up at him and said, “You are a very rude young man.”

Lackman realized what was happening and barked into the microphone, “Ms. Sims. Please don’t leave.”

The crowded room had made it difficult for her to reach the hallway. She stopped at the sound of her name, turned, and looked at Lackman.

“Please, sit down, Ms. Sims,” Lackman said, forcing charm into his voice. “The play isn’t over yet.”

Mary Ward had almost reached Sims. There was a hush in the audience. Mary said, “Why not stay, dear? Mrs. Fletcher has worked hard on the play. It’s impolite to leave before it’s over.”

I suppressed a smile. Lila Sims didn’t seem to know what to do. She looked to where Silvestrie and Kunz stood at their table. They, too, appeared confused. Every eye in the audience was on Sims. Slowly, she threaded through the crowd and returned to her table. So did Mary.

Lackman said, “Good. Now I can get back to solving this unfortunate,
fictitious
murder. Where was I? Oh, yes. I was saying that Veronica Rivers was killed because she’d engaged in hanky-panky with Stan Mogul. Mr. Mogul’s young wife, Suzie Starlet, discovered them together. Must have been a shock, a real kick to her ego.”

“She did it!” an audience member shouted. “Suzie Starlet.”

“No, she didn’t,” Lackman said, returning to the script.

“How do you know?” another person in the crowd asked.

“Two reasons,” Lackman said. “I admit it taxed my superior deductive powers. But as usual, I overcame all obstacles. Suzie Starlet couldn’t have done it because she doesn’t have the strength. Veronica Rivers was strangled. And her body was removed to the lifeboat.” He turned to Starlet. “This little wisp of a woman couldn’t have done either.”

“She had an accomplice,” the audience offered.

“Exactly!” said Lackman.

“Who was it, Billy?”

I looked around for Rip Nestor. He’d been standing next to me throughout the play. He no longer was.

“The hardest part for me was coming up with Suzie Starlet’s accomplice in murder,” Lackman said, still consulting the script, but ad-libbing his way through it. “I have to admit that even the great Billy Bravo was stymied for a while. But only for a while.”

He turned to Roy Climber, in real life mountain climber Troy Radcliff. “You, Mr. Climber, gave me my answer.”