The Role Players (16 page)

When everyone was more or less settled with their drinks and food, Tait stepped to the center of the stage and called for attention. When he had it, he raised his glass and said, “To the cast and crew of
Impartial Observer
, and to Gene Morrison, without whom none of us would be here tonight.” He motioned for Gene to come join him.

There was as much applause as could be managed by people trying to hold on to plates and drinks at the same time.

Gene too, raised his glass and said simply, “To you all, and to absent friends.”

I instinctively glanced around to locate Gavin—his “associate” Armand was hard to miss in a crowd, since he stood a full head taller than nearly everyone else—to see him with a knowing smirk that made me want to go over and rip his beard off. I had been thinking of perhaps trying to find some way to talk to him to see if there might be an ounce of justification for his bitchy implications about Tait, Keith and Tait, and “ex-criminals”—whoever he/they may be—but I decided I'd had just about enough of Gavin for one evening, thank you.

And just who the hell was this Gavin, anyway?

*

It was well after midnight before we got home. Max and Chris were equal parts exhausted and elated knowing that opening night was now behind them, and the show was an obvious success. Jonathan, needless to say, was still riding the high of having attended his first opening night, and even though we'd seen the show several times during rehearsal, he reacted to it as though this was his first time.

As for me, I was pondering just how much I did
not
know about the dynamics between all the various people involved to whatever degree in Rod Pearce's life and death. I'd been mildly but peripherally curious all along about Keith and any possible nonworking relationship with Tait. The more I thought of it, the less simple the boss-employee arrangement seemed. And Tait. I knew nothing at all about his life outside the Whitman. Was there anything
to
know? Well, I've found the answer to that question is almost always “yes.” The next question was what possible bearing could this have on the case? None that I could see, but you never know.

Not that I had any real reason to suspect that Tait might have been involved in the murder—my thought that he might have torn up his own note to divert attention from himself was probably my sometimes annoying habit of seeing clues where there aren't any. I was still finding it difficult to distinguish the fine line between specifically looking for a murderer and ruling out people as possible suspects.

True, I'd had a case before in which I was dealing with a group of people all of whom knew each other, but they'd all been couples and the circumstances were very different. Here I was in a different city dealing with a group of individuals who were interrelated in a totally different way. I really couldn't afford to overlook anything that might not only confirm that someone from the Whitman was indeed involved, but which might lead, even indirectly, to Rod Pearce's killer.

But a large part of me was still pretty much convinced that Rod's death had simply been a senseless act of violence with no logical motivation whatever, and that I'd been hired to chase after shadows.

Damn!
Well, I had to play the cards I was dealt and see what happened.

I was already racking up a ton of questions to ask Chris and Max, but decided it would be best to hold off on asking them until morning.

Later, I couldn't resist, after lying in bed for five minutes or so, wide awake and sensing Jonathan was still awake too, turning toward him and asking, “Has Keith ever said anything at all to you about Tait?”

I felt the covers rustle as he turned toward me and put his arm around my chest.

“What do you mean?”

“Anything…well, about their relationship.”

He was silent a moment, then, “Not really. You think there is one? Other than boss and employee, that is?”

“I'm really not sure. But for some reason, I'd like to find out. Do you have any idea at all how long Keith has been working for Tait, or anything about his background?”

I felt him shake his head against my shoulder. “Sorry, no,” he said. “Want me to try to find out, if I can?”

“Hmm,” I said. “Yeah, I think maybe so.”

Jonathan stifled a yawn. “Sorry,” he said.

“That's okay. We can talk about it in the morning. Right now I think we should consider getting some sleep.”

He sighed and snuggled closer. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

And we did.

*

Jonathan was first up in the morning, and a few minutes later I could smell coffee. I opened my eyes to see he'd left the bedroom door partly open—to make it easier for the aroma to reach me and encourage me to get up, I knew. As I've said, subtlety is something of a work in progress for Jonathan. But, as usual, it worked.

He was standing at the living room window, coffee cup in hand, looking down at the street. I walked up behind him and slipped my arms around him.

“Max, don't,” he said without looking around. “Dick could be up any minute.”

“Very funny,” I said.

He turned toward me grinning mischievously. “
I
thought so,” he said. “Nothing like getting the adrenaline pumping first thing in the morning.”

He took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen for my coffee.

“Do you want a roll?” he asked. “I know there are some in the fridge from those I got the other morning.”

“Nah. I'll wait until Chris and Max get up. You go ahead and have one if you want.”

He grinned sheepishly. “I already did,” he said.

We went back into the living room and sat down by the fireplace, talking quietly so as not to wake Max and Chris.

“I was thinking about that gun you found in the box office,” I said. “Did you touch it?”

“Yeah. I didn't know if it was real at first, so I picked it up by the barrel, but then I saw the box of bullets there and knew it
was
real. So I put it right back down again right where I found it. It wasn't exactly just lying there in plain sight, but it didn't look like it was being hidden, either. It was just there with that box of bullets, behind a stack of old playbills. Why?”

“Just curious,” I said, only partly truthfully. But I still wanted to know what caliber of gun it was. “Did the box of bullets say anything on it?”

He shook his head. “I think there was something on the side of the box, but I don't remember what. It had a clear plastic lid and I just saw a bunch of bullets all lined up. I didn't think to see what kind they were.”

“Was the box full?”

He thought and said, “No, a few of them were missing—maybe only 5 or 6. I didn't count them. I guess the gun is loaded, so that's probably where the missing bullets are.”

I was sitting with my back to the kitchen, but when I saw Jonathan wave in that direction I turned around to catch a barefooted, pajama-bottomed Chris going in for coffee. He came out a minute later, cup in hand. We got up from our chairs and joined him on the sofa so our talking wouldn't wake Max if he were still asleep.

“Since when are you into pajamas?” I asked. He'd never worn them when he and I were together.

“You'd prefer I came out without 'em?” he asked with a still-sleepy grin. “Actually I got these as a present. Only wear them on special occasions, like entertaining important guests.”

“Well, we're honored,” I said.

We drank our coffee in relative silence until we saw Max come out of the bedroom and go to the kitchen, wearing a very short Karate-type robe. Chris got up and moved one of the fireplace chairs closer to the coffee table.

“Thanks,” Max said as he came into the room. He plopped down on the chair, which hoisted his short robe dangerously high.

“I hope you're wearing shorts under that thing,” Chris said.

Max grinned. “And the Prude of the Year Award goes to….”

Chris returned the grin and stretched out his leg to run his bare foot over Max's leg.

“So what's on the agenda for today?” Max asked.

“Well,” I said, “when you're ready for them, I've got a whole bunch of questions I'd like to throw at you.”

Chris and Max looked at one another, then at me. “Such as?” Chris asked.

“First of all, who is that Gavin character—the guy with the beard, wearing the tweed jacket? You know who I mean. Tall ‘assistant' named Armand….”

“Gavin Sturgess,” Max said. “A producer/director whose first Broadway show won a Tony sometime back. He followed it up with two real bombs, and he does strictly off-Broadway now, but his ego is so huge he doesn't seem to have noticed.”

“I gather he, Tait, and Gene aren't exactly close,” I said. “We overheard him talking with his ‘assistant,' and he said some interesting things.”

“I'm not surprised,” Max said. “I don't know exactly what happened between them, but I do know that Gavin would love nothing better than to toast marshmallows over the smoldering embers of the Whitman.”

He paused and looked at me closely. “What in particular did he say that caught your interest?”

“Hard to sort through all the venom,” I said, “but he did say something about Tait's hiring ‘ex-criminals'—any idea what he was talking about?”

Max looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Uh, well, yes, though it was a typically low thing for him to even mention. Someone at the Whitman served two years for assault and battery. When he got out, Tait hired him back. There was no reason why he shouldn't. The incident was over and done.”

“I understand your reluctance to mention a name,” I said, “and I hate to put you in an awkward position, but would you tell me if I guessed right?”

Max shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Joe Kenyon?” I asked.

He looked mildly surprised, then nodded. “How did you know?”

“Partly guess, and partly because you'd mentioned he had been through a rough time a couple of years ago—and because you'd suggested that I might want to talk with him first.”

“Oh, yeah,” Max said. “I'd forgotten. Joe's a really complex guy. He puts on this aloof, ‘don't bother me' loner act, but I think it's just his way of preventing himself from being hurt.”

“Can you tell me what caused the ‘trouble'?” I asked.

Max thought a moment. “As I told you, I've only stage-managed for Tait twice. Joe's been with him just about as long as Tait's had the Whitman. My first year was the year Joe got out of jail and Tait rehired him immediately. Nobody talked about it much, but from what I was able to determine, Joe had met some kid and fallen madly in love with him—apparently it was his first real love affair. Then one day he caught him having sex with another guy. Joe beat the shit out of the guy—not the kid, but the guy he was screwing around with. Really did a number on him. He was arrested and sentenced to two years.”

Max paused before saying, “I don't know what there is in human nature, but it seems that an awful lot of guys, when they find their lovers cheating, take it out not on the lover but the other guy. A variation on the bull moose defending his harem, I suppose. Doesn't make much sense, but…”

I finished my coffee, and Chris reached over and took my cup. “I'll go make another pot,” he said. “You ready, Jonathan? Max?”

Jonathan and Chris got up at the same time. “I'll help you,” Jonathan said, and they went into the kitchen. “Be right back,” he said to Max and me.

“And Rod Pearce dumped Joe after a one-night stand,” I continued. “You don't suppose…?”

Max shook his head. “I'd very much doubt it. Rod was just that—a one-night stand, and Joe knew Rod's reputation. He knew what he was getting into. Still pissed him off, of course, but I can't imagine he'd have been naive enough to think it would go anywhere.”

We paused the conversation until Jonathan and Chris returned. “It'll take just a minute,” Chris said.

“Next question,” I said when everyone was seated again. “Just what is the relationship between Tait and Keith?”

Max and Chris looked at one another, then looked to me with matching puzzled expressions.

“Relationship?” Chris repeated. “You think there is one? Other than strictly boss and employee, I mean? It's never occurred to me that there might be one. Of course I don't know either Keith or Tait that well, but…”

“But they do live together, don't they?” I asked

Both Chris and Max looked momentarily surprised.

“Well, yeah, I assume so,” Chris said. “Keith's always there. But I guess it depends on exactly what you mean by ‘living together.' Living in the same apartment is one thing, sharing a bed is another. The bed part just never occurred to me, to be honest. What makes you think there might be one?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. “Just…well, something about it. I admit I don't know what that kind of boss-employee relationship should be, but I'd just expect that it would be a little more casual than seems to be the case here. Tait seems like a pretty laid-back guy; the formality between him and Keith just seems odd, somehow. And Keith is a very good-looking guy.” I glanced quickly at Jonathan for any negative reaction. There was none. “I'm sure Tait has noticed that.”

“Yeah, that's true,” Chris said. “But I've never seen Tait show any special interest in him—or in anyone else. And as for Keith, he just concentrates on his job.”