Copp In The Dark, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (7 page)

      
I experienced a suddenly plummeting stomach.

      
"That's what you meant by sex crime," I said weakly.

      
"What'd you do with his clothing, Joe? We couldn't find a scrap of it anywhere."

      
"You go get screwed, guy," I told him. "And do it in your own jurisdiction."

      
Lahey
sighed, got to his feet and went to the door, turned back to say, "It's a viable theory. Enough that I think you shouldn't be playing games with us. If you know more than you've said, now's the time to bring it forward."

      
I knew that.

      
Yeah, I knew that.

      
But at the moment I had not a damned thing to bring forward into the light.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
     

It was getting onto four
a.m
. when
Lahey
left my place. I tried to get in a quick nap but it was a fitful one and did nothing at all for my state Of mind, was up at six for a shower and shave, a quick breakfast and an early start. I wanted to get to Judith White before the sheriffs could, hoping for any edge I could find. It was a Friday morning and traffic was light, not a lot of people stirring at that hour.

I had figured to break into the theater and find Judith's home address, but that wasn't necessary. The stage entrance was open and the lady was in her office amid stacks of resumes and photographs, hard at work at seven

a.m.

I stepped quietly inside and watched her for a moment before making my presence known. The old adage about beauty and brains had no meaning here. Obviously this woman possessed both, honey-blonde hair clipped pertly close in soft curls to follow the contours of a perfectly shaped head, a generous mouth with soft lips and pearly teeth, eyes sparkling over some great inner adventure—but they sizzled when she looked up and saw me standing there.

I grinned soberly from the doorway and said, "Knock
knock
."

"Not again," she said despairingly.

I went on in and sat on the edge of a chair with my hands clasped on my knees, sort of like body language to let her know I didn't plan on getting too comfortable. "Sorry to bother you," I said solemnly.

She tossed her head and glanced meaningfully at the stacks of resumes cluttering her desk. "Why do people always say they're sorry but do it anyway? You were in here the other day, too, weren't you, posing as an equity inspector."

I said, "Uh huh," and produced my ID, handed it to her. "Look at it carefully," I suggested, "so you don't get the wrong idea about this visit. I'm private, not public. I'm in a hell of a mess and I need your help. Will you help me?"

She gave me a cool appraisal as she handed the ID back, seemed to be thinking about it, finally told me as she relaxed into her chair with a sigh: "Why not? I've got three whole days to cast this next show. How much of my time do you need, Mr.
Copp
?"

"Call me Joe," I requested, and relaxed a bit myself. "First I'm afraid I have some shocking news for you. Craig
Maan
was killed last night."

If there was a visible reaction there, I couldn't detect it in the first uptake. "How was he killed?"

"His throat was slashed."

The eyes moved a bit on that one. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm entirely serious. Someone in your cast hired me several days ago to keep Craig alive. I didn't take it all that serious at the moment, and in fact last night I came in here to return the retainer."

"Why did you bring it to me?"

"Seemed as good a guess as any. I didn't know who to give it to because I didn't know who'd given it to me. I left here last night with Elaine Suzanne after she brought the thousand bucks back to me and asked me to stay on the case. We went looking for Craig, found him in an apartment up near Rancho Cucamonga. Elaine told me it was her apartment but it's not in her name. Craig had been dead for at least two hours. He was naked, tied hand and foot, throat cut from ear to ear. He—"

She surged to her feet and moved quickly to the door, paused there to look back and say, "Excuse me a second," and went on out.

I lit a cigarette and smoked it half way before she returned. I'm cutting down but it's hard to quit entirely, especially in stressful times. I was feeling plenty of stress.

Judith was carrying a tall glass of water when she came back in. She'd been crying but seemed fully in control again.

"I wanted to kill him myself last night," she quietly told me as she returned to her chair. "Who did it?"

I said, "Well, that's the big question of the moment. Another one is why. I'm hoping you can help me with the second one."

"Well, he was the biggest liar I've ever known," she said matter-of-factly. "And he was almost totally irresponsible. Other than that, though, the sweetest guy in the world. And a great talent. With the right break...what do you want me to tell you?"

"I'd like to know why someone would want to kill him, for real."

She had to excuse herself again. I waited, but not

patiently. Didn't know how much time I might have before the posse arrived. She came back after a minute or two with a blotchy face and said, "I'm sorry. Where were we?"

      
"Why was he killed." I made it a statement, not a question.

      
She shook her head. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea. Such a waste."

      
I said, "Yeah. There's a lot of waste in our world today. But tell me about Craig. What did he waste?"

      
"Time," she replied immediately. "And energy. Talked too much, maybe he dreamed too much. Lied too much."

      
"About what?"

      
"About everything. Many actors do that. It's sort of like . . . being unable to distinguish between the dream and the reality."

      
"Did he tell you that he was an undercover cop?"

      
 
She laughed softly. "No. But I wouldn't put it past him."

      
"Did he ever tell you that he was being guarded by federal marshals?"

      
She wrinkled her nose. "No. What is a federal marshal?"

      
"Something like a sheriff," I explained, "except at federal level. The two guys who were chasing me backstage last night, the two in waiter's garb—do you know those guys?"

      
She said, "They work here, sure."

      
"As waiters?"

      
"Yes."

      
"How long?"

      
"Waiters come and go," she replied. "I don't know how long they've been here."

      
"Had you ever noticed them in company with Craig?"

      
"No."

      
I told her, "Those two are deputy United States

Marshals. It's been hinted to me that they are protecting someone here, maybe Craig, under the Federal Witness Protection Program. Does that give you any quivers?"

      
She shook her head in negative response but the eyes were beginning to show some new wonderment.

      
I asked, "How well do you know Elaine Suzanne?"

      
"Not personally at all," Judith replied. "This is her first production with us."

      
"Talented?"

      
"Oh yes."

      
"More or less reliable?"

      
"More or less, yes."

      
"More than less?"

      
"Less than more," she said.

      
"Were she and Craig honeys?"

      
"I guess she'd like to be."

      
I saw something in the eyes there that prompted me to ask, "Was Craig gay?"

      
"How would I know?"

      
"Women are usually the first to know."

      
"I don't mix much with the cast offstage," she told me.
     
"The actors come and go. I don't, I'm here all the time for all the shows—and while we're staging one play I'm usually trying to prepare for the next one."

      
"This one has had an unusually long run."

      
"Yes."

      
"What made this one special?"

      
"Craig made it special."

      
"He was that good?"

      
"He was the best I've ever seen in that role."

      
"So you weren't surprised when someone stepped forward to package it for the road."

      
Her eyes clouded. "Well . . . I'm wondering now . . . that could be another of Craig's tall tales."

      
I reached for another cigarette but didn't light it, just held it—that helps sometimes. "Why do you say that? You've never met the new producers?"

      
"No. But Craig pointed them out to me one night and-"

      
"You mean there was never any formal... ?"

      
"Nothing involving the theater, no. That would not be necessary. We don't own the play. We merely produce it under license from the owners. Anyone can do that. So I really wasn't involved in any of the talks and wouldn't have been unless and until the new producers wanted me to direct or stage-manage or whatever."

      
"So all you know about any of this came from Craig."

      
"That's right."

      
"You said he pointed out these people to you?"

      
Her eyes twitched. "Yes. That's why now I'm wondering, after what you've told me about Larry and Jack. You say they're federal agents. Craig told me they're the new backers."

      
"Working as waiters?"

      
"Craig has a way of making the ridiculous sound absolutely sane. These men always work that way, he said. They pose as ordinary people so they can be close to ordinary people and learn how ordinary people are reacting."

      
"They could sit comfortably in the audience and do that," I pointed out.

"Oh, but these men are also greatly interested in the way the cast works together and pulls together backstage and offstage."

      
"And you fell for that?"

      
"I really felt no need to challenge it," she replied.

      
"You're telling me that Larry and Jack, the waiters, are the backers who are going to put this show on the road?— and that only Craig had their ear?"

      
"That's about it," she said. "So one of you, either you or Craig, is a very cruel liar. And of course Craig would be the cruelest, if it's his lie. Because he's had these kids so high ..."

      
I put my cigarette away and told her, "I think maybe you've given me what I came for."

      
"You mean... ?"

      
Yeah. That's what I meant. Maybe someone in that "so high" cast found out about the cruelest lie of all.

And maybe he or she or they got mad enough to kill.