A Curtain Falls (41 page)

We finally crossed into Manhattan. I looked out the open window, noting that my surroundings had become grimy, filled with noisy crowds on the sidewalks: men in derby hats and
women in white summer dresses, all enjoying this warm spring night. And in the distance, the darkened city skyline rose into the clouds, illuminated by a vast and brilliant red sunset that cast ribbons of purple, orange, and pink throughout the evening sky.

I found myself thinking of the violence and corruption and senseless deaths that I’d encountered. I’d once wanted nothing more than to escape it all. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

I looked down at Isabella beside me and thought of possibilities unexplored. There was something about the city that called to me, beckoning me despite all better judgment.

Perhaps I was my father’s son, after all.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by a particular type of murderer: the kind who writes about his crimes. He is present throughout history— from Jack the Ripper (who wrote to the newspapers) and Albert Fish (who wrote to his victim’s mother) to modern examples such as BTK and the Unabomber. My villain in this book draws loosely upon yet another example: Jack Unterweger, who was convicted of murdering his first girlfriend, yet went on in prison to write a memoir that earned him great critical acclaim and secured his parole. His supporters argued that his writing was itself evidence of his reform, for surely no one who wrote so beautifully could kill so viciously. He became the toast of the Austrian literary elite, writing poetry and even a novel, but it was not enough to quell his drive to kill. Still, it diverted suspicion away from him for the better part
of a decade as he continued to murder prostitutes. To learn more about him, see
Entering Hades: The Double Life of a Serial Killer
by John Leake.

A historical figure who appears in the book, Charles Frohman, was a theater magnate who wielded tremendous influence in the early twentieth century before dying aboard the
Lusitania
in World War I. In real life, he was neither a murder suspect nor the father of an illegitimate child, but he was known for his remarkable ability to develop and manage theater talent. Nevertheless, he was a controversial figure, and his detractors repeatedly argued that he created a monopoly that harmed the theater. To read more about him, see
Charles Frohman: Manager and Man
by Isaac Frederick Marcosson and Daniel Frohman.

For my understanding of how cyanide poisoning was treated at the turn of the twentieth century, no source was more helpful than Harold Schechter’s
The Devil’s Gentleman
.

Finally, a note on
Pygmalion.
In the de cades leading up to 1906, the legend of Pygmalion was reinvented many times, culminating in W. S. Gilbert’s
Pygmalion and Galatea
, which debuted on Broadway in 1883. It was this version that Timothy Poe would have performed. While modern audiences may be more familiar with George Bernard Shaw’s version of
Pygmalion
, it did not premiere until 1916.