The London Deception (7 page)

“Then you must have been there when he met with Mr. Kije last night,” Frank said, seeing a chance to get an address for the mysterious producer.

“I followed Dennis Paul to half a dozen quite luxurious homes in Kensington and Mayfair,” Young told him. “He stayed between ten and thirty minutes at each. I checked the addresses and none of the residences, I assure you, was Mr. Kije's.”

“Then Chris's father lied to us,” Frank realized.

“Don't be fooled just because he's someone's father,” Young said. “Many criminals are, you know.”

“Thanks for the tip, Mr. Young,” Frank said, rising. “Can I ask you something? Did
you
tell anyone about our whereabouts last night?”

“I reported to my employer,” Young replied, rising from his chair. “Told him you were no longer suspects in my book.”

“Your employer, Mr. Jeffries,” Frank recalled.

Young nodded, bid Frank goodbye, and left. As Frank headed down the street back toward the theater, his mind raced, trying to fathom why the author and director of
Innocent Victim
might be trying to sabotage his own production.

• • •

Meanwhile, Joe was high up on the catwalk practicing following Chris Paul around the stage with a spotlight four feet long and as thick as a tree trunk.

“Steady, Joe, move smoothly,” Jennifer instructed over his shoulder. “Now pick up Emily crossing down stage center.”

“Do you know a friend of Ms. Anderson named Ian?” Joe asked as he tilted the spotlight so that the beam stayed on Emily Anderson as she moved toward the edge of the stage.

“Ian Link,” Jennifer replied. “But I don't think he would count as a friend. He's her agent.”

“She was talking with him about someone named Schulander,” Joe said. Jennifer's head cocked back, surprised. “You know him?”

“Joe, you're shining the spotlight on Corey Lista, in the third row,” Jennifer warned.

“Sorry,” Joe said, aiming the beam at Emily Anderson again.

“I don't know Schulander personally, but everyone knows
of
him,” Jennifer explained. “He's a big producer in the West End.”

“West End?” Joe asked.

“London's version of Broadway,” Jennifer answered. “Schulander's been holding auditions for his new show these past two weeks.

“That's the motive!” Joe blurted out as a thought struck him.

“What's the motive?” Jennifer asked.

Joe hesitated, not wanting to give her too much information. “In the play, I just figured out the killer's motive.”

“Your second day at rehearsal and it's just come to you, has it?” Jennifer kidded.

“Jennifer, can I borrow Joe for a minute?” Frank asked, having returned and stepping out onto the balcony below them.

Jennifer nodded for Joe to let her take over. “Go on then.”

Frank led Joe through the red velvet curtains and into the lounge on the balcony level. He quickly filled him in about the bank and his encounter with David Young.

“Mr. Paul just cashed that check written out to Mr. Kije,” Frank told him.

“Cashed it?” Joe asked.

“The bank teller may be involved,” Frank explained.
“She knew who he was and gave him the money anyway!”

“You think Mr. Paul is pulling a scam?” Joe wondered.

“That's what it looks like,” Frank replied. “We need to find out if Chris told his father where we were going last night.”

“And don't forget Mr. Jeffries,” Joe said.

“Right,” Frank agreed. “If David Young reported our whereabouts to him, he could have followed us, too. But why would Mr. Jeffries hire an investigator to solve a crime that he was involved in?”

“Then again, what motive could Mr. Paul have?” Joe asked.

Frank shrugged. “Motive is the key to solving this one, Joe.”

“Maybe Mr. Paul and Mr. Kije have a joint account at the bank,” Joe suggested.

“Maybe,” Frank said. “Let's wait and see what Mr. Paul does with the money.”

“Speaking of motive,” Joe told Frank. “There is a reason the star might try to sabotage her own production—if she was offered a bigger, better show.” Joe then reminded Frank about the phone conversation he had overheard. “She would have a lawsuit on her hands if she walked away from this show a week before opening,” Joe theorized. “But if the show were canceled, she wouldn't be breaking her contract.”

“But could any job offer be big enough to make
someone with Ms. Anderson's reputation resort to sabotage?” Frank challenged.

“All right, cast!” Mr. Paul's voice rang through the theater. “Let's run through the show from the top.”

Joe and Frank stepped onto the balcony.

“Joe, I need you back up here,” Jennifer called from the catwalk. “Frank, would you be a love and get me two number forty-seven orange gels from the light storage room?”

“Sure, Jennifer,” Frank replied, then trotted down the steps, through the theater, and into the stage left wing.

Emily Anderson had already begun her opening soliloquy, lit only by a spotlight. Frank paused, watching her from the wings. However brusque she could be in person, Ms. Anderson was mesmerizing onstage, drawing you in with her melodic speaking voice and commanding presence.

Beside Frank a stagehand wearing a wireless headset turned to the technician manning the fly system behind him. “Get ready to fly out the courthouse facade.”

Chris stepped up beside Frank, ready to make his entrance. “How do you like being back here with us?” he whispered.

Frank smiled.

Just as Emily Anderson finished her speech, the stagehand beside Frank gave the cue. “Fly out courthouse, set classroom.”

Frank watched as the huge set piece was raised high into the air.

“Why isn't Emily moving?” Chris muttered.

Frank saw that Emily Anderson hadn't moved from the spot where she delivered her opening speech.

Chris shrugged, puzzled, then walked onstage and took a seat at a desk in the classroom.

Frank heard a cracking sound from above him. The massive courthouse set piece was giving way directly over the spot where Chris Paul had just sat down!

“Heads!” Frank shouted, remembering the warning he had heard shouted a couple of days before.

Chris looked up just as the giant set piece broke away from the cables that were lifting it. He leaped away from his desk a split second before the courthouse facade crashed down on top of the classroom set, tearing through the walls and sending desks splintering in every direction.

A violent crash of metal behind Frank sent him diving to the floor. The counterweights that had been balancing the one-ton courthouse crashed into the rigging at the base of the fly weight system.

Screams and gasps were followed by a shout of concern from Mr. Paul as he jumped onto the stage and ran to his son. “Is everyone all right? Is anyone hurt?”

“I'm fine, Dad,” Chris assured him, then turned to Frank. “Are you all right, mate?”

Franks ears were ringing, but he was otherwise in one piece. “I'm okay.”

“In case you're interested, Dennis, I am also uninjured,” Emily said from the other side of the stage.

“The ghost has it in for this play,” Corey Lista snapped, stepping up to Mr. Paul, his brow furrowed in anger. “I'm not hanging about to see what she does next.”

Frank checked out the courthouse facade. The cleats that had attached the set piece to the steel cables had been torn away from the top of the frame, revealing numerous screw holes in the wood where the cleats had been secured.

Frank noticed a few larger holes where the wood had splintered as the screws were torn out by the falling weight, but most of the holes were small and smooth. Frank looked around the stage floor for loose screws that had been dislodged but could only find three.

“Frank!” Joe shouted as he ran up to his brother's side.

“I'm fine, Joe, but check this out,” Frank said, showing him the three screws. “I have a hunch most of these screws were removed,” Frank explained. “The few screws that remained couldn't bear the weight and tore loose.”

“More sabotage,” Joe concluded.

“What happened, Frank?” Jennifer asked as she stepped up to survey the damage.

Joe started to open his mouth, but Frank nudged him to stay quiet. If Jennifer were responsible, Frank figured she might try to hide the truth. “We don't know,” Frank answered Jennifer. “What do you think?”

Jennifer looked at the top of the frame, then high up into the stage house where the steel pipe that had held the piece still dangled. “It looks like it was deliberate. Someone pulled the screws.”

Joe nodded to Frank, satisfied

“Corey, you can't quit over a ghost!” Mr. Paul argued with his disgruntled stage manager.

Joe and Frank stepped up behind Lista. “Chances are it wasn't a ghost,” Frank interjected, then explained what he had discovered and what he thought it meant.

“Whether it's a ghost or incompetence or sabotage, I'm not risking my skin another day here!” Lista fumed.

“You have to give me two weeks notice so that I can replace you,” Mr. Paul pleaded with him.

“My union allows me to walk immediately if working conditions are unsafe,” Lista replied firmly, handing Mr. Paul the stage manager's prompt book. “These conditions aren't just unsafe, they're deadly.”

Lista stormed off the stage, passing Timothy Jeffries in the aisle. “Good heavens, now what?” Jeffries exclaimed, scowling at the sight of the wrecked scenery.

Frank noticed Emily Anderson sitting off to the side away from the action and recalled Chris's concern that she hadn't moved as she had been directed a moment before the set piece fell.

“You sure are lucky you stayed down on the edge of the stage, Ms. Anderson,” Frank said, acting concerned so that his words wouldn't sound like an accusation. “If you had gone to the classroom, you might have been badly hurt.”

“Yes, Emily, that's right,” Mr. Paul said, having had his memory jogged by Frank's comment. “Why did you change your blocking?”

“I felt it would be more effective to stay downstage until the scene was fully set, and then walk into it,” she replied, undaunted. “So I tried it.”

“You have to admit, it does seem a bit suspicious,” Mr. Paul said.

Emily rose to her feet. “I don't have to admit anything,” she said icily, then walked off the stage.

“It appears you have a mutiny on your hands, Mr. Paul,” Jeffries remarked.

As Joe watched Emily Anderson storm up the aisle, his eye caught some movement in one of the private box seating areas. The curtain behind the plush chairs had been pulled aside. A face was peeking through, but the moment Joe focused on it, it disappeared.

“Someone's behind that curtain!” Joe called to the others.

“Show yourself, whoever you are!” Mr. Paul shouted. No one responded.

Joe jumped off the stage. “How do I get to those seats?” he yelled over his shoulder.

“I'm sorry!” a voice above him called out. A man in a work shirt and tool belt stepped timidly through the
curtain of the private box. “I heard the crash and peeked in—it's none of my business.”

“What
is
your business?” Mr. Paul demanded.

“I'm an electrician,” the man replied. “I was just—”

“He's an electrician, I can verify that,” Jeffries interrupted. “After the incident with the lights, I wanted to be sure there wasn't a problem with the electrical wiring in the theater.”

“Would you mind showing us your identification?” Joe asked.

“Why, you impudent little—” Jeffries snapped at Joe.

“I don't mind,” the electrician replied, and dropped his wallet down to Joe.

Jennifer verified that his identification card was in order, then tossed the wallet back up to the electrician in the box. “So, was there a problem with the wiring?” Jennifer asked.

“No, it's installed to B.S.I. standards,” the electrician replied. “You've passed inspection.”

“Thank you,” Jeffries said to the electrician. “If you'll meet me in my office, we can conclude our business.” Jeffries now turned to Mr. Paul. “As for you and this circus of bungling fools you call a show, I don't want any actors on the stage until everything is fully repaired. If one of their union representatives saw this—”

“I know, they might close down our show,” Mr. Paul said.

“Worse, they would give me a hefty fine,” Jeffries concluded before heading back to his office.

Mr. Paul turned to his son, patted him on the back,
then turned to the rest of the group. “Ladies and gentlemen, this may be the final straw. We don't have the money to hire the stage carpenters to rebuild the set. Whoever the saboteur is, it appears that he or she has won.”

“Could we rebuild it ourselves?” Joe asked.

“I'm only allowed to use union labor, Joseph,” Mr. Paul told him.

“We're already using Joe as a nonunion spot operator,” Jennifer said. “To borrow the American phrase, I say we ‘go for it.' Give me Frank, Joe, and Chris and we can have this rebuilt in a day or two.”

“I couldn't. It's illegal,” Mr. Paul said. “Even with free labor, we'd have to buy the lumber and hardware,” Mr. Paul pointed out.

“What about the anonymous donation?” Frank asked.

“We need that for costumes,” Mr. Paul replied.

“The school has quite a large costume collection,” Chris suggested. “Perhaps we could borrow them.”

“A production of this magnitude using worn-out, inexpensive school costumes?” Mr. Paul wondered aloud.

“It would be better than no production at all,” Frank reasoned.

“Remember, Dad, the show must go on,” Chris reminded him of the old saying.