Extreme Justice: A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense

Chapter 26

BEN TURNED OFF Cherry Street and maneuvered to an alleyway behind the first row of street-front buildings. He found an area where the tallgrass had been plowed under; it was being used as a makeshift parking lot.

He parked his van, then headed back toward the stores and offices. It took him only a few moments to find the sign directing him to Theatre Tulsa. He found a backstage door and entered.

There was a woman standing near the door. The costume designer, Ben guessed, judging from the disorganized array of thimbles and colored threads and needles. She directed him to the back of the stage. Ben wove his way through the hubbub of actors and stagehands and crewpersons, all darting in different directions at the same time. Soon he saw a familiar crown of yellow spikes poking over the top of a stage flat.

She was hammering away, utterly oblivious to the chaos surrounding her.

“So this is where you unwind,” Ben said.

Diane glanced up, then returned her attention to her hammering. “This is where I make a living,” she replied. “You don’t think I can live off what Earl pays me, do you?”

“Probably not,” Ben agreed. He crouched down. She was nailing the base of a vertical beam—part of an office set, he guessed—to the flat. “But I wouldn’t have guessed you were involved in stagecraft. A poker professional, a stage manager, and a carpenter. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be.” She propped herself up on an elbow. “It’s all just hammer and nails, basically. And the occasional splash of paint. My dad had a workshop in the garage. He loved carpentry—loved it far more than selling insurance, which was how he spent most of his life. Till he died. Anyway, he showed me how to do all this stuff. It’s easy, really, once you know how. Nothing to get excited about.”

“You must do it well. The woman on the phone told me you’ve been here for six seasons.”

“It’s a great group. Everything about their productions is excellent, except the budget. They need someone who can get the job done without spending a lot of money.” She smiled. “I can fill that bill. I don’t do anything brilliant. They just need someone to make decisions. That’s me.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

She laid down her hammer. “Such flattery. Ben, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were trying to get in my pants.”

Ben’s face suddenly turned crimson.

She grinned. “But since I do know better, you must want something else.”

“Well, it isn’t that I want something—”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I wanted to talk to you. That’s all. In private.”

“So you are trying to get in my pants.”

“No! I just—”

She laid her hand on his arm. “Ben, you are so fun to play with.” She straightened up and sat on the stage with crossed legs. “So what is it you’re so anxious to discuss?”

“Well, the murder. That night. Earl.”

“Right. I heard you were representing him.” She placed a finger against a cheek. “Personally, I wasn’t that surprised when I heard you were a lawyer. I’d always figured you had an ugly secret buried in your past. I just didn’t realize how ugly it was.”

“You were at the club the night the body was found,” Ben said, moving briskly along. “And I remember you asked me to clear the stage while I was practicing. That was just a few minutes before the man with the rug showed up. Did you see him?”

She shook her head. “If I did, I didn’t notice. But I tend to think I would’ve noticed, because I get pretty protective about that stage when we’re close to showtime. So I probably didn’t see him.”

“It was barely half an hour before the club opened. I’m surprised someone other than me didn’t see him.”

“I’m not. That was the ideal time to come. Earlier, the club would be closed, or the band would be rehearsing. Later, the crowd would have started to gather. But he caught us after rehearsal, after the front doors were unlocked, but before any patrons had arrived. Perfect.”

It was perfect, Ben agreed. Almost too perfect. It was one more reason to believe the most likely suspect was someone who worked at the club. Someone who knew. Or someone working with someone who knew.

“I don’t suppose you saw that corpse up on the stage light.”

“Not before you did.”

“Or any evidence that it was up there?”

“Ben, I’m the stage manager. Do you think that if I knew there was a corpse dangling over my pianist I would have just ignored it?”

“Sorry, stupid question.”

“No kidding.”

“Did you see anyone or anything else of a suspicious nature? Either at the time or after the fact?”

She shook her head. “I’ll tell you what I told the cops. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Until you started snuggling with the stiff, that is.” She snapped her fingers. “Although, now that you mention it, Denny was acting bizarre. Even more than usual.”

Ben’s head snapped to attention. “How so?”

“It’s hard to explain. It was more … a feeling I had, a feeling I got when I was around him. Didn’t you notice anything?”

Ben shook his head no.

“Just after rehearsal, he was wandering around with his head bowed, muttering to himself.” She whipped back her dangling blonde spikes. “If I were you, I’d talk to Denny.”

“I saved him for tomorrow. He lives out of town, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I know. Do you?”

Ben blinked. “Do—what?”

She grinned. “You’ll find out.”

A tall man approached Diane, with shimmering diaphanous costumes draped over each arm. “Diane, honey, I need a decision.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Which do you prefer, the pink or the chartreuse?”

“Mmm … the pink.”

“Good, I thought so.” He whirled around and headed back toward the wings.

Diane smiled at Ben. “See? They love me.”

“Do you know anything about costumes?”

She laughed. “I’m not even sure those were costumes. For all I know, Scott’s picking out drapes for his living room.”

Ben tried to steer the conversation back to the murder. “What about Earl? How much do you know about him?”

“Not much. He’s the boss, that’s all. And a pretty mediocre poker player.”

“Know anyone who dislikes him?”

“I’ve seen him toss out a drunken patron or three.”

“I need something more than that. Something that would create a strong motive.”

“But Earl wasn’t killed. It was that Lily woman.”

“Yes, but someone went to a lot of trouble to implicate Earl. Know of anyone who would have a motive for that?”

She thought for several moments. “Sorry. I really don’t.”

“And you probably didn’t know Lily Campbell.”

“No, I didn’t. But Scat did. Her death really hit him hard.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It was something I heard just after the corpse tumbled to the ground. I was in the wings at the time, closest to Scat. As soon as the corpse rolled forward, and we both got a clear look at her face, he murmured, ‘The lily’s been clipped.’ It was under his breath, just barely audible. I’m sure I’m the only one who heard it. I didn’t understand what it meant at the time; I thought he was being poetic. But then, after I heard what the woman’s name was … well, I knew better.”

“Hmm. That’s something, anyway. Thanks, Diane.”

“Anytime.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll drop by later and let you make a decision for me.”

It couldn’t hurt, he thought, as he ambled across the stage toward the back door. After all, he had several pending at the moment. And he didn’t seem to be making any progress on his own.