Manning was full of surprises, but Cait had enough. He’s not getting off that easy. She ran after him.
“Hey, hold on, Manning. Did you promise Wally something if he turned himself in?”
He glanced at her but kept walking. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m open for an explanation. You did say he called you for money. I hoped we could come up with a plan to satisfy everyone. How about a little cooperation?”
Manning stopped in his tracks. “A plan?” He laughed, a deep, gut-wrenching sound. “That only happens on TV. You should know that.”
She wanted to punch him. Her blood boiled. “Who the hell do you think you are, trying to put me down?”
“Last I checked, a journalist who puts himself in danger on the front line.”
“Maybe you’re possessed with delusions of personal grandeur. I’m trying to understand what’s going on.” It felt good to let her feelings out, even if he did deserve bragging rights for working in war zones. She stepped back when she saw his balled fists.
“My business with Wally is personal. Where you come in is a separate issue.” He turned away.
So he knows Wally has it in for his family? Cait went after him. She couldn’t wait to kick him off her property. “So, is it Wally you’re here for or me?”
Manning glanced over his shoulder. “We could talk about it sometime when you’re not surrounded by the police.”
She looked back and saw Rook and his officers keeping their distance. “I’ll talk to Detective Rook, but from my viewpoint, our issues are related. What is Wally to you?”
He pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his brow. “He’s Hank’s brother. He spreads blame around like butter for Hank’s murder, if that makes you feel any better—his mom, my family, and you. When you shot Hank, that was the last straw.”
Cait cringed. “For Wally or for you?” Now they were getting into dangerous territory, and she was glad Rook was behind her.
He glared at her. “Wally took his anger out the only way he knew how—by going after you.”
“But he murdered one of my actors!” She drew a deep breath. “Either he’s a poor marksman or he intentionally missed each time he took shots at me. Why would he do that?”
He smirked. “That’s where I come in.”
“Empty words, Manning. Where exactly do you come in?”
“In time, Cait. In time.” He left her wondering where he was going, but she was so exasperated, she let him go.
Her cell beeped, and she pulled her thoughts from Manning. “Hi, Shep.”
“Got a minute?”
“Sure.” Rook and the officers stopped a short distance behind her.
“I read a few more articles Manning wrote, and then I went to see his mother.”
“Don’t get in trouble because of me.”
“We’re cool. The commander understands and gave me the go-ahead. When I got to Mrs. Manning’s house, she showed me the family album. Manning’s dad was African-American. That would explain the racial comment he made to you.”
Surprised she hadn’t thought of that possibility, she said, “I assumed he was tan from the sun; his eyes are hazel.”
“His mother’s white.”
“Oh.” She ran to Rook and told him what Shep said.
“Ask if that had anything to do with his family adopting Hank,” Rook said.
“I heard him,” Shep said. “It did, but the adoption was never finalized.”
“What? The adoption was never finalized?” Cait said. “I wonder why Manning didn’t tell me.”
“Manning’s dad died before the adoption papers were signed.” He paused. “Mrs. Manning said that was about the time Calder changed. She assumed it was because he’d seen too much in the war zones, but he refused to talk to her about it.”
“Maybe he has PTSD,” Cait said.
“Possible, but we can’t dismiss the racial issue, since he’s brought it up.”
“I know. He was here a few minutes ago. He and Wally concocted some kind of plan, but Wally failed to show up.”
“It’s up to you if you want to ask Manning about the racial issue, but I’d suggest you wait and see if he brings it up first.”
“You’re right. Thanks.”
“Now what do we do?” she asked Rook. “Twiddle our thumbs and wait for something to happen?”
“You go to the house,” Rook said. “I’m going to the station. I’ll see if I can set up a raid at Pagan Alley. It’s time to bring SWAT in.”
“That sounds good. Maybe we can end this before the actors return.”
He turned to Perough and Vanicheque. “This will take awhile. I’ll let you know when it’s going down. One of you should stay here in case Wally comes up that damn hill.” He pulled his cell. “But if he’s at the Alley, we’ll get him.”
She squinted from the sun. “What if Manning’s there when SWAT arrives?”
“If he cooperates, there shouldn’t be a problem. If he interferes, he’ll be arrested. His call.” He hurried off, talking on his cell.
“I’ll walk back with you, Cait,” Vanicheque said.
They had almost reached the house when a familiar voice yelled, “Hey! Wait up!”
Cait turned and saw Ilia running toward them, waving his arm. She hadn’t seen him today, but assumed he was there to check on RT’s vehicles. RT left an extra set of keys with him.
“I saw a guy running from the Elizabethan theater,” he said, out of breath. “Someone needs to check it out.”
Cait glanced at the theater. “I didn’t hear the alarm.”
“I’m telling you what I saw. How hard would it be to scale the wall around the theater?”
“Not if you’re a monkey.”
“Let’s look,” Vanicheque said. He raised his cell to his ear. “I’ll let Perough know.”
“I’m going with you.” Cait pulled her gun from under her shirt. “Maybe Wally tricked Manning into thinking he’d meet him, while all along he intended to break in the theater.”
“You may be right,” Vanicheque said.
“Ilia, Marcus can let you in the house.”
“No way. I’m going with you.”
She reluctantly agreed.
As they ran with their guns drawn, Vanicheque grunted, “Rook’s not going to like this, Cait. You should wait at the house.”
“He’ll get over it.”
They met up with Perough, but when they checked the doors, they were still locked. “Let’s split and circle around,” Perough said.
“Stay with me, Ilia,” Cait said. They went to the right around the back of the building, while the officers went to the left. They hadn’t gone far when one of the officers yelled Cait’s name.
Cait circled back around the theater and found the officers standing next to a wooden ladder propped against the wall. “Looks like you were right, Ilia.” She eyed the wall and discovered the bricks weren’t flush together, and some of the mortar had eroded, leaving narrow toeholds between some of the bricks. She tested the wooden ladder and went up several rungs, then reached her foot out and stuck her toe in a crevice. “That’s easy. See how the bricks are staggered all the way to the top. Like a climbing wall. Plant your foot and work your way up. Wonder if it’s the same on the inside.”
“Maybe he turned chicken when he saw the long jump down on the other side. Open up and let’s take a look,” Vanicheque said.
Cait disarmed the theater. At the back of the theater, she shielded her eyes from the sun and stared up at the brick wall. “Aha. Now we know. This wall must be nine feet high, but look at how those arches are staggered across it. I wonder what Tasha was thinking when she had this wall built. Each recess has a little shelf, maybe intended for a small statue or just decoration.”
“Probably not to make it easy for a burglar,” Ilia said.
“Sometimes the bad guys get all the breaks. I should have paid more attention to the wall.”
“Maybe Wally’s been in the theater before,” Perough said, “and knows his way around.”
“Oh, he’s been in here all right,” Cait said, “and in the loft.”
They went down the aisle. Vanicheque hesitated and looked up at the stage. “Any doors behind those curtains to keep people from going in the back?”
“No.”
“When the scenery changes, do the panels pull up into the ceiling?”
Cait tried to remember. “They’re motor driven and slide up.”
“What about the curtains? Do they come down or tuck away from the elements in the winter?” Perough asked.
“I’m told they come down, but I’ve only been here since April.” She squinted at the rafters. “Are you thinking someone could hide up there?”
“You’d be surprised where a desperate person can squeeze into. Let’s have a look,” Perough said.
She gripped her gun. “Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.” Now I sound like June, quoting Shakespeare again.