“Find Manning and you’ll find Wally,” Cait said when Rook arrived. “What happened at Pagan Alley?”
“Half a dozen of our guys—the best at their jobs—went through the place. They found the usual: drug paraphernalia, empty beer bottles, and empty ammunition boxes.”
Cait was quiet for a moment. “Maybe Manning skipped town and took Wally with him.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“No, but Officer Vanicheque threatened to arrest Manning if he didn’t bring Wally in within twenty-four hours. The clock’s ticking.” She glanced at the time on her cell. “Twenty-two to go.”
Rook nodded. “Maybe Wally won’t come. Cops will be all over the place.”
“That hasn’t stopped him before.” She touched her Glock to reassure herself it was still there. “I’m going to the Blackfriars to catch a rehearsal. Want to come?”
“You don’t think I’d let you go alone, do you?”
She chose not to answer. Instead, she said, “I’ll tell Marcus where I’ll be.” She poked her head in the office and found him sitting on the floor with Fumié, their heads bent over a large set of plans for the gift shop. “I’ll be at the Blackfriars.”
Marcus looked up and frowned. “You should stay here.”
“Rook’s going with me. Where’s Ilia?”
“He left for an appointment,” Fumié said. “He’ll be back to take me home.”
Happy to draw a breath of fresh air, Cait forced herself to open her mind to the good things in life: birdsong, the rustle of grasses, the golden hills, and Shakespeare. Niki shot around the corner of the house. She reached in her pocket for a treat and gave it to him.
“He doesn’t miss RT now that he’s got you,” Rook said. He hesitated. “Cait, RT’s coming back, maybe as soon as tomorrow.”
Her spirits lifted. “You talked to him?”
Rook smiled. “Yes, last night.”
Why doesn’t he call me?
“Who’s with the actors?” Rook asked Perough when they saw him coming toward them.
“Vanicheque and Newman.”
Rook nodded. “Cait wants to watch a rehearsal.”
“No problem,” Perough said. “Caught a few minutes myself. Maybe she can explain it to me. Sometime, I’d like to bring my girlfriend to see a play.”
Cait smiled. “Any time. Free tickets for every officer who’s been here, and their significant others.”
They passed through the gate and turned down the path toward the theater. “When you’re ready to leave,” Rook told Cait, “snag any officer to walk you back to the house.”
Just like a prisoner. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be around.”
They made their way toward the front and took a seat. Two actors were on stage with a couple of chairs, two goblets, and the crown—the central image of the play and the reason Macbeth committed the first murder.
Cait whispered, “See the disc in the middle of the stage and the pool of red liquid in its center, and how it appears to glow from within? The disk has been artfully painted to work with the lighting design to convey changing moods.” When Perough nodded, she continued. “The costumes are white, simple and elegant, to show the splattered blood.”
Perough surprised Cait when he pulled his cell, checked the screen, and said, “Gotta go.”
Her attention on the actors, Cait was surprised when June slipped in the row and sat beside her.
June leaned close and whispered, “Compelling, isn’t it? More so on this small stage. You can almost feel how Macbeth burns with the desire of becoming Scotland’s king, but Lady Macbeth knows the bloody path necessary to attain that crown—a path to disaster.”
Cait whispered, “I love the intimacy of the small stage and how it grabs and pulls you in. Why hasn’t Macbeth always been played in a small intimate theater?”
“It was a risk when it was performed on a small stage for the first time in Ashland,” June said, “with staging and action so minimal and abstract, but the director wanted to emphasize simplicity in order to focus better on the psychology of the characters. It worked.”
“It does,” Cait said, rubbing her arms from a sudden chill. They continued to watch in silence until rehearsal ended and the stark white costumes were splattered with blood.
The lights in the theater remained dim. Cait and June were in no hurry to leave, and they stayed in their seats to muse on the power of the scene they had witnessed.
Then loud, angry voices disrupted their thoughts. They jumped up and ran to the door. An officer Cait didn’t know blocked the exit, refusing to let them leave.
“Open the door,” Cait demanded.
When the officer still refused, Cait ducked under his arm and pushed the door open. The officer tried to stop her, but she kept going and ran down the path.
Rook, Perough, and Vanicheque ran across the courtyard with their guns drawn.
Cait ran after them.
She froze when she saw Fumié and a light-skinned African-American man circling each other at the ridge of the hill.
“Wally! Stop!” someone yelled.
Cait recognized Manning’s voice. Then she saw Marcus on the sideline. The last she’d seen Marcus and Fumié, they were on the floor in his office with a sketchpad. She stared at the guy challenging Fumié. This average-looking guy is Wally?
Then the sun flashed on the gun in his hand. Cait inched closer as she removed her gun, shaking with desire to pull the trigger, but training and discipline held her back.
Wally circled Fumié in a menacing manner, ignoring the police and Manning. Cait wanted to warn Fumié to back off, to let the police handle Wally, but Fumié spun, her leg shooting out like a piston, catching Wally’s arm.
Wally’s gun flew out of his hand. “Bitch!” He charged Fumié.
Fumié whirled, her feet slicing in a flurry of strikes as her long black hair whipped about her face. Wally tried to raise his arm to intercept her kick, but could not. She caught him in the groin.
Wally’s face twisted in pain. He collapsed on the ground.
Fumié planted her hands on her hips and stared down at him. “That should even the score.”
Vanicheque and Perough rushed to cuff Wally, but Wally surprised everyone by rolling away and jumping to his feet. When he saw Cait, his face contorted with hatred. He spat at her.
Cait jumped back, almost tripping over Niki.
Rook rushed in and grabbed one of Wally’s arms from behind and attempted to cuff him. Wally pulled free and screamed in Cait’s face. “You bitch! You murderer! Hank was my brother!” His hand went to his waist as he turned on Manning. He screamed, “You and your shitty idea, using me to do your own dirty work—”
A gunshot echoed across the hills.
Everyone froze.
Wally crumpled to the ground, blood gushing from his neck. This time he didn’t move.
Stunned, Cait turned on Manning. “Are you crazy? For God’s sake, he was in handcuffs.”
“No he wasn’t. He was going to kill you,” Manning said.
Cait glanced down at Wally. Manning was right. One cuff dangled from the dead man’s left hand. Wally had somehow gotten out of the cuffs.
Rook went to Manning and held his hand out. “Give me your gun.”
Manning handed the weapon over.
Vanicheque pulled on latex gloves and took out plasticuffs. “Hands behind your back, Manning.”
“Wally would never turn himself in,” Manning said, desperation in his voice. “He would have fought to the bitter end.” He turned to Rook. “Check him out. You’ll find he also has a knife.”
“Then why didn’t he pull it on Fumié?” Cait asked.
Manning shrugged.
Rook stooped and rolled Wally over while Perough, already gloved, searched the body. Perough found a knife strapped to Wally’s ankle and held it up.
“Check his waistband,” Manning said.
Perough frowned at Manning but pulled up Wally’s shirt.
“Careful,” Manning warned. “He keeps his knives sharp.”
Cait watched Perough unzip Wally’s jeans and then pull out a three-inch knife from his waistband.
Rook stared at Manning. “Any more surprises we should know about?”
Manning shook his head. “Not that I know of. Now will you remove these cuffs?”
“Not yet.” Rook looked around. “Somebody call the coroner.”
After the coroner took the body away and Rook and his officers left with Manning, Cait returned to the theater, where she found June and the actors huddling backstage. She explained what had happened and that Wally was dead, Manning in handcuffs, and the nightmare finally over. They could relax and enjoy the weekend.
Cait returned to the house and took a seat in the kitchen with Marcus, Fumié, and the Harts. She was exhausted but relieved it was over, as if it was the grand finale to her worst nightmare. “Fumié, you amazed me with those kicks, but what were you and Marcus doing there?”
Fumié looked at Marcus and smiled. “Our calculations were off. I wasn’t satisfied and wanted to remeasure the area before Marcus cut the lumber.”
“But you shouldn’t have gone out there.” She shuddered at the thought of them being hurt or killed. “How did you happen to see Wally?”
“I saw a movement and when I looked, I recognized him as the guy who kidnapped me.” She smiled at Marcus. “I’m sorry, I should have told you I saw him, but you were busy and there wasn’t time. I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to pay him back for what he did to me.”
“You scared the hell out of me. I called Detective Rook when I saw a guy I thought could be Wally,” Marcus said. “A lot of help I was.”
Fumié leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “If you hadn’t called Detective Rook, the result might have been different.”
Marcus grinned and nodded. “I’m glad it’s over.”
Cait sighed. “I hope so.” But why do I feel unsettled?
It was after ten that night when Rook called Cait. “How are you doing?”
Cait sat propped up in the bed with her laptop. “Relieved. I hope it’s over. What happened when you took Manning to the station? Was he booked into jail?”
A sigh came over the line. “We had to let him go, but not before hours of interrogation. We kept his gun and passport until he comes in tomorrow to sign off on the paperwork. Then he’s free to go.”
“You let him off too easily.”
“It wasn’t an easy decision to make. Wally was prepared to kill you. If Manning hadn’t told us about the knives, we might not be having this conversation.”
Something in the back of her mind nagged at her. “Don’t you think it odd, just before Manning shot Wally, that Wally accused him of doing his dirty work for him? Don’t you wonder what dirty work he meant? Did you ask Manning about that?”
“Of course. You think we’re new at this? Manning said the brothers never took responsibility for their actions, always pointed fingers at someone else. He didn’t expect it to be any different with him.”
She thought about what Rook said. “So, that’s it? Case closed?”
“After the paperwork’s filed. Next time you call, make it an invitation to lunch.”
“You have an open invitation. I appreciate what you and the officers have done and the time spent working my case. But honestly, I hope I never have to call you again.”
He chuckled. “Goodnight, Cait.”
She shut her computer down and Niki stretched out beside her. Maybe after my morning coffee things will begin to feel right again.