Cooper Jenkins was waiting for Roxanne in the lobby of Prairie Theatre Centre, examining a display of photographs from past productions.
“See?” He poked a finger at one. “I saw that. When I was married to Mel. She liked going to this kind of stuff.”
“Did you like it?”
“Was okay.”
“And you’re not married to Mel anymore?”
“Hell, no. She was a long time ago. Looks kinda dead in here with the lights off.”
Cooper obviously didn’t intend to talk about his personal life, or his lack of one. Roxanne glanced around the empty lobby. He was right. It was drab and dull, lacking the bright glow of the chandeliers and track lighting that shone when it was thronged with theatregoers. It was silent, too. Without the chatter, the buzz of anticipation, it felt lifeless.
Tamsin Longstaff held the door that led upstairs open for them. She wore her customary high heels, a fitted scarlet suit with a short skirt, a cream silk blouse with a loose bow at the neck. Every hair on her head was in place and her fingernails, as usual, matched her ensemble. She was lean and trim, looking ten years younger than her actual age.
Jenkins leaned over and whispered in Roxanne’s ear as they approached the door. “My interview.” Then he raised his voice as he reached Tamsin. “Nice place,” he said.
“It is,” she replied. “We do our best to keep it that way.” When you got closer, dark circles under her eyes were evident. For a second, Tamsin Longstaff looked exhausted, then she assumed her usual smiling, professional look. She escorted them to her office.
“Why have you come here together?” she asked as they took their seats. “Is there something new? Has there been a breakthrough?”
There hadn’t. Instead of answering, Jenkins went straight on the offensive. “You and Gerald Blaise were real pally,” he barked. Tamsin Longstaff’s eyes widened, surprised at the hint of accusation in his voice. So was Roxanne. She’d thought he might be assertive, but not right off the top.
“That’s no secret,” Tamsin said. “Sergeant Calloway has already asked me about that. Gerald and I had worked together for fifteen years and we got along very well.” She looked towards Roxanne for confirmation. Jenkins fired another question before she could respond.
“So, what happens to your job now he’s gone?”
“Nothing,” Tamsin remarked smoothly. “I carry on as usual.” She maintained her poise. Confrontation was nothing new to Tamsin. Working where she did, it happened often. She eyed this city cop like he was some kind of interesting specimen, nothing more. Her big swivel chair brought her up to his height, her scarlet fingernails rested on each arm.
“But nothing’s usual.” Cooper’s mouth took on its lopsided look, more of a sneer than a smile. “Not now. Everything’s changed, right? Gonna have a new guy in Blaise’s seat, he’ll have new ideas, want to do things differently. Things might not go your way any longer.”
“I’ve always welcomed change.” Tamsin said, as though she found his questions tiresome. “You don’t survive in this business unless you do.”
“You’ve acted like the boss around here.” Cooper poked again, looking for a weak spot. “You get to make all the important decisions because that guy you worked with, the one that’s dead, was kinda lazy and he let you.”
“You’ve been listening to gossip, bad gossip,” Tamsin said, crisp and dismissive. Her hands had shifted onto the desktop in front of her, folded together. “I am here because I am good at my job,” she explained, sounding mildly exasperated. “I worked well with Gerald Blaise because I knew his strengths and his weaknesses. Gerald had great instinct. Emotional intelligence. He was great with people but not good at business management. I am. So we complemented each other. I will get to know his successor and—”
Cooper Jenkins cut her off. “Bet you will,” he drawled. “But it’s going to be different. Real different. New guy’s going to be years younger than you for a start.” The insult was deliberately provocative. Roxanne wished he’d back off.
“What makes you assume it will be a man?” Roxanne watched Tamsin and Jenkins lock eyes. She seized the chance to intervene.
“Tamsin,” she asked, “how many years are left on your current contract?”
“Three.” It didn’t work. The answer was automatic. Tamsin’s attention was entirely focused on the adversarial cop sitting opposite her.
“A woman might be worse,” Cooper fired back. “She’ll want to make her mark. Might be just as bossy as you.”
Tamsin turned icy. “What on earth has this got to do with Thom Dyck’s murder, Sergeant?” she inquired, her chin high. “Isn’t that the murder that you are supposed to be investigating?”
“And I am.” Cooper grinned, pleased to have finally provoked her. “A little bird tells me that you had it in for him. Tried to get him fired a few years back, didn’t you?”
Roxanne reached for her phone, turned on the audio and laid it flat on the desktop. “I am recording this interview,” she said. She should have insisted on that to begin with. She wished they had taken Tamsin in for questioning. If Cooper was going to be so tough it would have been better to make it official, conduct it in an interview room equipped with a recorder. Both Tamsin and her interrogator continued to ignore her.
“I did no such thing,” said Tamsin Longstaff.
“You tried to damage his reputation,” Cooper continued. “Spread rumours about him. Said he was fucking his students.”
“I did not!” Tamsin took a very deep breath and sat back. Her fingers returned to the arms of her chair and tapped for a second. “I know nothing about how Thom Dyck behaved around his students. I only ever saw him here, at the theatre. He worked with Gerald sometimes as an assistant director. He attended board meetings.” She leaned forward. “Someone at the university would know how he related to the students. Someone who worked there and had good reason to want him gone. And that wasn’t me. I think you are targeting the wrong person, officer.”
They both knew whom she meant. Dr. Madeleine Bissett. Tamsin sat back again, satisfied that she had made her point. Jenkins smiled, like a wolf about to bite.
“Well,” he said. “Y’know what I think? I think you’re in cahoots with that actress Gerald Blaise was married to. I think you both wanted rid of him. Because he was going to quit the job here and wreck what you both have going on…”
“Just what are you talking about?” Tamsin’s voice was low, puzzled. Roxanne was curious too. She had heard nothing of this previously.
“Known her as long as you’ve known Blaise, haven’t you? It wasn’t him you were really looking out for, was it? It was her. You made sure he chose the plays she wanted to act in. You made sure he was happy so nothing went wrong on the work front as well as the home one, because he was the one with the money. Were you a threesome? Or was it just her and you?”
Tamsin had gone pale. Her mouth hung open.
“Was she going to give you a cut of the money once Blaise was dead and buried? Or were the two of you going to take off somewhere? Set up house together, just the pair of you?”
“Get out!” Tamsin sprang to her feet, her composure gone. “You filthy, evil-minded bastard! Liar!” she spat at him. Roxanne rose also. So did Jenkins. He reached out and grabbed Tamsin’s arm.
“I’m taking you in, lady,” he said.
Tamsin twisted away from him. He hung on, pulled back, hard. She resisted, grabbed a statuette from a shelf behind her with her other hand, one awarded annually to a local arts administrator. It was made of glass, on a brass plinth. She seized it around the head. “Get off me!” she shouted as she swung. The heavy base caught Coop Jenkins above the ear. He tipped over and fell, slowly, towards Roxanne. The other side of his head caught the edge of the desk. He slid to the floor, his eyes rolling up into his head.
“The bitch got me,” he gasped.
Tamsin was screaming, and she still wielded the statue. “You,” she yelled at Roxanne. “You’re just as bad. All you’ve brought here is trouble.” She swept a pile of papers off the desk with her free hand. They cascaded over Cooper Jenkins. Roxanne ducked down behind the desk for cover.
“Keep still, Coop,” she said. She grabbed her phone and punched a number. The office door burst open. Toby Malleson stood there.
“Jeez, Tamsin,” he said.
“Get out!” The statuette flew straight for his head. He jumped aside. It hit a large framed poster on the wall opposite. The glass shattered. Toby disappeared down the hallway.
Tamsin picked up her laptop and threw it, too. It hit a metal filing cabinet. More papers followed. Roxanne asked for backup and an ambulance. Cooper needed medical help and Tamsin was out of control. She should have seen this coming. The woman was burned out, exhausted, and Cooper had just pushed her over the edge. She wished she’d intervened. Now Tamsin had turned and was throwing binders off the bookshelves behind her. Budgie Torrance appeared in the doorway. She wore a long silk gown with a lace negligee. Lady Macbeth’s nightgown. She had been in the wardrobe for a fitting when Toby burst in with the news that Tamsin had gone berserk.
“Oh, Tamsin!” She held out both arms. Tamsin turned to look at her and burst into tears. “Don’t cry!” said Budgie, and hurried around the desk to get to her, stepping over Jenkins’ prone legs. She paid no attention to him, or to Roxanne, huddled by his head, talking on the phone. Cooper was awake but bleeding copiously from a head wound. There had been only a couple of tissues in her pocket. She needed more.
Tamsin fell into Budgie’s arms and sobbed. Budgie stroked her back.
“Please don’t cry,” she said.
Was Cooper right? Were they lovers? Tamsin and Budgie Torrance?
Sadie Williams and Carol Hansen appeared in the doorway and gaped when they saw the scene. Then they sprang into action. Sadie grabbed a box of Kleenex from a counter and dropped to her knees beside Roxanne.
“He’s coming to,” said Roxanne. “Ambulance is on its way.”
“I’ll go get ice,” said Carol.
“Don’t lift your head,” Sadie instructed Cooper, and pressed a wad of tissue onto the gash.
Roxanne left him in Sadie’s care and walked slowly around the back of the desk to where Budgie and Tamsin stood. Budgie had her arms wrapped tightly around Tamsin, who still wept on her shoulder. Roxanne reached out to try to move her aside. Budgie’s head turned.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “And leave her alone.”
“Let go of her,” said Roxanne. “Now.” Carol Hansen had returned. She passed an ice pack to Sadie and came to Budgie’s other side.
“Come on, Budgie,” she said. “Let go of Tamsin.” Together, she and Roxanne prised Tamsin out of Budgie’s grasp.
“Look at this mess,” said Carol. There was a red lipstick stain on the lacy shoulder of the costume and dark blotches where Tamsin’s mascara had run. She touched the marks with a finger, vexed at the stains. “We need to get you out of this, Budgie. Come with me.” Jenkins was struggling to get to his feet again.
“Stay where you are, mister.” Sadie Wilson placed a large hand on his chest and stopped him. It was no contest. She was as big as he was and he was a pallid shade of grey.
Roxanne charged Tamsin with assaulting a police officer. Tamsin looked at her with teary eyes, smudged black, her lipstick smeared, snot running from her nose. She sank into her chair, helpless now that all her fiery energy was spent.
“I can’t leave Tamsin,” Budgie said stubbornly. Sadie had found a waste bucket. It was filling up with bloody tissue. Cooper’s head wouldn’t stop bleeding. Toby Malleson reappeared.
“Ambulance just pulled up,” he said. He looked at the chaos around him and went to Carol’s aid.
“Come on, Budgie,” he said. “You can’t stay here.” Together, he and Carol edged Budgie out the door. Roxanne stood watch over Tamsin.
“Don’t you dare lay another finger on her,” Budgie snarled over her shoulder as she disappeared. Roxanne looked at the dishevelled mess that was now Tamsin Longstaff. Had Coop Jenkins actually got it right? The implication that she loved Budgie had sparked the breakdown. Had the story about an old relationship between Tamsin and Gerald Blaise been a smokescreen? Had it hidden the fact that the actual lovers were Tamsin and Budgie? Had they conspired to kill Gerald, and had Tamsin carried out the act of murdering him? She had the opportunity. She worked late at the theatre all the time and knew how to enter and leave the building without being seen on any camera. And now it was apparent that she was capable of violence.
The paramedics arrived and took Sadie’s place at Cooper’s side. They ignored his muttered protests that he was going to be fine. They said they were taking him to the hospital. That skull needed to be X-rayed and he must be concussed.
A couple of RCMP constables arrived, cuffed Tamsin and took her off to a waiting car.
Sadie Williams wiped blood off her fingers and looked at the shambles that had been Tamsin Longstaff’s tidy office.
“What’s going to happen here?” she asked. “Who’s in charge now?”
Roxanne didn’t tell her that it was about to become worse. More police were arriving. She walked towards the wardrobe room, a uniformed constable at her heels. She was taking Budgie Torrance in for questioning.
Izzy McBain called Irma Friedrich, the accountant, in Toronto. She had liked Gerald, she said. Had done his accounts for almost twenty years. Gerald had appointed her as his executor, and if it would help the RCMP find his killer, she would do all she could to help.
“Why don’t we Skype?” she said. “I like to see who I’m talking to.”
Izzy agreed. Ms. Friedrich was pale, fair hair turning discreetly grey, even featured. Her files on Gerald went back years. She also managed Ms. Torrance’s account.
“I work for a lot of people in the arts,” she said. “Most of them are self-employed. Maxwell Fergusson sends a lot of clients my way.” She estimated Gerald’s worth at over seven million. “It’s well invested,” she said. “He’s done well since he inherited his aunt’s money.”
“So he didn’t need to work?” asked Izzy.
“Ah, but he loved it,” said Irma Friedrich. “I can’t imagine Gerald without having one foot in the theatre. It’s such a social art form and Gerald thrived on company. He needed to be around people.” There was a safety deposit box, at his bank, in Winnipeg. “The papers for his investments will be in it.” She didn’t know why the deeds to the condo and his will were in his home safe. The contents of the condo, including the art that it contained, was certainly insured. “He used to complain how much it cost to cover those old items, the ones he inherited,” she said. “They have increased so much in value the past few years.”
And Budgie? She hadn’t kept all the jewellery she had inherited when Mrs. Balfour died.
“She sold most of it. Kept a few pieces. Got them remounted into something more contemporary. She has a beautiful ring, with a single diamond. She wears it quite often. And a pair of emerald earrings.”
Budgie had realized almost a hundred thousand from the sale. It was invested also. And she made a profit each year from what she earned. She was nowhere like as rich as Gerald had been but she had built up a nice little portfolio.
“And Gerald was always generous. She had everything she wanted. Now, I suppose, she is going to be very wealthy. She’s been in touch. She needs to spring some cash to buy a car. She doesn’t have one of her own and the Audi belonged to Gerald. It’s part of his estate. I’m chasing up Autopac to find out if it’s a write-off. We’re also figuring out a budget for the celebration of Gerald’s life. He’s being cremated next week, but there will be a big event at the theatre the following Monday.”
Izzy’s phone buzzed. There was a text from Roxanne. Call her, right away. She excused herself as soon as she could and listened as Roxanne told her, briefly, what had happened. She needed her at HQ right now to be with her as she interviewed Budgie Torrance.