Carol Hansen, Sadie Williams and Toby Malleson watched Budgie Torrance being led away by a uniformed Mountie, followed by Sergeant Roxanne Calloway.
“I’d better call the rehearsal hall,” said Carol. Toby disappeared along the corridor. He started to pick his way across the broken glass in the hallway outside Tamsin’s office, then he stopped and went inside. Tamsin kept a list of board members pinned to a bulletin board. He left a message for Frank Moran, then started cleaning up the mess.
“Might as well pack it in for the day,” Jazz Elliott said to her stage manager, Nell Bronson, soon after. The actors stood in clusters around the room, discussing the news. “I knew we should have replaced Budgie.”
Pedro Diaz, director of production, walked in from the shop, a tool belt strapped around his hips. Pedro’s job was largely administrative, but he liked to get hands-on when he could, especially when there was an interesting set build happening, and this one was fun.
“What ya reckon, Jazz? Are we ever going to get this show up and running? Does anyone know if Tamsin authorized the payroll before she cracked?” The staff and cast at PTC were paid biweekly. This was payday.
“Don’t ask me. We keep losing Budgie and everyone wants Wednesday afternoon off next week as well, so they can go see Gerald get cremated.” Jazz reached for her knitting bag. “This Scottish play is doomed, I tell you. How am I supposed to get it up on its feet when I can’t rehearse it? I’m going to go think.”
“I’ll go find Toby Malleson,” said Nell. “We’ll need to get a board member to come in and make sure everyone gets paid.”
Jazz looked at the anxious faces of her cast. “Tell them to go home. Be here ready for a fresh start tomorrow at ten,” she growled to Nell, then she stomped off towards the door that went upstairs.
“Tamsin lost it?” Pedro shook his head in disbelief. “Can’t imagine. What pushed her over the edge?”
Nell stuck her hands deep into her pockets. “Dunno. She’s always so in control. Wonder who’ll be in charge now?”
Marla Caplan arrived at the stage door, padlocked her bike to a rack and hurried upstairs. The cast members who were leaving filled her in on their versions of the day’s big event. She found Toby Malleson stacking papers on Tamsin’s desk.
“Oh good, you’re here.” Toby was too busy to lift his head and look at her. He pointed in the direction of the wastebasket full of bloody tissue. “Can you do something about that?”
“Should you be cleaning this up, Toby? Isn’t it a crime scene?”
“She didn’t kill the guy, did she?” Toby muttered, gathering up more paper. “And it’s not as if the police don’t know what happened. They were here. They caused all this, if you ask me. The executive’s called an emergency meeting.” He raised his head and looked hopefully at Marla. “You couldn’t take minutes, could you?” Marla held the wastebasket gingerly in one hand.
“I suppose so.” Marla turned and looked at the broken glass in the hallway. The statuette still lay on the floor, propped against the wall.
“She almost got me with that thing!” Toby blurted out. He plopped down into Tamsin’s swivel chair. “It came flying at me, straight for my head. I thought I was going to die.” His voice wavered. Marla put down the basket.
“Come on, Toby,” she said, and walked to his side. She took the rustling papers from his hand. “You’re pretty shaken. Let’s go see if Carol’s got the kettle on. Then I’ll come back here and see how much I can get tidied up.”
Budgie Torrance had demanded that she get to make a phone call. She had put it to good use. Her lawyer was young, smart and a rising star in the firm of Moran, Stevenson and Baillie. They took their places opposite Roxanne and a sergeant named Dawes sent by the city police to deputize for the injured Detective Sergeant Jenkins.
Budgie had assumed the role of ice queen. She condescended to answer a question if it suited her. Most times she pivoted her little head on its long neck in the direction of her lawyer and raised her eyebrows. Should she answer or not? When he nodded, she did so, in a clear, cool voice, devoid of emotion. Other times, the lawyer deflected the question with one of his own.
“Why are you pursuing this line of questioning? My client is blameless,” he asserted. “She was in Regina when her husband was murdered. She has told you already that she and Tamsin Longstaff were acquainted. They worked together and socialized occasionally, when required by the fact that Gerald Blaise and Ms. Longstaff were colleagues. That was all.”
Budgie grew even colder when confronted with the suggestion that she and Tamsin had been lovers.
“That,” she said, “is too ridiculous. Ask around. Anyone will tell you. I don’t do girls. Never have, never wanted to. I like men, Sergeant. And do not lack good male friends.”
Sergeant Dawes from the city police was a stolid kind of guy, not happy to be called into service on this case, late Friday afternoon before Thanksgiving weekend. He had kids. He wanted to be home, not here being patronized by this prima donna and her expensive lawyer. He folded his arms and let Sergeant Calloway take the brunt of it.
“You know all about Sam Geddes in Regina, don’t you? ’Course you do. You’ve been snooping around there, asking questions, haven’t you? Lovely man, Sam. Always available when I needed him, and he knew the score. Fun while it lasted.” Budgie sighed deeply. “There’s no one that I fancy much in the cast for the Scottish play, but I’m not in the mood anyway. Gerald was the real love of my life and now he’s gone. Do you always harass grieving widows?” Each syllable was a sarcastic, crystalline stalactite. “You police do have disgusting minds, don’t you?”
She took time to eyeball both of them. Budgie knew how to work her audience. “I suppose it comes with the job. Tell you what. Why don’t you get your minions to call all the theatres I’ve worked for over the years and ask them if they have ever heard tell of me making a move on any member of my own sex. And I’ll tell you what you’ll find. They will all tell you that the idea is ludicrous.”
“I think you have your answer, Sergeant,” said the smooth young lawyer, capping his fountain pen.
“No.” Budgie stretched out an elegant hand and touched his arm. “I insist. You police don’t believe a word I say. You think I’m acting all the time. So you need corroboration, don’t you?” The look that she fixed on Roxanne was contemptuous. “Maybe you can tell me one thing, Sergeant. Was it you or that thug you brought with you that destroyed Tamsin Longstaff with your threats and accusations?”
“Enough.” Her lawyer rose to his feet, eager to quit while they were ahead. But Budgie wasn’t quite finished.
“I didn’t especially like Tamsin,” she said, rising to her feet. “But she was good at her job. She was a great GM and she worked her butt off for that theatre. I took pity on her when I saw the state you people had reduced her to, as any decent human being would do.” She spoke directly to Roxanne again before she exited. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
The lawyer looked satisfied as he said goodbye and followed her.
A gloomy circle huddled around the coffee table in the wardrobe room at PTC. Toby Malleson was wrapped around a mug of hot tea. Jazz Elliott’s knitting needles clicked.
“She snapped. Too much pressure. And she’s been working way too hard.” Sadie sprawled in one of the armchairs. “Who’ll run things now?”
They shrugged. No one knew. Carla Hansen had Budgie’s stained lace negligee in her hand. It was ruined. She’d have to replace it. If Budgie was arrested, she’d have to rebuild all Lady Macbeth’s costumes to fit a different actor. Nell Bronson walked in, followed by Pedro Diaz.
“Toby,” she said, “you look like shit. Go home.”
“Marla Caplan’s called the board treasurer,” Pedro said. “She’s coming in for a meeting. She’ll sign off on the payroll while she’s at it.” He puffed out his chest. He had more important news. “Budgie’s been released and she’s taking a taxi home.”
“Good,” said Sadie. “We’ll all get paid and our lead actor’s back in business.”
Toby put down his cup and pulled himself up onto his feet.
“I wish someone could get Tamsin out of this mess,” he said. “But I guess that isn’t going to happen. I should go make sure Marla’s okay.”
“She’ll be fine.” Carla tossed the damaged negligee into a garbage can. “Nell’s right. You should go home. We should all go home. This has been a godawful day. I’m going to come in tomorrow, start fresh.”
“Good idea.” Jazz stuffed the knitting pins into her usual bag. She tapped Toby’s arm. “Give me a lift, eh? Back to the hotel.”
“Me too.” Sadie peeled herself out of the chair.
“Someone should check up on Budgie. Make sure she’s okay.” Nell watched as they piled on jackets, pulled on boots.
“You’re right!” Toby stopped, halfway to the door. “I should go do that.”
“No way.” Jazz pushed his back lightly. “You’re driving me, remember.”
“Budgie’ll be okay. I’m staying. Got some welding to do.” And Pedro strode off down the corridor towards his shop. He started to whistle. Stopped.
“Fuck’s sake, Pedro.” They all glared at him.
“Sorry!” Pedro spread his hands, apologetic. Whistling in the theatre brought bad luck.
“As if things aren’t bad enough already,” Sadie growled as she led them off in the opposite direction.
“Well.” Sergeant Dawes put his phone back in his pocket. “Looks like I’m stuck with this job for now. Jenkins is still in hospital, with a concussion. He’s supposed to take it easy. He won’t be back on the job for a couple of weeks. Are we about done for the day? It’s Thanksgiving weekend, dammit.”
“I’ve still got to talk to Tamsin Longstaff.”
The RCMP had had a doctor check Tamsin out. He’d said she was fit for questioning.
Izzy walked in the door, in time to hear Roxanne. “Too late. She got bail. Ten minutes ago.”
Roxanne was stunned. “How come? She injured a police sergeant!”
“Dunno.”
The corporal who manned the front desk told the story. Another sleek lawyer from Moran, Stevenson and Baillie had shown up and demanded to see his client, Ms. Longstaff. He’d emerged from the room and bawled them all out. Wanted to know why the lady was still locked up, in her condition. How well qualified was the doctor who had said she was fine? She obviously was not. He was going to get a second opinion.
“She was all right, wasn’t she?” Tamsin had been docile the last time Roxanne had seen her, being led from the office she had just destroyed.
“Guys said she just sat in the corner of the cell, shivering. Wasn’t making a fuss. Total mental breakdown, says her lawyer. He’s taking her straight to the hospital.”
“She attacked Coop Jenkins. She smashed a statue into his head. I saw it. I charged her with assault.” Roxanne shook her head in disbelief.
“Lawyer says it was self-defence. That he assaulted her first. Got bail.”
Roxanne replayed the scene in her head. Tamsin had yelled but she’d made no physical threat before Coop grabbed her. And he’d hung on. Then she had reacted, violently. He had restrained her, but had he needed to? Could that be construed as a physical attack?
“I have to go write a report,” Roxanne said. She needed to write down exactly what had happened while it was fresh in her head.
“Guess I’m done for the day!” Sergeant Dawes took the opportunity to make a beeline for the door.
“You can go, Izzy,” Roxanne said. There would be no interview today.
“You sure?” But Izzy looked relieved. She had mentioned that she and Matt were planning to go out to the new house near Cullen Village this weekend. It was going up fast. They needed to get the kitchen measured out. Roxanne texted her sister. She’d need another hour before she could pick up Finn.
She listened to what she had recorded of the scene between Coop Jenkins and Tamsin. Coop was aggressive, no doubt, but Tamsin had held her own until he brought up the suggestion of that possible sexual relationship between her and Budgie Torrance. That was when she had lost control.
There was no doubt that Cooper had made the first physical move. Tamsin’s voice, yelling, “Get off me!” could be heard, loud and clear, before a thump as the base of the statue made contact with Cooper’s head. You could hear another noise as his head made contact with the desk. But Tamsin had told him to let go before she had hit him. Her lawyer would make good use of that timing. Roxanne wrote up her report and sent it to Inspector Schultz, along with a copy of the audio. She could do no more. It was late, dark outside. Time to go home.
She didn’t notice that her car looked like it had shrunk until she reached for the handle. She looked down at the front tire. Flat. Then the back one. Also flat. Slowly she walked to the other side. Same thing. All four tires were flat. She hunkered down, turned on the flashlight on her phone to look closer. The wall of each tire had been deliberately punctured, stabbed with a sharp instrument. It looked like the work of Jem Sinclair. He might have been released. If he was on the loose, this could be a warning, in retaliation for having spoken to his brother. The car would have to be towed. It was the long weekend. Four new tires were going to cost her. Or she’d need to make an insurance claim.
The desk corporal rolled his eyes when she told him about the car, but he was helpful. He’d get a tow truck to haul her RAV4 to the garage. And he’d find out if anything was available in the carpool. Meantime she called the Youth Centre. Jem Sinclair had been released on a promise to appear in court. There was a contact number. It was disconnected, no surprise.
“There’s a Ford Focus you can have,” said the corporal. “It’s blue.” That was good. There were lots of them around. It was fairly anonymous. She drove it home. That night, once Finn was sound asleep, she poured a glass of wine and connected with Brian Donohue online.
“It’s been a rough day.” She sighed as she told him about how Tamsin had fallen apart, and why.
“Budgie denies she’s ever been interested in women, far less Tamsin. And that might be true. But Tamsin’s a loner. I don’t think she’s ever married. She’s supposed to have been in a relationship with Gerald Blaise years ago but there doesn’t seem to be anyone close to her right now. Maybe she was actually carrying a torch for Budgie.” Roxanne swallowed a mouthful of cab sav.
“You’ve got no proof.”
“I know, but it explains why she flipped.”
“Coop Jenkins has a reputation for crossing the line.” Brian had asked around on her behalf. She saw him frown on the screen. “That’s why he’s still a sergeant. He gets results but he doesn’t always follow the rules. Why didn’t you insist on taking her in? Make it a formal interview?”
“Didn’t think that he would be so aggressive.” Roxanne swallowed another mouthful, annoyed with herself. “Schultz insists that I make sure the city carries its share of the workload. So I did. It was Coop’s interview.”
“Was she a threat?” asked Brian. “Why did he go for her?”
“He grabbed hold of her. He didn’t hit her or anything.”
“But he made the first move? Well, sounds like Moran’s rallied his best troops in her defence. They’re going to eat him alive if they get a chance. And you too, if you’re not careful.”
“Thanks, Brian. I really needed to know that. Enjoy your weekend.” She ended the call as politely as she could. She was too tired to argue.
She had a message from Inspector Schultz. My office tomorrow 10.
“Oh, great,” she thought and poured herself another glass of wine.