True to his word, Michael was waiting for Toni in a taxi when she stepped out through the studio doors the next afternoon.
“Sorry,” she said. “We were supposed to finish at two today, but Leo doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘quit.’ I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not long.” He helped her into the cab. “Did you have lunch?”
“Yes, Leo always has time for the catering company.”
“Good, because I want to be downtown before it gets too late.”
“Too late for what? When you phoned me this morning, you said you had some information. Is it good information or bad?”
“Good. I think you’ll be glad to hear it.”
“Then that’s okay.” She settled back in the seat and smiled at him. She had looked forward to the opportunity to be with him again, admired his looks, his casual grace.
As the taxi snaked through near-gridlock traffic on lower Broadway, Michael smiled back at her. “Did you know Craig Landis was responsible for a con named Victor Marino being sent to prison?”
“I believe you told me something like that when we met in your office.” Toni’s smile turned into a stare. Was Michael’s news about that? “Did he kill Craig?”
“My investigator, Gil Jankowicz, has been working on the case, trying to find out who might have killed Landis.”
“He suspects this Victor Marino because Landis sent him to prison years ago? How did that happen?”
Michael elaborated. “Apparently, Landis was shooting a fashion layout in midtown, across the street from a bank, unaware Marino was inside, robbing it. According to what Gil learned, loud alarms went off when Marino ran out.”
“So how did Craig get involved?”
“He kept shooting film and got about ten clear pictures of Marino, wearing a ski mask and getting into a getaway car. Which turned out to be stolen.”
“A ski mask?” she repeated. “Then how could he be identified?”
Michael clearly enjoyed telling what he’d learned, even had a chuckle in his voice. “Picture this: as Marino closed the car door behind him, he pulled the mask off his face. Landis got a perfect set of pictures right through the windshield of the car. The driver, too, although he’s no longer of interest. He was killed in a prison fight three years ago.”
“Victor Marino just got out of prison, right? That’s what you told me when you mentioned him originally.”
“Yes. He survived seven years in Attica prison and was released a month ago.”
Had he been the one to break into her place? Her hands closed into tight fists. She dragged in a deep breath, held it, then slowly released it.
As the cab proceeded downtown, Michael continued, “If it hadn’t been for Landis, Marino would have gotten away with the bank robbery.”
“Did Craig testify at the trial?”
“Evidently. He might not have intended to come forward, but witnesses saw him shooting the pictures. It seems good police work put him on the scene, and a search warrant turned up the photos in his studio.”
“So the pictures helped to convict Marino?”
“Yes, he served his time in a maximum security prison.”
“Did Marino know Craig was responsible for his conviction?”
“He must have.”
A silent alarm went off in Toni’s mind. What better motive for murder than revenge? And Marino was a criminal whose seven years in prison gave him ample time to plan how he would exact that revenge. Toni wasn’t naive enough to think prison rehabilitated many criminals. On the contrary, she believed incarceration hardened them further. Marino, she supposed, fit the profile, which in her mind put an infinitely more dangerous complexion on things. If he killed Craig. If she saw him do it. Whether she did or not, he couldn’t take the chance.
“Toni?”
She came out of her visualization. “I’m listening.”
“So we’re on our way downtown to look at some mug shots. If Marino is on them and you recognize him, maybe he’s the one who killed Landis.”
And perhaps planned to kill her, too.
“Maybe his picture will jar your memory.”
She wondered if anything ever would, but as they continued on their way, she tried to keep her thoughts positive.
The cab pulled up in front of the station house. Michael paid the driver, and they stepped out into the late afternoon heat.
They entered the station house and spoke to the duty officer who directed them to the second floor. As they exited from the elevator, they almost collided with Detective Devine.
He recognized them, but his eyes lacked warmth. “Miss Abbott, Counselor.” He wore dark slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt. A plastic identification badge hung from the pocket. He looked as if he’d just put in a twenty-four hour shift that left him disgruntled.
He focused on Michael. “We’ve got some pictures to show Miss Abbott. We’d like to put Marino in a line-up, but so far we haven’t been able to find him.” He looked next at Toni. “But we will.”
She tried to read his expression. It told her nothing. She also wondered what he’d learned about her over the past week and if they’d started a file on Toni Abbott. Was her life story sequestered in one of the many filing cabinets lining the walls—there for anyone to see? The mere possibility made her feel violated.
Her gaze took in the large impersonal squad room. Naked fluorescent tubes overhead cast a harsh light down on the drab walls and bruised furniture.
Detective Henderson stood up as they approached. He opened an envelope, removed the mug shots, and arranged them on the desk.
Toni leaned over the desk and studied the pictures. They showed six different men on a single page, all front view. Each man held a placard printed with several numbers. None looked familiar. She stared for several minutes at a thin, sallow-faced man with dark hair and sullen eyes, studying his face carefully. She hoped he, or one of the other five, would fit into the blank space of Wednesday night and shout at her, “That’s me. I killed Craig!”
However, nothing like that happened. “Sorry.” She didn’t try to conceal her disappointment.
Henderson shrugged. “If we get hold of Marino, we’ll get in touch and do the line-up.”
“Thanks. I’ll make sure I’m available, as long as I’m not shooting a scene.” She turned to Michael. “I’d like to go.”
The detectives departed, and she and Michael retraced their steps out of the building.
“It didn’t work.” Toni’s voice sounded dull in her ears.
“The police are still interested in Marino. They wouldn’t have his file and mug shots otherwise. He has a prior connection to Landis, and that establishes motive.”
“And what if he has an iron-clad alibi?”
A cab sped by. Michael tried to hail it, but it continued on. After his gaze alternated between the street, Toni, and the face of his watch, he said, “It’s almost six. Let’s talk about it over dinner.”
A cab pulled up to the curb, Michael opened the door, and they slid into the back. He gave the driver the name of a steak and seafood restaurant, and they rode there in silence.
They were seated in a booth against the wall of a restaurant that appeared to be as old as the Brooklyn Bridge. Both ordered the salmon with rice pilaf and mixed vegetables.
“Don’t be discouraged.” Michael helped himself to a breadstick from the basket on the table. “There are other suspects.”
“Such as?”
“Eric Kaufmann, for one. He rents the office Landis used Wednesday night.”
“A businessman.” Toni placed no hope in that revelation.
“We don’t know for sure, but there might have been some animosity between them.”
Toni thought that over for a moment. “He loaned Craig the office to take the photographs. Why would he use the scene of his business to kill him? He should know it would incriminate him.”
“It’s the same principle Devine is working on. What if the killer deliberately made it look obvious in order to throw the police off the scent? That’s why he considers you a suspect.”
“And if his alibi proves he couldn’t have done it?”
“There are other leads—the widow for one. I wouldn’t be surprised if the detectives are busy checking out Suzanne Landis.”
“That reminds me. I went to Craig’s funeral yesterday. I hoped that somehow the missing piece would come into focus, but no such luck.”
“Don’t give up. Ninety per cent of amnesia victims eventually remember everything.”
“Is that true, or did you just make it up?”
He grinned. “Lawyers are under a solemn oath not to make up statistics.”
Grateful for the light note, she relaxed. The waiter brought their meal, and she waited until he’d left them alone again before continuing. She described the violent encounter between Suzanne and Craig’s last mistress, the model Kristianna.
“And they actually came to blows?”
“It started with a slap and deteriorated into a hair-pulling match. Plus, she tried to choke Suzanne.”
He nodded. “A woman like that might be capable of murder.”
That was possible, but Toni much preferred the idea of Victor Marino.
“Did you overhear what led to the fight?” he asked.
“I only caught snatches, but it was Kristianna who approached Suzanne. The conversation began quietly enough, but in time both women raised their voices. It seems Kristianna is pregnant, and Craig is the father. Shortly after her revelation, the fight started.”
“Interesting. Suzanne might have a motive if she knew about Craig’s infidelity. This model, Kristianna, has one as well. Maybe, after getting her pregnant, Landis was ready to move on to someone else.”
“Do you think the police will pursue it?” Skeptical, Toni heard her own voice rise. “Someone killed Craig, invaded my apartment, almost killed my cat, and still intends to kill me. He, or she, might get to me again. Unless the detectives find that person soon, I’m in danger.” She fought back the sinking feeling that threatened to engulf her.
Michael put a comforting hand on her arm. “They know what they’re doing. They’ll follow all the leads.” He reached for his glass and took a sip of water. “Let’s not forget the other people in the cast of your show. One or more of them might have a reason to want to murder Landis.”
“That’s possible. I’m sure you’re aware that there is plenty of backstage romance and intrigue in every theatrical setting. The temptations are so great.”
“What about you? Did you ever have a romance with a fellow actor?”
Toni stopped eating , took a drink of water, and thought about Bryndon Shea.
“I’m not immune. There was a young actor I met when I was at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago.” She could still picture him: the blond hair that sometimes fell over his forehead, the blue eyes so much like Mike’s, the voice that reminded her of a famous movie actor she’d admired as a preteen.
Michael filled in the silence. “You and he were in love?”
She smiled. “We certainly thought we were.” She took a piece of bread from the basket and buttered it. “His parents were very much against his becoming an actor, and after the first season, he dropped out. I think he’s in medical school, or maybe graduated already. His father was a doctor and wanted him to practice in the same small town where they lived.”
“Do you ever wonder what might have been?”
“You mean if I’d given up my own theatrical ambitions and followed him back to Indiana?”
“Something like that.”
“No. I seldom think about him and never with regret. Except for that brief time on stage, I don’t think we had much in common.” She shrugged. “He probably feels the same way, thanks his lucky stars he didn’t get entangled with me.”
Her stated version of the end of the romance differed slightly from reality. True, she didn’t regret the breakup now, but eight years ago …. Well, he was just another person who had moved through her life and proved untrustworthy.
Michael leaned back in his chair. “So you’re back to being Alexandra Bradshaw these days.”
“Yes, but she’s in a hospital bed waiting for the writers to decide if she lives or dies.”
“If your part doesn’t continue, what then?”
“You mean where will I go next?” She raised her gaze. “Who knows? Another soap, maybe. If I’m lucky, a recurring role on a night-time drama, perhaps even a starring role in something.” She shrugged.
“Or a chance to go to Hollywood and do feature films?”
“That’s a lovely dream, but if it happened, I hope I could still live in New York. As I said, I like it here, so I wouldn’t want to leave for good.”
“What do you do between acting jobs?”
“I’m a fairly good waitress, experienced anyway. And I’ve done a few commercials.”
“Do they pay well?”
“Pretty good. Before I got the part of Alexandra, residuals from commercials paid for acting, singing, and dancing lessons.”
“All that?”
“Oh yes, actors today have to be prepared to do anything. If they want a dancer, I’m a dancer. If they want a singer, I’m their gal.”
“But you’d rather act?”
“Actors can have a longer career than dancers. And most singers wear out their voices eventually—Tony Bennett’s long career to the contrary.”
“What commercials have you appeared in that I might have seen?”
“I can’t think of any at the moment. They always shoot them so far in advance—wool in summer, bathing suits in winter. Last February a commercial I landed put me knee-deep in the Atlantic Ocean wearing a swimsuit. I almost caught pneumonia.” She grinned at Michael, remembering. “The photographer told me death in New York was preferable to life in Iowa.”
She realized she’d actually laughed, and Michael laughed with her. It felt good.
He cleared his throat and brought the subject back to their current dilemma. “There’s one more thing, and this time I think it really could be good news.”
Toni shrugged. “I could use a lot of that.”
“You know Landis took photographs that night.”
She knew because she’d been told, but that Wednesday night, a week in the past, was still very much a void for her.
“The police impounded the film. By now, it’s been developed. When they’ve finished with the pictures, I’d like you to take a look at them.”
“What could they tell us? If anyone else showed up on the film, the police would have made an arrest by now.”
“I’m hoping the pictures will be a catalyst. Maybe they’ll trigger your memory of that night.”
“The pictures could be the key, I suppose.”
“If that fails, would you agree to be hypnotized by a trained professional?”
She thought that over for a minute. “Yes, of course.” She was immediately struck by the irony. Originally the writers on Beekman Place had planned to have Alexandra hypnotized so she could regress to a previous life in Victorian England. That was why Craig had photographed her in that office, wearing the old-fashioned dress. If Toni herself were hypnotized, life would be imitating art in a sense. Presumably she wouldn’t have a past life regression.
“We’ll try the pictures first. I’ll have Gil find out when the police are ready to release them.”
They rode in a cab back to Michael’s sister’s apartment. When the cab stopped, he helped her out and took her hands in his.
He spoke softly. “Somehow I have a feeling that once you see the pictures, the curtain will lift. You’ll know for certain what took place in the office that night.”
“Perhaps then I’ll know who killed Craig and who tried to kill me.” She paused. “Next time they might succeed.”
“No, whoever is guilty won’t succeed.” He released her hands and moved away. “Well, good night.” He waited until she was inside before he left.
Once inside the apartment, Toni took a deep breath, relieved to have somehow survived another day.