“HERE, YOU NEED MORE whiskey.” Isobel closed the living room door and refilled Sunil’s glass with a healthy dram.
He brought it to his lips, hand shaking, and took a sip. “Poor Thomas. I’ve never seen a…you know…before.”
Delphi moved closer to him on the sofa. “It’s awful. But at least you weren’t immediately swarmed by cops who thought you killed him, like I was my first time. But I know how you’re feeling. It’s not something you get over easily.”
Isobel curled up in the armchair opposite and reflected that this was the fourth dead body she’d seen. Sunil had done his chivalrous best to shield them, but while Delphi had taken the directive to run for help, Isobel had pushed past his outstretched arm. Now the image of Thomas, his blood-soaked blond hair matted across the back of his head, was emblazoned in her mind. The other three victims she’d come across had either not been known to her personally, or, after a brief association, had been strenuously disliked. Thomas was different. She had enjoyed his flamboyant personality, and he had been unstinting with both his compliments and his gossip. Plus, he had taken care to make sure they all looked good onstage. All of which made her feel guilty for thinking him a possible murderer up until the moment they’d found his splayed corpse next to the dumpster.
Dillon and Pemberthy had returned to the theater to question those who were still there about their whereabouts during intermission and act two, but nobody had noticed anyone leaving the theater through the loading door, and, unsurprisingly, nobody confessed to coshing Thomas on the head with the blood-covered C-clamp found near his Bruno Magli-clad feet. Hugh wasn’t feeling well and had gone back to the condo right after the show to go to sleep. It was a good thing he wasn’t there. When Dillon asked what the three of them were doing in the alley, Isobel found herself answering with a lie.
“I lost an earring,” she’d said. “I was out here before the show getting some fresh air and collecting my thoughts, and I thought I might have dropped it then.”
Delphi had picked up her cue. “We were helping her look for it.”
Sunil had remained silent during the interview, but now, bolstered by the whiskey, he confronted Isobel.
“What possessed you to say that about your earring? I was about to tell him what we were looking for.”
“It was stupid, I know.” Isobel examined her hands. “I wanted time to think.”
“About what?” Sunil asked. “They need to know what Chris was doing out there. Especially now. Maybe Chris went back out to look for the photo and Thomas caught him.”
“During the show? Impossible. Chris practically never leaves the stage.”
“Sure he does. What about after Sousa’s death scene? We’re onstage for the entire finale without him.”
“Chris wouldn’t duck out and kill someone during the finale,” Isobel said. “You’re not thinking like an actor.”
“No, I’m thinking like a murderer,” Sunil returned. “Trying to, anyway.”
“Fine, but how would Thomas even know Chris burned a photo of Arden?” Delphi asked. “He wasn’t out there with you, was he? Say he was looking out the window or something, he wouldn’t have known what Chris was burning.”
“I don’t know.” Sunil threw himself back against the sofa in frustration. “Thomas always seemed to know everything.”
“Isobel’s right about one thing,” Delphi said. “Whoever it was followed Thomas out there intending to kill him.”
“But what was he doing out there?” Sunil asked.
“Looking for the bustle,” Isobel said quietly. “We sent him on a wild goose chase. It’s our fault he’s dead.” Tears leaked out the sides of her eyes.
“What? No.” Delphi’s face paled. “Sunil is right. Thomas must have known something.”
“Not necessarily,” Isobel said, her voice growing husky with anguish. “If the bustle wire was poisoned, the killer must have panicked when they saw you come on for the first-act finale without it. The person probably thought Thomas figured it out and got you to take it off.” She wiped her cheek. “But it was me. I made you take it off. I don’t think Thomas had any idea.”
“There is another possibility.” Delphi turned to Isobel. “I know you like to think you’re a genius sleuth, but the poisoned bustle might be a figment of your imagination. Something else entirely could be going on.”
Isobel hugged herself. “Like what?”
“Chris might have pricked Arden with some other sharp implement when she sat down. You couldn’t see his hands. She did give him a nasty look, which indicates that it was something she knew he did, rather than sitting on her own costume. You should have let Sunil tell Dillon about the picture.”
Isobel waved at Sunil. “Go ahead. No one’s stopping you.”
Sunil rubbed his forehead wearily. “Chris will deny it, unless we can produce the picture.”
“It’s probably not even there anymore,” Delphi said.
Isobel unfolded herself from her fetal position. “Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?”
“No,” they said together.
“Yes, you are. You’re both chickenshit. We have to go back for it.”
“Now?” Delphi exclaimed.
“When else? We don’t want to be seen poking around in the daytime.”
“I don’t think we want to be seen poking around at night,” Sunil said. “Besides, don’t you think they’ve found it by now? I’m sure they examined the ground thoroughly.”
“Maybe they missed it,” Isobel said.
“Or Chris went back for it yesterday and it’s long gone,” Delphi said. “Either way, the simple fact of his burning the picture doesn’t prove he killed her.”
“I know it doesn’t, but it does indicate a depth of feeling that I, for one, had no idea was there. You’re right that he was the only person in close proximity when she collapsed.” Isobel stood up. “This might be our only chance. You guys can come with me or not.”
Delphi and Sunil exchanged resigned looks.
Sunil pulled Delphi to her feet. “Come on. You know we’re not letting her go alone.”
They donned their coats, left the condo, and set out toward the theater in the frigid night.
“Shouldn’t we tell Hugh?” Delphi asked.
“He really wasn’t feeling well, and there’s no reason to wake him up just to upset him,” Isobel said. They walked in silence for another block before she spoke again. “Chris obviously hated working with Arden, but when I told him she was dead, he seemed genuinely distraught. I don’t know how to factor that in with the photo.”
“Relationships are complex,” Delphi opined. “They obviously had a past of some kind.”
Their steps slowed as they reached the theater.
“The street access to the alley is around here,” Sunil said.
They followed him down the block, where the alley snaked along the back of the building to the loading dock. The area was marked off with yellow and black tape. There was nobody around.
Delphi rocked from side to side to keep warm. “Are you sure about this? We’re disturbing a crime scene.”
Isobel ignored her. “Where exactly was the photo?”
Sunil pointed to a spot on the far side of the dumpster. “Right around there. But it might have been kicked or blown away. I think Delphi’s right. This is a bad idea.”
“But it’s my bad idea,” Isobel said, ducking beneath the tape.
She was under no illusions: this truly was a bad idea. But she also knew it was their last chance to look for the photo. She knelt down next to the dumpster. To her surprise, the area didn’t look as if it had been swept.
“Is this going to take all night?” Delphi called. “It’s freezing!”
Isobel stood. “Are you sure this is where it was?”
“Positive.”
She knelt down again and used the flashlight app on her phone to sift through the assortment of paper, dead leaves, bottle caps, and other detritus. Lost to herself for several minutes, she focused on her search but found no charred pieces of paper. She rose, empty-handed.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Hello.”
A deep voice broke through the stillness, and Isobel caught her breath. Detective Dillon emerged from the shadow of the loading dock, his hand extended.
“Looking for this?”