Witness in Death (In Death #10)(35)

What was half a million to an actor?

He used the stage door, keying in his code. His palms were a little sweaty. Nerves and excitement. The door closed behind him with a metallic, echoing clang. Then he breathed in the scent of the theater, drew in the glorious silence of it. He felt a tug at his heart, sharp and unexpected.

After today, he'd be giving this up. The smells, the sounds, the lights, and lines. It was all he'd really ever known, and the sudden realization of love for it rocked him.

Didn't matter a damn, he reminded himself, and turned to the stairs that led below the stage. They had theaters on Tahiti if he wanted a busman's holiday. He could even maybe open his own little regional place. A theater-casino palace.

That was a thought.

The Linus Quim Theater. Had a ring to it.

At the base of the stairs, he turned right, down the twisty corridor. He was humming now, happy in his own space, bubbling lightly with anticipation of what was to come.

An arm snaked out, hooked around his neck. He yelped, more in surprise than fear, started to turn.

Fumes poured into his mouth and nose. His vision blurred, his head rang. He couldn't feel his extremities.

"What? What?"

"You need a drink." The voice whispered in his ear, friendly, comforting. "Come on, Linus, you need a drink. I got the bottle out of your locker."

His head drooped down, weighing like a stone on his skinny neck. All he could see behind his eyelids were bleeding colors. His feet shuffled over the floor as he was gently led to a seat. He swallowed obediently when a glass was held to his lips.

"There, that's better, isn't it?"

"Dizzy."

"That'll pass." The voice stayed soft and soothing. "You'll just feel very calm. The tranq's mild. Hardly more than a kiss. You just sit there. I'll take care of everything."

"Okay." He smiled vaguely. "Thanks."

"Oh, it's no trouble."

The noose had already been prepared from a long length of rope culled from the fly floor. Gloved hands slipped it smoothly around Linus's neck, snugged and straightened it.

"How do you feel now, Linus?"

"Pretty good. Pretty damn good. I thought you'd be pissed."

"No." But there was a sigh that might have been regret.

"I'm taking the money and going to Tahiti."

"Are you? I'm sure you'll enjoy that. Linus, I want you to write something for me. Here's your pen. That's the way. Here's the pad you always use to make your notes. You never use an e-pad, do you?"

"Paper's good enough for me, goddamn it." He hiccupped, grinned.

"Of course. Write this down, would you? 'I did it.' That's all you have to say. Just write 'I did it,' then sign your name. Perfect. That's just perfect."

"I did it." He signed his name in a stingy little scrawl. "I figured it out."

"Yes, you did. That was very clever of you, Linus. Are you still dizzy?"

"Nope. I feel okay. I feel fine. Did you bring money? I'm going to Tahiti. You did everybody a favor by wasting that stupid bastard."

"Thank you. I thought so, too, Let's stand up now. Steady?"

"As a rock."

"Good. Would you do me a favor? Could you climb up the ladder here? I'd like you to loop this end of the rope over that pole and tie it off. Nice and snug. Nobody ties knots like a veteran stagehand."

"Sure thing." He went up, humming.

On the ground, his killer watched with heart-thrumming anticipation. There had been fear when the note had arrived. Tidal waves of fear and panic and despair.

Those were done now. Had to be done. Only mild irritation and the spur of challenge remained.

How to deal with it? The answer had come so smoothly, so clearly. Eliminate the threat, give the police their killer. All in one stroke.

In moments, only moments now, it would all be done.

"All tied off!" Linus called. "She'll hold."

"I'm sure. Oh no, Linus, don't walk back down."

Confused, he shifted on the ladder, looked down at the smiling face below. "Don't walk down?"

"No. Jump. Jump off the ladder, Linus. Won't that be fun? Just like jumping into the pretty blue water in Tahiti."

"Like in Tahiti? That's where I'm going once I'm flush."

"Yes, like Tahiti." The laughter was delighted, encouraging. A careful ear might have heard the strain beneath it, but Linus only laughed in return. "Come on, Linus. Dive right in! The water's fine."

He grinned, held his nose. And jumped.

This time death wasn't quiet. The panicked, kicking feet knocked the ladder down with a thunderous clatter. It hit the bottle of brew in an explosion of glass. Choked gasps forced their way through the tightened noose, became rattles. For seconds, only seconds, but the air seemed to scream with them.

And then there was only the faint creak of the rope swinging. Like the creak of a mast in high seas, it was curiously romantic.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Weighing in Mira's profile of the killer, the scales drop on the side of a performer. An actor," Eve continued. "Or someone who wants or wanted to be one."

"Well, you got your headliners." Feeney stretched out his legs. "Your second string, your extras. Add them all up, you still got more than thirty potentials. You add the wanna-bes to that, and Christ knows."