DEATH TAKES A BOW
Chapter Seven
"But who comes here? I am invisible,
And I will overhear their conference."
Adam was halfway through his weary task. Ms. Anwar had supplied him with a list of everyone who was present - forty three names in total - and he worked through it steadily, so deep in concentration that he barely looked up to register each person as he inked and recorded print after print, adding them to an ever-increasing pile of tencards.
Around him, the auditorium was emptying. Flack and his officers had almost finished taking statements by now, and people were finally starting to leave, rubbing their stained fingers in disgust as they headed out through a variety of exits. Lights were being turned off in unused corners of the theatre, casting eerie shadows across the faces of those who remained.
"You're joking, right?" said an angry voice nearby.
Adam lifted his head and stared at the fairy creature opposite, whose prints he was trying to capture. She shrugged and turned her gaze away, as if to say, I know. It was a young man who had spoken so aggressively, and the person on the receiving end of his outburst was Detective Flack.
The lab tech recognised the man at once.
Not just me, then, he thought, with a sense of relief. Don Flack had that expression on his face - the one that came before a truly withering remark.
"Nothing funny about murder," he told the actor, who was dressed in tight black breeches and a flowing shirt - sadly crumpled by now, with one side tucked in and the other hanging loose. The man's hair was long, and artfully tangled. He would have been handsome, were it not for the redness of his cheeks and a certain sleaziness in his manner. "I take my job seriously - unlike some." He raised one eyebrow, as the man's overpowering smell crept out of his personal space and headed for the detective. Don's nose wrinkled and his head turned sideways, ever so slightly.
"Pardon me?"
"You heard what I said." Somehow, Don was able to keep his temper. Adam held his breath as the young actor, Nathan, drew himself up and puffed out his chest with a drunkard's typical foolish bravado. He was tall, but skinny; a spring chicken looking for a cockfight.
Don could take him. Easy, the lab tech thought.
Unlike me.
Thank goodness it hadn't come to that, all alone in the darkness behind the stage...
"Look," said Flack, with a sigh. "I don't want to argue. I'm just trying to warn you. Rowena may not have been the target after all. Do you have any enemies, Mr. Howell?"
Easier, maybe, to ask if he has any friends. Adam stifled a giggle. The fairy had moved away by now, and a cheeky young sprite stepped up, with his hand outstretched. Adam reached for another card and set to work, but his ears were twitching.
"Course not." Nathan Howell folded his arms. "I'm famous. Everyone loves me. Don't you read the papers?"
"What's not to love..?" muttered Don, in disgust. "So you can't think of anyone here who would want to kill you? A jilted lover, maybe? Or someone who knows you..," he added, under his breath.
Nathan's florid face turned pale. "Who's been talking?" His dark brows narrowed. For a moment, his gaze shifted left, then right - which was when he caught sight of Adam. You, said the look in his eye.
The lab tech was suddenly very, very absorbed in his work. A flush crept up the back of his neck and spread out across his cheeks. Awesome.
"Just a lucky guess." Don watched the curious exchange and made a mental note to speak with Adam and find out exactly what it meant. In the meantime, this interview was turning into little more than a drunken ramble. "Sober up, Mr. Howell. Go home - and be careful. If you manage to stay alive until tomorrow, we'll speak again."
"I'll le' my lawyer know..." the actor slurred, peeling away from Don and heading backstage. As he loped past Adam, he leaned in and hissed at him, full of spirit-fuelled menace. "Later..."
"Not if I see you first," mumbled Adam, when he was out of earshot. Looking up, he saw that the sprite had gone - and Don Flack was standing in front of him. "Prints...?" he offered, trying for humour and failing miserably.
"Information," Don said. "Right now."
"Oh... okay." Feeling more than a little stupid, Adam gave a hesitant account of his adventures behind the scenes. Don listened carefully, without a word. "You really think that jerk is a target?" the lab tech asked, when his tale was over.
"I think if I knew him for more than a day, I'd want to kill him. Doesn't make him the target. But Mac says it's possible, so we have to check. Are you nearly done here?"
"Only a few more to go," lied Adam.
"Right then. I'm heading back to the precinct. I'll leave a couple of guys behind 'til you and Stella finish, just in case."
"We'll be fine..." Adam tried to hide his disappointment. Clearly, Flack didn't think that he could protect himself - or his colleague.
"Not your call." The detective turned away. "Oh - and Ross?"
"Yes?"
"Be careful, okay? That guy's a jerk, all right - a drunken jerk. And that makes him unpredictable. Watch your back..."
Adam's blue eyes followed Flack down the aisle.
Don't worry, he thought. I will...
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The heady scent of the roses was starting to overpower Stella. How on earth had Rowena coped? She shook her head to try and clear it as she fastened up the swab and labelled it neatly.
I need to stretch my legs...
Standing up once more, she stepped away from the couch and began to poke through the items on Rowena's dressing table. Stage make-up. Cold cream. Hairpins. Letters from fans. And a pad with a hasty note scrawled over the lines on the top page. Lawyer. Monday, 3pm.
Curious. Stella took a photograph of the jumbled spread, then lifted the notebook and dropped it into an evidence bag. Nothing? Or something? Only time would tell. But the smallest detail could make a difference. With that in mind, she also bagged the fan-mail. Who knew what pyschopaths could be lurking behind those innocent pages?
Moving across to the clothes rack, where Rowena's everyday clothes mingled humbly with shimmering fairy robes, Stella was startled by an unexpected noise.
It came from outside the room - a sharp thud, rather like an elbow striking the wall by accident. She stood still, and listened. In the corridor, whoever-it-was began to tiptoe away, their footsteps muffled, but urgent.
Someone was spying on her.
Angry by now, she strode to the door and peered out. But there was a junction nearby, and the unknown spy had already slipped round the corner to safety. Dammit, thought Stella. She knew that she couldn't leave the evidence behind, unguarded, just to go chasing shadows. It was so frustrating.
Closing the door, she settled back down to work, documenting the whole room in photographs, and bagging anything that could possibly hold a clue to Rowena's killer. The activity focussed her mind and, as her temper cooled, logic returned. Maybe, after all, it was nothing more than a stagehand satisfying their morbid curiosity.
Half an hour later, Stella had finished at last. Closing her case with a snap, she lifted the bundle of evidence and headed back out of the room in search of Adam. Surely the lab tech would be done with his prints by now? And, if not, he would probably welcome a helping hand. Stella smiled at the image of his friendly face and how it would light up if she made the offer.
Backstage, the theatre was growing cold. Clearly, an outer door was open somewhere. Stella's mind wandered idly, trying to calculate the cost of heating such an old and awkward building.
Passing the stairs, she never saw the stranger step out of the shadows.
Two invisible hands shoved her roughly in the small of the back. Stella found herself tumbling through the open doorway. Dropping everything, she reached out to grab the handrail, but missed. Her heel slipped on the polished floor, and her ankle turned. With no chance of recovery, Stella toppled headlong down the stairs, too startled to scream.
Behind her, the door closed quietly.
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A/N: In light of Mahala's unfortunate incident (see reviews), Myriad-13 and I would like to suggest a new rating for fanfic, especially those stories containing Don Flack, Mac or Adam, which can be used for the whole story, or just individual chapters: NC. No Coffee. (This can also apply to tea, orange juice, or a wide variety of hot or sticky beverages that could seriously damage your keyboard/phone/laptop...)
Once again, Mahala... So sorry!
DebbieA: Thanks for your review. Don't worry - plenty of Adam to come... (you know me!)
