"I understand that," Brass said. So far, the man - Michael McKean, according to his notes - had been repeating variations on the same theme for the past five minutes, and there were still quite a few people left to interview. "I need you to focus. You're the stage manager. What do you do?"
"I make sure scenery is moved on and off stage at the proper times. I 'manage' the stage. Keep the actors quiet in the wings, work with the stagehands. It's a very important job," he added pompously.
"I'm sure," Brass muttered. "Where were you when Ms. Tolmen fainted?"
"In the wings, stage right. We needed to move the wedding scenery offstage, mop and sweep, and move the prison scenery onstage during intermission. I was standing with my crew waiting for the scene to finish."
"And what did you see?"
"It didn't seem like anything, at first." The handkerchief once again made its way to his forehead, and Brass amused himself by suddenly realizing how much McKean looked like Conrad Ecklie. "She just fainted. She was supposed to. Hero faints when Claudio accuses her, and she remains unconscious until he leaves. It's why he believes Benedick when he tells him she's dead."
"But Ms. Tolmen didn't wake up," Brass stated, wondering what kind of a name Hero was. Grissom would know, of that he was sure.
"No. I assumed she was just very deep into the character. She missed two lines." Of all the things Brass had heard McKean say so far, he seemed most distressed when relaying the fact that Bianca had missed her lines. "Until Colin and Joe had to carry her offstage, and then I lost sight of her."
"Okay, Mr. McKean, thank you for your help." Brass stood and closed his steno book with the three lines of notes he had taken.
"Can I go home now?" he asked. "My wife will be waiting up for me. She gets upset when I'm late."
Definitely henpecked, Brass thought to himself, and then smirked inwardly at the image of Ecklie being chased around a kitchen by a woman wielding a rolling pin. "We'll let you know, Mr. McKean."
Brass stood and made his way to where Catherine was talking to a woman in a fern green pantsuit, platinum blonde hair curled and coiffed carefully. She looked like a silent movie star, carefully outlined pouting lips and wide crystal blue eyes included.
Apparently the interview was just starting, and Brass hitched up his pants to sit down and watch. Out of all the CSIs, Catherine had a flair for the person-to-person interviewing process, and he'd tried more than once to suggest to her that she would make a very good detective. But she loved crime scene analysis too much to switch over. In the meantime, she bent the rules as much as possible and interviewed witnesses and suspects whenever she could. Brass would have been more upset, but Catherine was far too good at what she did.
"Ms. Calvert - " Catherine began.
"Josephine," the woman corrected lazily, shifting her eyes over to take in Brass's presence, and he was suddenly reminded of a snake flicking out its tongue to smell the air and test for new variables.
"Ms. Calvert," Catheine began again firmly, and Brass expanded his animal analogy to think of Catherine as an especially pernicious terrier.
It must be the theater's influence, because his imagination was definitely in overdrive tonight.
"You were next to Ms. Tolmen when she fainted?"
"As the script called for," Josephine demurred, steepling long white fingers against each other. "Stage directions for our production had Beatrice catching Hero and cradling her while Claudio accused her."
"So you caught and cradled," Catherine inferred.
"I did."
"What was your impression of Ms. Tolmen's condition?"
"She had fainted." Josephine shrugged fluidly. "It looked no different than any other person fainting. She paled, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp in my arms. It was all I could do to stay upright." She paused and tilted her head to the side, considering. "I imagine it looked quite realistic from the audience's perspective, and until she missed her first line I was rather impressed myself."
"And after that?"
"Colin and Joseph carried her offstage, and I had to continue on in my scene with Richard."
"That would be Richard Ellory?" Brass interrupted, checking the program Jessica Keller had given him to work from to check off production members in the theater that night.
"Yes. He plays Benedick. We had our scene together, and by the time we came offstage, the ambulance had already arrived and taken Bianca away."
"And where is Mr. Ellory now?" Catherine asked.
"I haven't the slightest idea. He left very soon after that." The long, pale fingers now drummed against the armrest of the theater seat Josephine was lounging in. "I imagine by this hour of the night he's gone home, but one never knows with Richard."
Brass made a note to search out the missing actor as soon as possible. "Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to harm Ms. Tolmen?"
Josephine smiled in a tolerantly amused way. "Apart from her understudy? Ours is a cutthroat business, officer, and Bianca came to the role young, and ahead of several more experienced actresses. But she earned it. She was very, very good at what she did."
"And the understudy's name would be..." Catherine prompted, pen poised.
Those lazy eyelids flickered in slight surprise. "Surely you didn't take me seriously. I was merely giving an example."
"The name," Brass said firmly.
Blue eyes watched them both for a few seconds, and then a corner of Josephine's mouth turned ever so slightly upwards. "Mallory Smith. I'm afraid I don't know where she is now, either. She also left when the rest of the show was canceled."
"And why didn't you leave?" Catherine asked, and seemed genuinely curious.
For the first time, Brass detected a hint of warmth in the crystal eyes and slight smile. "Jessica insisted on waiting for the police to arrive, and I dislike going home to an empty bed."
"Ah." Catherine's voice was amused, as if she appreciated having been mistaken. "Thank you, Ms. Calvert."
"My pleasure." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Have you ever tried the stage, Ms. Willows?"
"I danced," Catherine hedged, wary of where this line of questioning was leading.
"I thought as much," Josephine said, satisfied. "You move like a dancer."
"Thank you," Catherine said with a smile, and Brass had the distinct impression that some female bonding ritual had occurred entirely over his head. The criminalist and detective stood, leaving Josephine to return to the book she'd been reading before they approached.
"Well?" Brass asked, when they were out of earshot.
"She's a cool one," Catherine admitted, grudging admiration in her voice. "But I don't like her for it. She had nothing to gain."
"As far as we know." Brass looked around. For the most part, the only people who had stayed at the theater were stage crew who would have stayed after the play was over anyway to make sure the props were replaced and the scenery hadn't been damaged. Other officers were taking their statements with methodical procedure. Only two people who had been in a position to view Bianca's collapse remained. "Two left. Colin Amberly and Joseph Mountebank." He double-checked his program. "Senor Leonato and the Friar, respectively. They carried Ms. Tolmen offstage."
"I'll take Amberly," Catherine offered.
"Then I have Mountebank," Brass accepted, and pointed out Amberly for Catherine to talk to, approaching Mountebank himself.
"You have got to be kidding me," Greg said, staring at the fourth carton of evidence Nick set on the counter in front of him. "All of this?"
"We have to find out how she was poisoned before we can start looking for who poisoned her," Nick reminded him unnecessarily. "Calm down, okay? I'll help for a little while."
"A little while?" The note of dismay was no less. "Thanks ever so much."
"Or, hey, I could go help Archie with the tapes, or Ronnie with the QD stuff, or I could start matching the footprints Sara pulled, or..." Nick stood as if to leave, and Greg caught his sleeve.
"No, no, no," he said quickly. "Let's not be hasty. Remind me again what I'm looking for."
"Strychnine," Nick said, and Greg winced.
"Nasty stuff. Attacks the central nervous system, right?"
"You convulse, you suffocate, you die," Nick confirmed. "Not a pretty way to go at all. My grandfather had a cattle ranch - he used to bait carcasses with it to get rid of coyotes." He shivered in remembrance. "I was up staying with him one vacation when he took me out to set the traps. He had us ride a little ways off and wait. We weren't more than twenty yards away, but it had been a long winter and this coyote was practically starving to death, so he devoured the meat we'd left. He had nothing in his stomach; it went straight through his intestines into his blood. Ten, fifteen minutes tops, and he was gone."
Greg, meanwhile had pulled out a thick book from the cabinet, and was reading aloud. "Strychnine antagonizes the action of glycine, the amino acid responsible for transmitting inhibitory nerve impulses which control muscle contraction. In addition, there is an increase in brain levels of glutamic acid, an amino acid that acts as a transmitter for excitatory nerve impulses that excite muscle contraction. Skeletal muscles contract indiscriminately - a seizure. Convulsions prevent respiration, and the victim suffocates. Blech."
"Yeah," Nick agreed. "It's not even widely used as a pesticide anymore because it's considered inhumane. We need to find whoever thinks it's a good idea to use it on a human being."
Greg continued reading silently for a few seconds and shut the thick book, pushing himself back across the room to replace it on the shelf. "All right, what first?"
Nick reached into a carton and pulled out a tupperware half full of a rice dish. "This is as good a place to start as any."
Greg accepted the tupperware and, keeping it well away from his face, scraped out a sample. "Charge."