I own the people you don't recognise from the TV show. I don't own those you do, nor do I own Legally Blonde: The Musical (or its costumes), the Palace Theatre, Wicked the musical (or costumes), or any other registered names, trademarks or people who may be mentioned. Please don't sue me, I have a grand total of 32p. Can't even buy a loaf of bread with that!
With thanks to delgaserasca for the beta.
LULLABY OF BROADWAY
(sleep tight, let's call it a day; listen to the lullaby of old Broadway)
(xx 5 xx)
Sophie Bennett took a deep breath. She squared her shoulders and prepared for her grand finale. She continued to sing, occasionally glancing down at the conductor for cues. She gazed out over the audience. She couldn't see much past the first three rows, but she caught the eye of her best friend in the second row and grinned as the music came to a breathtaking crescendo, before pausing dramatically. Taking another breath, she opened her mouth to sing.
A shot rang out in the theatre.
(xxx)
"Damn it!" Flack's fist connected with his desk. Stella looked up expectantly.
"Bastard's done it again," he fumed. "Palace Theatre. Uniforms have the scene secured."
(xxx)
"Sophie Bennett, thirty one, shot once – right between the eyes." A young uniformed officer stepped aside to allow Don and Stella access to the stage. Don nodded curtly, thanking him for the initial information.
"Nice costume," Stella commented dryly, indicating the short skirt, brightly coloured cardigan and t-shirt with a print of a bulldog.
"The rest of the cast are in the green room, audience are still behind the curtain."
"I want uniforms speaking to everyone who is not in the first five rows. Keep the first five rows quarantined," Flack directed. Stella crouched and poked at a piece of set with gloved fingers. She held up a bullet triumphantly and dropped it into a small brown envelope.
(xxx)
"She was the only one on stage. I'd left, like, a minute and a half before. Oh, God," Veronica Parrish sobbed. "I wasn't even watching."
"You couldn't have changed anything even if you were," Flack held back his rage and comforted the sobbing actress. "Tell me about Ms Bennett."
"She was the star of the show," Veronica began. She pulled her wig off her head and began to unpin the wig cap from her hair. "My name may be on the posters, but Sophie was the star."
(xxx)
"Kennedy Leigh James?" A short, blonde-haired woman shuffled into the room with her shoulders slumped miserably. Don raised his head from the open playbill pages on the table and greeted her.
She nodded and wiped her eyes. Her mentor had been killed as she watched from the wings. She felt sick. Swallowing hard, she raised her head to look at the two detectives with red-rimmed eyes. She had heard about the previous murder – everyone had – and like everyone else, she was on tenterhooks.
"I understudied her role," Kennedy began. She stared at her hands, folded in her lap. She twisted her fingers nervously. "She was always so sweet to me – to everyone. I don't understand why someone would do this – not to Sophie."
(xxx)
"Mr Lake, how well did you know Miss Bennett?" Stella leant forward and rested her elbows on her thighs.
"Well enough to know she was a stuck up bitch." Freddy Lake sat back in the plastic chair, throwing his hands behind his head.
"Tell me more," Don interrupted.
"She was the social butterfly. She organised all the get-togethers and the meals and the parties and whatnot. Never asked me. Never asked Sid either. Sid reckons it's because we grew up in the Bronx or somethin'."
"So it's safe to say the two of you didn't get along?"
"Truthfully, we never really talked." Freddy's accent, softened by years of vocal training, strengthened to meet Don's with each word. "She did her thing and I did mine. Our paths crossed occasionally, but that's about it. I'm sorry I can't tell you much."
"You've been very helpful," Stella told him, before she ushered him out and closed the door. She exhaled heavily and looked to her colleague for assurance.
"Think this was hate-motivated?" Don asked.
"With the same MO as Holly Cassidy, who by all accounts couldn't swat a fly? You're grasping at straws, Flack."
(xxx)
"We have a lead!" Stella perched on the edge of Don's desk. He looked up expectantly. "Both Holly Cassidy and Sophie Bennett are graduates of Cincinnati's College-Conservatory of Music."
"Same year?" Don leant back in his chair, massaging his aching temples with his fingertips.
"Sophie graduated five years before Holly."
"So where's the lead?"
"He's targeting CCM graduates!" Stella's voice rose as her frustration increased. She couldn't believe how oblivious Don was being to the obvious connection.
"Two is not 'targeting'; two is 'coincidence'," Don stated.
"Come on, Flack, since when do you believe in coincidence?"
"CCM is the only thing to connect these victims. They have nothing in common on their resumes, they don't look alike and they didn't even graduate in the same year. Hell, they didn't even co-exist at CCM."
"Work with me here. Can you find out class schedules from CCM? Get me lists of students studying there at the same time as Holly and Sophie."
"I'll get right on it," Don sighed. He pushed himself forward and began to tap at his keyboard.
"Thanks. Hey, Flack? How are you holding up? I know it's hard for you with Lissa so close to this…" Stella stood to leave, but placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder.
"I'm doing okay; it's Liss I'm worried about. She won't talk about what's happened – she won't even mention it unless she's yelling at me for not having caught the guy. I can't even tell her where we stand, investigation-wise."
"I'm sure she understands. Flack, she just lost one of her best friends. She's angry and she's grieving. Give her time."
"Yeah. Thanks, Stel." Don turned back to his computer and Stella squeezed his shoulder before leaving. It wasn't long before a shadow fell over his desk. He looked up to find his girlfriend with red-rimmed eyes and a small teddy bear in her arms. He stood immediately and embraced her, kissing the top of her head and crushing her against his chest. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to protect her from anything and everything negative the world had to offer.
Lissa pulled away after a few moments and held the bear out to him. "This is Roger," she told him. "He's for you. I've been a bitch. I suck at apologies, so he's apologising for me."
Don couldn't help but smile. He took the bear and sat it on his desk behind his keyboard, before hugging Lissa again. "You don't have to apologise, Liss. You've nothing to apologise for." She sighed into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, content just to hold him and be held in return.
(xxx)
"The only thing our two vics have in common is a professor at CCM, Dave Gerald. He still teaches there, he has a confirmed alibi to cover both murders."
"So we're back to square one," Stella sighed. She wiped at a speck of imaginary dirt on her trouser leg. "This is crazy, Flack. There has to be something."
"I cross-checked everyone on their class lists and in the yearbooks for each year they were at CCM with lists of convicted felons and found nothin' – just a DUI from four years ago."
"So what do we do, close Broadway?" Stella asked. Her voice rose as her frustration increased and Don sighed. He leant back in his chair and stared at Roger, still sat behind his keyboard.
"Or warn all CCM graduates, since that's the only feasible connection we have. I don't know, Stel. We need to catch this guy."
A uniformed officer jogged over to Don's desk and looked questioningly at Stella. Don encouraged him to speak.
"Just got a call, there's been a disturbance at the George Gershwin theatre—"
"Thanks, Bailey," Don cut off the young man and jumped out of his seat, clipping his pistol into the holster on his belt as he followed Stella out of the precinct.
(xxx)
Don and Stella entered the theatre quietly. Whatever disturbance had arisen had calmed down and technicians were working hard to set up for the show that evening.
"Someone called 911?" Don asked. A hand rose in the air.
"That was me," a voice announced. The owner of the voice turned and Don found himself staring at his girlfriend, only half-costumed for the show beginning in ninety minutes. "Some guy claiming to be a journalist was trying to talk to Jools. Really shook her up. I didn't catch the whole shebang but Jools said there was something creepy."
"And this guy… left?" Stella raised an eyebrow. Lissa pulled a white robe around herself and led the detectives through a maze of corridors.
"Yeah. Not long after we called you – said he had all he needed." She stopped outside a door adorned with hand-drawn pictures and ribbons. Inside the room, someone was singing. Lissa knocked on the door and the singing subsided.
"Special delivery," Lissa sung. "Two detectives, just for you!"
Jools smirked. "I promise I'll give them back when I'm done," she answered, ushering the detectives into her brightly decorated dressing room. Lissa stuck out her tongue before skipping down the corridor to her own dressing room, to continue warming up for the show.
(xxx)
"He gave me his card," Jools reached behind her to her vanity and grabbed a printed card. She handed it to Stella, who studied it intently. "He was asking all sorts – seemed to know a lot, too. He seemed really… I don't know how to describe it. Suspicious, maybe – like he knew everything he was asking me. He seemed like he was hinting at stuff, kind of like he wanted me to ask or figure it out or something."
"Anything specific?"
"Not really – he kept using titles of shows, or words from titles. He said 'phantom' a couple of times, and 'title of show' and 'Xanadu'. It was like he was reading out his hit list or something. I'm not a detective or anything, but… it freaked me out, y'know? He was pretty aggressive. He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away, then started yelling – that's when Liss called you guys."
"What did he look like?" Don asked, flipping through his notebook. He didn't look up.
"He was pretty tall, maybe six feet or so. Light hair, kind of mousey brown – like Mia's, only a little blonder. It was short and messy, didn't look styled or anything, just like he rolled out of bed and that's it. He had green eyes – really bright green eyes."
"Did you notice his clothing?"
"Dark jeans, olive green shirt – long sleeves. He was actually kind of hot, now I think about it."
A ghost of a smile crossed Stella's face. "Thanks. We'll see what we can do. You've been very helpful." She began to stand and Don followed suit. Jools turned towards her vanity table and picked up a pot of make up. She was pressed for time after talking to the detectives and would have to work fast.
"Anything to catch this guy," Jools answered, suddenly sombre as she caught sight of the photograph taped to her mirror.
Don and Stella left, and Don requested the opportunity to pay a quick visit to his girlfriend before they left. He followed the sound of laughter, recognising the route as one he'd taken with Lissa before. He stopped outside a door with Lissa's name and knocked. He smiled when he heard a squeal from inside the room, before the sound of a person bounding towards the door. He marvelled at her ceaseless energy.
"I just wanted to say hi," he told her, pulling her to him with an arm around her waist. She wore an undergarment, a skirt, and a wig cap, and she held a pair of leg braces in her hand. She looked up at him and grinned.
"I have less than half an hour to finish getting dressed, finish my makeup, warm up and say hi to everyone," she told him.
He grinned impishly. "You're not complaining, are you?" he kissed her softly and she tugged him through the doorway, kicking the door shut clumsily.
"Sit," she ordered, pointing at an overstuffed beanbag in the corner. She sat at her vanity and carefully applied her makeup, all the while regaling him with tales of her cast mates and impromptu parties in dressing rooms.
Before long, a tall, dark-skinned woman waltzed into the room. She was introduced as Coral, Lissa's dresser, and Don took that as his cue to leave.
"Break a leg, Liss," he said, straight-faced. Lissa smirked and kissed him one last time before he left.
"See you later?" she called after him.
"Depends how far we get with this – I'll call you!" he yelled over his shoulder.
(to be continued)