Pity Him Afterwards

He went next door, and found Mike Tompkins in the rehearsal room, standing by the door. A dozen or more people, men and women, were sitting in a stunned silence on the folding chairs. None of them met his eyes as he came in, nor were any of them looking at one another. They gazed at the floor, or at the ceiling, or over toward the window, and they all had the tightness of shock on their faces.

Sondgard recognized a few of them. Bob Haldemann, producer of the theater. Loueen Campbell and Richard Lane and Alden March, who’d acted here in other years, and Ralph Schoen the director, and Arnie Kapow the set designer. The others were all strangers to him.

Bob Haldemann finally got to his feet, saying, “Hello, Eric. I’m glad you’re here.”

“In a minute, Bob. Mike?” He motioned to Mike Tompkins to come outside with him.

Mike Tompkins, bearing the rank of sergeant in the Cartier Isle police force, was a huge man, six foot, five inches tall, weighing nearly two hundred and sixty pounds, and none of it fat. A local boy, born and bred in Cartier Isle, he’d left his home town twice, the first time to accept a football scholarship at a Midwestern university — he’d flunked out the second semester of his sophomore year — and the second time to join the Marines. He’d spent twenty years in the Marines, which he enjoyed more than either college or football, and retired at thirty-nine, coming back home to live with his Japanese wife, May. Now forty-four, he looked barely thirty, and was an exercise-and-health-food nut. He was also mainly responsible for the police force’s high ammunition bill each year, since he spent a part of nearly every day out on the practice range. He’d taken over the police force job three years ago, when the earlier sergeant — Crawford, his name was — retired, and since then he’d revamped the force completely. He and May designed the new uniform, a modified version of Marine dress uniform in a lighter shade of blue, and he also talked Mayor Ravenfield into trading in the force’s seven-year-old Chevy station wagon for a brand-new blue-and-white Ford V8 with a red dome light. He enjoyed the uniform and the car and the chance at unlimited use of the practice range, but he usually ignored the job itself as much as possible. His relief at Sondgard’s presence now was obvious and unashamed.

He and Sondgard stepped out to the hallway, and Sondgard shut the door before saying, “You get the story?”

“I did. It’s a mess, Captain, a real mess.” Mike was the only one in the world who knew Sondgard and called him Captain.

“There really was a murder, then.”

“There sure was. She’s upstairs.”

“A woman?”

“Girl. One of the actresses here. Looks like one of those sex maniac jobs.”

Sondgard looked toward the stairs. Would it be considered necessary for him to go up and view the body? He hoped not. What good could he do? He said, “You better call in to Joyce. Tell her to notify Doc Walsh.”

“I did already.”

“All right. Good.” He looked at the staircase again. Wasn’t there something else he should do? He said, “Who discovered it?”

“Fella named Mel Daniels. Actor.”

“All right. I guess I want to talk to him first.”

“You want me to call Captain Garrett.”

Yes, he did, very much. Let Captain Garrett go up those stairs. But some embarrassment connected with Joyce Raven-field made him say, “Not yet. Let’s get our facts straight first.”

“Okay, Captain.”

Sondgard went back into the rehearsal room. “Bob,” he said, “is there any place I can use for my interrogations?”

Haldemann got to his feet, looking eager to help. “Well, I guess the kitchen,” he said. “I guess that’d be the best. Unless you want to go over to the theater. You could use my office over there.”

“No, the kitchen’s fine. That’s okay, Bob, I know where it is.” He looked around the room. “Mel Daniels?”

An ashen-faced boy got shakily to his feet. Early twenties, wearing wrinkled slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt. It was Professor Sondgard who catalogued him: class comic, a facile learner, fifty-per-cent effort in his studies, occasionally in trouble with the Dean’s office for being involved in panty raids or illegal bonfires on the main square in town or the painting of white bucks on the statue of the school founder. It was Captain Sondgard who said to him, “Would you come with me, please?”

He led the way back out to the hall, and said to Mike Tompkins, “When Doc Walsh comes, have him go right on upstairs. Keep the rest of them in there, and I’ll talk to them one at a time.”

“Right. You want the recorder?”

“Oh, yes. Good idea.”

Sondgard and Mel Daniels went down the hallway to the kitchen, and sat down across from one another at the kitchen table. Sondgard brought out his cigarettes and offered one to the boy, who took it gratefully. Sondgard said, “Pretty much of a shock, eh?”

“No encores, please.” The boy smiled shakily, and accepted a light.