Pity Him Afterwards

“Oh!” His eyes widened, and his hands went to his mouth, as though to block it before he could say anything more. “I didn’t even think. Oh my God, Eric, what a way to talk! Eric, on my honor, I wasn’t even thinking, I was just shooting off my mouth, you know the way I am.”

“All right, Tom.”

“Murdered, for God’s sake. Who can accept a thing like that, right off the bat? You talk about a girl — I just saw her this morning at breakfast. She was really killed, Eric?”

“She really was.”

“Christ, what a shame. I mean that, Eric, you know I do. A young girl like that, what a shame. What a waste. Gahhh, there I go again!”

Burns really did seem more shaken and disoriented than Sondgard had ever seen him before, but Sondgard could understand why. Whatever it was about the world that troubled Burns, he had years ago chosen drink as the antidote. He kept himself anesthetized with liquor, so he would never have to take anything seriously. But this, the murder of a young girl, was so strong and violent a fact that even Tom Burns couldn’t drown it or blur its outlines. It was impinging on him with all its reality, and it had been too many years since Burns had had anything to do with uncushioned reality.

As much to help Burns get back on an even keel as to go on with the interview, Sondgard repeated his original question again: “Were you at the Lounge all afternoon, Tom?”

“Well, sure. You know me. I’ve been hanging around over there since breakfast time. Watched the sailboats for a while. Got acquainted again with Henry, the bartender over there.”

“And you don’t have any ideas about this murder? No one who acted sore at the girl, or acted, uh...”

“Hot for her? Eric, anybody who saw that girl would be hot for her. I didn’t see anybody drooling down his chin, if that’s what you mean.”

“I guess that’s what I mean.”

“It was somebody here? Is that what it is, Eric?”

“I don’t know yet. It could be.”

“What a shame, Eric. What a crying shame.”

Sondgard switched the recorder off again. He had nothing more to ask Tom Burns. He said, “Will you wait with the others in the rehearsal room for a while? And send in...” He checked the list Bob Haldemann had made. “Send in Ken Forrest.”

“Right. A real shame, Eric. You should have met her.”

Ken Forrest came in promptly. He looked to be in his middle twenties, about six feet tall, with crew-cut black hair and a solemn expression. Sondgard motioned at the chair across the table, and Forrest silently sat down. Sondgard switched on the tape recorder and intoned, “Preliminary questioning of Ken Forrest. Is that Kenneth?”

“Yes, sir.” His voice was soft, almost inaudible. He watched Sondgard intently, his eyes never shifting for a second.

“Speak a little louder, please.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Yes, my name is Kenneth.”

“And your permanent address?”

“Three Ninety-two West Fifteenth Street, New York City. Apartment Three-B.”

“This is your first year at this theater, is it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could you give me a brief history of yourself up till this year? You understand, I don’t know you yet. Most of the people here I do know, and the rest of you I want to know.”

“Yes, sir. You think it was one of us.”

“I think that’s possible, yes.”

“A brief history, you say, sir. I was born in Lincoln, Nebraska, and lived there till I was nineteen. Then I enlisted in the Army and spent three years there, mostly in Japan. After my discharge I went to New York. Three years ago, that was. I’ve worked at a number of jobs, mostly clerical work, and I’ve attended drama classes. I’ve had small parts in two off-Broadway productions, and I was in the national touring company of Love Among the Falling Stars. Last summer I was with the Keelsville Players in Maine. I got my Equity card there, and that’s how I happened to be eligible for the touring company.”

“Why didn’t you go back to the theater in Maine this summer?”

“They went bankrupt last year, sir.”

“I see. Have you ever been in any trouble with the police of any kind? I mean, besides parking tickets, things like that.”

Forrest’s lips stretched in a small tight smile. “Not even parking tickets, sir. I’ve never been in trouble of any kind.”

“All right. Now, this afternoon. You were in the rehearsal room, is that right?”

“Yes, sir, I was.”

“Did you leave the room at any time?”

“Yes, sir. Around three o’clock, I think, I went upstairs to the bathroom.”

“How long were you gone?”

“Five or ten minutes.”

“This was around three o’clock.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, I can’t pinpoint it exactly.”

“That’s all right. Did you notice, did anyone else leave the room at any time?”