“Who else was there? Was Freddie Corbin there?”
“No. Just the actors and the crew.”
“Were they all still there when you left?”
“Yes.”
“But they left the theater before Michelle did, is that right?”
“Yes, she had a costume fitting. The costume designer needed her for fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“So the others all. broke for dinner at six-thirty…”
“I think that’s what Ashley was planning. Yes, I’m sure he said six-thirty.”
“Which left just Michelle and the costume designer alone in the theater.”
“Well, Torey would’ve been there, too.”
“Torey?”
“Our security guard. At the stage door.”
“That’s his name? Torey?”
“Well, it’s Salvatore Andrucci, actually. But he used to fight under the name Torey Andrews. Do you remember Torey Andrews? Good middleweight some twenty, twenty-five years ago. That’s Torey.”
“Know where I can reach him?”
“At the theater. You want some more coffee? I’ll get the shwartzer to bring some.”
“Thank you no,” Carella said. “I’ve taken enough of your time.”
“Then let me get that estimate for you. If you still want it.”
“I still want it,” Carella said.
Gillian Peck lived in a doorman building on the city’s upper south side. Kling had called ahead, and when he was announced over the intercom, he could hear a British voice answering, “Yes, do send him up, please.”
The woman who opened the door seemed to be in her mid-fifties, a petite, mop-topped brunette wearing a green silk-brocade tunic over matching bell-bottomed pajama pants and green slippers with a gold crest. She told him at once that she had a meeting downtown at noon — this was now ten past eleven — and she hoped this would be short. Kling promised that it would.
She led him into a living room hung with framed drawings of the costumes she’d done for what appeared to be a hundred different shows, but which she explained had been only ten. “My favorite was the Twelfth Night I did for Marvin,” she said, beaming, and walked Kling past a series of framed sketches of figures in brightly colored costumes, the name of each character penciled in at the bottom of the drawing: Sir Toby Belch. Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Malvolio. Olivia. Viola…
“I love the names he gave them,” she said. “Do you know what the full title of the play is?”
“No,” Kling said.
“Shakespeare called it Twelfth Night; Or What You Will. I took that as a cue for the costumes. I went for an uninhibited, anything-goes look.”
“I think you succeeded,” Kling said.
“Yes, quite,” Gillian said pensively, studying the drawings. “Well, then,” she said, turning away abruptly and walking toward a seating group that consisted of a sofa done in red velvet and two side chairs done in black. She sat in one of the black chairs, perhaps because she didn’t wish to appear too Christmasy in a green costume against a red background. Kling suddenly wondered if she designed her own clothes.
“Sit down, won’t you?” she said, and gestured to the sofa.
He sat.
She looked at her watch.
“About Miss Cassidy,” he said.
“Oh dear, that poor child,” Gillian said.
“You were with her last night, I understand. Just before she got stabbed.”
“Yes. I fitted her for one of her costumes.”
“How many are there?”
“She has three changes. This was for the one in the first act. It’s white, very virginal, it’s when she’s supposed to be a young girl, when she first becomes infatuated with the theater. Do you know the play?”
“Not really.”
“It’s a dreadful stinker,” Gillian said. “Quite frankly, Marvin should be grateful for all this publicity.”
“I’m sure he is,” Kling said.
She looked at him.
“Mm,” she said. “Well, yes, I shouldn’t wonder. In any case, there are three changes, the virgin white one, and then the gray one, when she sort of loses her innocence… it’s all such rot, really… and then the red one after she’s been stabbed, when God knows who or what she’s supposed to be. Or even who’s stabbed her, for that matter. It’s rather a matter of life imitating art, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“Do you have any idea who did it?”
“Not yet.”
“Life imitating art exactly,” she said. “In the play, nobody knows who stabbed her, either.”
“Well, we’re still investigating.”
“It’s frightening to think the person who stabbed her is still loose, isn’t it? And may remain loose. Which wouldn’t be too uncommon in this city, would it?”
“Well,” Kling said.
“No offense meant.”
“Where did this fitting take place, Miss Peck?”
“In Michelle’s dressing room.”
“At what time?”
“Six-thirty. Six thirty-five.”
“How long did it last?”
“Oh, ten minutes at most.”
“Till twenty to seven?”
“I’d say a quarter to.”
“Then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“What did you do after the fitting?”
“Well, we left.“
“The theater?”
“No, the dressing room.”
“Together?”
“No. I went to the wardrobe room to hang the costume up again, and Michelle went to the loo.”
“Did you see her again that night?”
“Yes, just before I left the theater.”
“Where’d you see her?”
“There’s a phone just inside the stage door, on the wall there. A pay phone. She was standing there as I was leaving the theater.”
“Talking?”
“No. She was just dialing a number, in fact.”
“What time would this have been?”
“Oh… ten to seven?”
“What happened then?”
“I said goodnight to Torey, and went out.”
“Who’s Torey?”
“The security guard.”
“Where was he?”
“Sitting just inside the stage door. Where he always sits. There’s a stool there.”
“How far from the phone?”
“Five feet? Six feet? I really couldn’t say.”
“Did you see anyone in the alley when you came out?”
“No one.”
“You weren’t still in the alley when Michelle left the theater, were you?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Then you didn’t see her actually leaving?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And I’m sure you didn’t see anyone stab her.”
“That’s correct.”
“Where’d you go after you left the theater?”
“To meet a gentleman friend of mine.”
“Where would that have been?”
“A restaurant downtown. I caught a cab just outside the theater.”
“At what time would that have been?”
“At five minutes to seven.”
“You know the exact time, do you?”
“Yes, I looked at my watch. I was supposed to meet my friend at seven-thirty, and I was wondering if I’d be late. The restaurant is all the way downtown.”
“Which restaurant is that, Miss Peck?”
“Da Luigi. On Mersey Street.”
“Were you late?”
“No, I got there right on the Dorothy.”
Kling looked at her.
“The dot,” she said.
Torey Andrews né Salvatore Andrucci studied the shield in the palm of Carella’s hand, and then looked at his ID card again, and then said, “Is this about Michelle?”