Final Act

PROLOGUE

1
0
:45 am, November
3
, 2010

The
last actor to leave the theatre by the side stage door ran out of the alley way and caught up with the group heading for the bar.  He tagged a little behind the noisy merrymakers
not bothering to join as there was no ro
om to jump in
to
the five different conversations so
busied himself with looking
at the darkened quiet downtown street.  A few taxis
, their drivers standing in a tight knot
- p
raying for passengers, no doubt.  A lone
, obviously stoned
couple, arms wrapped around each other in an effort to stay upright
, tired to make their way across the street
.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a package
of smokes, turned so the wind was at his back, and flashed his lighter.  Lifting his head, he saw a dark, solitary figure crossing the street, head bent, as if searching for a lost
coin
.  
A
shout distracted his attention.

“Come on;
get a move on
before we lose you.”

He ran. They had turned the corner and if they ducked into one of the bars lining both sides of the street before he caught up to him, he’d waste
prized
drinking time trying to find them.
  He never gave the dark figure crossing the street another thought. 

Head still bent, the dark figure paused and waited a few moments to see if anyone from the group circled back.  No one came.  No one was on the street except for a group of taxi drivers who were busy talking, not paying the slightest attention to anyone else. 
Time to move.  Had one of the drivers turned his head to look, all he would have seen was a swift dark blur.  But no one turned. 

Head bent low, the shadowy figure stepped into
the alleyway leading to the backstage entrance to the theatre
.
The mastermind behind the planned kill forced down the adrenaline rush
.  Too much excitement and mistakes could be made.  Standing behind the cluster of trees adjacent to the theatre,
the killer, eyes on the stage door, waited for Ed,
the janitor, to lock up and leave.
 

It was well past midnight
when the dark figure
emerged from the trees and
walked briskly towards the stage store entrance
.  S
lipping a key
into the door,
the intruder
stepped into the hallway
, eyes adjusting to darkness with the help of the faint light of the
dust covered exit sign. 
T
he killer followed the twisting corridor past Ed’s
,
around the corner and down the hallway to the
dressing and prop room
.
 

There was no fear the intruder would be confused and
not be able to find
the way to centre stage for
no one was more intimately acquainted with every nook and cranny
of the entire building
. 

Moonlight shone through
the
small window
in the large common dressing room into the hallway,
lengthening the intruder’s shadow
;
a few moments later, a whispered curse at the
stumble
on the torn carpet
, followed by a quick run up
the three steps to centre stage.

Despite the darkness of the stage, th
e intruder
was able to avoid colliding with the double bed and made
straight for the huge console combination of radio-phonograph (hi-fi with three speakers) TV set and liquor cabinet bearing many glasses and bottles.

Standing in front of the monumental monstrosity
,
the killer retrieved the
thin, white surgical gloves
from the inside pocket of the oversize, dark coat and pulled them over the trembling hands.  Opening the console door and reaching into the back recess of the cabinet, the killer reached
for the
half empty bottle of bourbon
, then
removed
a vial
from
the outside
pocket of the coat.   The amber coloured liquid flowed into the bottle
, swirling against the sides, and settled into the body of the whiskey without a trace.
 

T
he empty vial
returned to the pocket,
the killer made a quick exit, heart pounding in perfect time with the
thud
of the
rubber
soles hitting the red linoleum
until the exit was reached.  The killer waited until the heart rate subsided before opening the door and crossing the street to the empty cab parked at the curb.

George
Symes
,
watched
the
dark figure
crossing the street and heading straight
for his cab.  Just my shit house luck, he thought, forty minutes left on my shift, and I get this creep. 
All he wanted to do was go home to a cold beer and watch David Letterman. 
Who knows
what the weirdo is carrying in that
over
size
d
coat.
George had good instincts and would bet his last cigar that someone dressed like that is up to no good or has already done damage. 

He didn’t
need this
agro at
his
age
but he had opted out of the safer day shift when his wife of 40 years had died.  He found the silence of his home more comfortable in the wee hours of the morning
.
He reached for the mike, gave the code word for suspicious passenger to the dispatcher
.  Once he called the fare in, Helen would calculate the amount of time it would take to reach his destination and if he was more than five minutes late, there’d be hell to pay.  He started the engine
and waited for the creep to open the back door to the cab. 

9
:30am, November 4, 2010

Kate pulled back the curtains and looked out across the divided boulevard.  The
morning sun high enough to shine
direct
ly
in her eyes
.  She didn’t
see the man standing beside the oak tree at the south side entrance to the Public Gardens staring up at her window. 
So, she thought, he’s given up. 
She was sure he would be there and she was ready for him.  He’d been tracking her all week.  She shrugged her shoulders – one less worry. Maybe the bastard found out she was a homicide cop and decided to disappear.  On one hand, she was disappointed not to find him there because that meant he had moved on to someone else and she wasn’t able to arrest him. 

She looked down at the sidewalk in front of the condo and watched the pedestrians scurrying in the brisk breeze - a young mother in sport gear pushing a bundled up baby in a stroller designed specifically for running parents; two young teenagers plugged into their i-pods, baseball gloves in hands, running across the double boulevard to the park, and a senior citizen, in high spirits, twirling his cane around like a magic wand. Behind the old man, she glimpsed an advancing Golden Retriever, the leash stretching far behind him.  A typical Saturday morning, crowded early morning sidewalks, the majority of the pedestrians making their way to the waterfront Market.  

As she watched them pass by, she was surprised at her feeling of envy, surprised she felt anything.  A mere week ago, she had been on her way back from the market carrying her parcels, a bounce in her step.  No trace of a bounce in her now.  Not after her disastrous meeting with Gordon.  She didn’t see it coming.

She was gazing out the window now without really seeing, her thoughts running in circles.  Her vision darkened. The clouds had moved in and covered the morning sun and she saw him.  A black hoodie and scarf hid all except his eyes.  There was something familiar about him, about the way he held himself, but she couldn’t place him. 

She discarded the idea of following him, corralling him in the park, pulling out her gold detective shield, and arrest him.  Arrest him for what?  No, it was better to wait until she had something on him.  She’d handle him when the time was right.  She had more pressing concerns – her career, her love life.  She had second thoughts about her long distance relationship with David.  Her passion was cooling while his was moving into overdrive – alluded to the need for stronger commitment the last weekend they had spent together.  And her chief worry, her career.  It was in serious jeopardy; she’d be back walking a beat if she wasn’t careful.

Gordon Ramsey, Chief Inspector, who was soon to retire, Kate the rumoured shoe-in, called her into his office just before the end of the day, at the end of the week, just before her first weekend off in two months.  It wasn’t a pretty. The word had gotten back to him.  The word about her increasing short temper, her inability to get along with her peers, and her blow up with the traffic cop who gave her a parking ticket while she was in pursuit on a purse snatcher.  He wouldn’t listen to reason and she’d lost it – threw him up against the car, muttered some veiled threats.  She had managed to walk away and leave him intact - no need for him to yelp like an injured pup all over the precinct.  

As she carried her breakfast dishes to the sink, fighting words flew out of her mouth.   Fighting words would be the death of her, she knew it.  Disciplinary action skated too close.  She replayed Gordon’s speech in her mind as she washed the dishes.

‘
Get that temper of yours under control, Kate, I’m warning you.  I had to argue hard with the Chief against a suspension.  You’re damn lucky he bought it.  One more incident, if you so much as spit on the sidewalk, you’ll be scraping it off with your boots as you walk
a beat.
  Go see one of those
psyche gurus; they’re on
the 5
th
floor. 
You’re too arrogant, Kate.  The world has to go your way or else. 
You know, I had reservations about you from first, coming from a background of privilege, wanting to be a cop.  I should have listened to my gut instinct
s when you were recommended for
promot
ion
to the squad. 
I knew you’d be trouble.  It’s your family’s connections that got you where you are, not your arrogance and attitude.  No, don’t open your mouth.  I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.  We’re finished.  Go home and think hard. Think about putting
your law degree to work.
’
  

Kate slammed the cupboard door behind the last of the clean dishes.  He had been cruel, hitting where it hurt.  Yes, her family had connections but that didn’t mean I don’t have what it takes to be a good cop.  And he knows it.  The man hated her from the start.  And her parents had hated her choice of a career.  She fought back and won.  Now, she had to fight again, but would she win this time.  There was something wrong, she couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was losing control. She lashed out at whoever stood in her way.  Had become quick to strike.  She hadn’t been that way when she entered the force.  She had wanted to be a cop, a good one, the best, and she knew the reason why.