Read Online Copp In The Dark, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Don Pendleton
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it—that helps sometimes. "Why do you say that? You've never met the new producers?"
"No. But Craig pointed them out to me one night and-"
"You mean there was never any formal... ?"
"Nothing involving the theater, no. That would not be necessary. We don't own the play. We merely produce it under license from the owners. Anyone can do that. So I really wasn't involved in any of the talks and wouldn't have been unless and until the new producers wanted me to direct or stage-manage or whatever."
"So all you know about any of this came from Craig."
"That's right."
"You said he pointed out these people to you?"
Her eyes twitched. "Yes. That's why now I'm wondering, after what you've told me about Larry and Jack. You say they're federal agents. Craig told me they're the new backers."
"Working as waiters?"
"Craig has a way of making the ridiculous sound absolutely sane. These men always work that way, he said. They pose as ordinary people so they can be close to ordinary people and learn how ordinary people are reacting."
"They could sit comfortably in the audience and do that," I pointed out.
"Oh, but these men are also greatly interested in the way the cast works together and pulls together backstage and offstage."
"And you fell for that?"
"I really felt no need to challenge it," she replied.
"You're telling me that Larry and Jack, the waiters, are the backers who are going to put this show on the road?— and that only Craig had their ear?"
"That's about it," she said. "So one of you, either you or Craig, is a very cruel liar. And of course Craig would be the cruelest, if it's his lie. Because he's had these kids so high ..."
I put my cigarette away and told her, "I think maybe you've given me what I came for."
"You mean... ?"
Yeah. That's what I meant. Maybe someone in that "so high" cast found out about the cruelest lie of all.
And maybe he or she or they got mad enough to kill.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I had a whole new angle on the situation now and a lot to think about but I still was not sure that I had all I could get from Judith White. She was plenty sharp, had one of those blessed female minds that can cut straight through all the crap and trivia to instinctively seize and size an issue at its naked core. Also I was beginning to like this woman quite a bit.
So I talked her into walking over to the hotel coffee shop with me, primarily because I didn't want to be interrupted by the official police but also because I felt that a public atmosphere could help her to relax and open up a bit more.
On the way over I asked her, "Okay to call you Judy?"
"I prefer Judith," she replied—then added, with a little smile, "Except in intimate moments. I couldn't expect Cary Grant to say, 'Judith, Judith, Judith,' could I."
So Judith it was, for the moment—with maybe a hint of Judy in the future—but at least it was a start in the right direction. Over coffee and Danish I learned that she was older than she looked—thirty-two—and had once dreamed of starring on Broadway herself. She'd landed a role in a national touring company straight out of Pasadena City College, had later toured Europe and Japan, then decided that was not the way she wished to spend the rest of her life.
"I gave it five years," she told me, "and during that time I saw too many middle-aged people, fine talents all, who'd given it their lives and everything else—home, family, even self-respect. I settled for less, and I believe in the end I will have more."
"And less is ... ?"
"What I'm doing now. I still have the creative outlet, the fun, the excitement, but it's not burdened now with the dream."
"Dreams are important," I suggested.
"Reality dreams are important," she countered. "Most theater dreams are totally
"No. But Craig pointed them out to me one night and-"
"You mean there was never any formal... ?"
"Nothing involving the theater, no. That would not be necessary. We don't own the play. We merely produce it under license from the owners. Anyone can do that. So I really wasn't involved in any of the talks and wouldn't have been unless and until the new producers wanted me to direct or stage-manage or whatever."
"So all you know about any of this came from Craig."
"That's right."
"You said he pointed out these people to you?"
Her eyes twitched. "Yes. That's why now I'm wondering, after what you've told me about Larry and Jack. You say they're federal agents. Craig told me they're the new backers."
"Working as waiters?"
"Craig has a way of making the ridiculous sound absolutely sane. These men always work that way, he said. They pose as ordinary people so they can be close to ordinary people and learn how ordinary people are reacting."
"They could sit comfortably in the audience and do that," I pointed out.
"Oh, but these men are also greatly interested in the way the cast works together and pulls together backstage and offstage."
"And you fell for that?"
"I really felt no need to challenge it," she replied.
"You're telling me that Larry and Jack, the waiters, are the backers who are going to put this show on the road?— and that only Craig had their ear?"
"That's about it," she said. "So one of you, either you or Craig, is a very cruel liar. And of course Craig would be the cruelest, if it's his lie. Because he's had these kids so high ..."
I put my cigarette away and told her, "I think maybe you've given me what I came for."
"You mean... ?"
Yeah. That's what I meant. Maybe someone in that "so high" cast found out about the cruelest lie of all.
And maybe he or she or they got mad enough to kill.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I had a whole new angle on the situation now and a lot to think about but I still was not sure that I had all I could get from Judith White. She was plenty sharp, had one of those blessed female minds that can cut straight through all the crap and trivia to instinctively seize and size an issue at its naked core. Also I was beginning to like this woman quite a bit.
So I talked her into walking over to the hotel coffee shop with me, primarily because I didn't want to be interrupted by the official police but also because I felt that a public atmosphere could help her to relax and open up a bit more.
On the way over I asked her, "Okay to call you Judy?"
"I prefer Judith," she replied—then added, with a little smile, "Except in intimate moments. I couldn't expect Cary Grant to say, 'Judith, Judith, Judith,' could I."
So Judith it was, for the moment—with maybe a hint of Judy in the future—but at least it was a start in the right direction. Over coffee and Danish I learned that she was older than she looked—thirty-two—and had once dreamed of starring on Broadway herself. She'd landed a role in a national touring company straight out of Pasadena City College, had later toured Europe and Japan, then decided that was not the way she wished to spend the rest of her life.
"I gave it five years," she told me, "and during that time I saw too many middle-aged people, fine talents all, who'd given it their lives and everything else—home, family, even self-respect. I settled for less, and I believe in the end I will have more."
"And less is ... ?"
"What I'm doing now. I still have the creative outlet, the fun, the excitement, but it's not burdened now with the dream."
"Dreams are important," I suggested.
"Reality dreams are important," she countered. "Most theater dreams are totally
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