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brought the curtain down, very fast," he remembered. "And he was still lying there."
    Hard to jump up and take your bows with eight inches of steel in your heart. Eve thought. "What was your personal relationship with Richard Draco?"
    "I don't suppose we had one."
    "You had no personal conversations with him, no interactions?"
    "Well, um..." The fingers started dancing again. "Sure, we spoke a couple of times. I'm afraid I irritated him."
    "In what way?"
    "You see, Lieutenant, I watch. People," he added with another of those shaky smiles. "To develop character types, to learn. I guess my watching him put Draco off, and he told me to keep out of his sight or... or he'd, hmmm, he'd see to it that the only acting job I got was in sex holograms. I apologized right away."
    "And?"
    "He threw a paperweight at me. The prop paperweight on Sir Wilfred's desk." Proctor winced. "He missed. I'm sure he meant to."
    "That must have pissed you off."
    "No, not really. I was embarrassed to have annoyed him during rehearsal. He had to take the rest of the day off to calm down."
    "A guy threatens your livelihood, throws a paperweight at you, and you don't get pissed off?"
    "It was Draco." Proctor's tone was reverent. "He's -- he was -- one of the finest actors of the century. The pinnacle. His temperament is part -- was part -- of making him what he was."
    "You admired him."
    "Oh yes. I've studied his work as long as I can remember. I have discs and recordings of every one of his plays. When I had a chance to understudy Vole, I jumped at it. I think it's the turning point in my career." His eyes were shining now. "All my life I dreamed of walking the same stage as Richard Draco, and there I was."
    "But you wouldn't walk that stage unless something happened to him."
    "Not exactly." In his enthusiasm, Proctor leaned forward. The cheap chair creaked ominously. "But I had to rehearse the same lines, the same blocking, know the same cues. It was almost like being him. In a way. You know."
    "Now, you'll have a shot at stepping onto his -- what do you call it -- his mark, won't you?"
    "Yes." Proctor's smile was brilliant, and quickly gone. "I know how awful, how selfish and cold that must sound. I don't mean it that way."
    "You're having some financial difficulties, Mr. Proctor."
    He flushed, winced, tried that smile again. "Yes, ah, well... One doesn't go into the theater for money but for love."
    "But money comes in handy for things like eating and keeping a roof over your head. You're behind on your rent."
    "A little."
    "The understudy job pays enough to keep you current with your rent. You gamble, Mr. Proctor?"
    "Oh, no. No, I don't."
    "Just careless with money?"
    "I don't think so. I invest, you see. In myself. Acting and voice lessons, body maintenance, enhancement treatments. They don't come cheap, especially in the city. I suppose all that seems frivolous to you, Lieutenant, but it's part of my craft. Tools of the trade. I was considering a part-time job to help defray the expenses."
    "No need to consider that now, is there? With Draco out of the way."
    "I suppose not." He paused, considering it. "I wasn't sure how I was going to manage the time. It'll be easier to -- " He broke off, sucked in a breath. "I don't mean that the way it sounds. It's just that following your line of thinking, it takes some strain off my mind. I'm used to doing without money, Lieutenant. Whatever else, the theater's lost one of its finest, and one of my personal idols. But I guess I'd feel better if I said -- if I was honest and said -- that there's a part of me that's thrilled to think that I'll play Vole. Even temporarily."
    He sighed, long and loud, closed his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I do feel better. I wish he'd just caught a cold, though."
    Eve's head was throbbing lightly as she walked back up the steps to her car. "Nobody's that naive," she muttered. "Nobody's that guileless."
    "He's from Nebraska." Peabody scanned her pocket unit.
    "From where?"
    "Nebraska."