La Danza Morte' - Robert F. Clifton (inspirational books to read .txt) 📗

audience and he smiled. She was a hit.

In the second act Natasha appeared on stage with twenty female dancers. This time she wore an all white ensemble. A rhinestone tiara was on her head and she danced on her toes again but to him much less then her opening number. Again when she finished the crowd rewarded her with shouts of praise and thunderous applause. Instead of waiting for the other acts he decided to make his way backstage to her dressing room. When he got there he noticed that Gabriela's dressing room was right next door. The door was ajar so he walked inside and knowing where the light switch was flipped it, turning on the ceiling light again. He took a seat and sat looking at the spot where he had found the drinking glass shard on the floor. Suddenly, he got the feeling that he had missed something. “What is it? What did I miss?” he asked himself mentally. His eyes looked at everything in the room, the dressing table, three chairs, the small table that held the drinking glass, the wastepaper basket. “Damn it! I forgot to keep and examine the wastepaper basket! I had just reached in and took the handbill. Son of a bitch! You dumb bastard!”, he thought.

Wallace looked up when suddenly the dressing room door opened quickly. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in here?” asked a man dressed in a suite with tie. Wallace judged him to be about forty to forty five years old. The man was both well dressed and well groomed.

“Police, I'm just looking around”, said Wallace.

“Do you have a warrant?”

“What are you, a lawyer?”asked Wallace.

“No, but I know that you have no right searching anyplace without a warrant.”

“Hey, maybe you're a law professor. Let me tell you, whoever you are there's such a thing as probable cause. Since this room is part of an original crime scene I consider the fact that I have that probable cause. Now, you can accept the fact that I'm within my rights here or you can not accept my right. Personally, I don't give a damn. Keep running your mouth with the attitude you're displaying and we'll be talking about your rights. Do you understand?”

“I know who you are. You're the cop Natasha has taken up with. I want you to stay away from her,” said the man in the suit.

“What are you, her father? The last time I looked she was over eighteen and since I'm over twenty one we can do whatever the hell we want.”

“I'm her agent. She has come a long way to get to where she is now. She has opportunity. What she doesn't need is a distraction taking her away from her goal, her dancing as a ballerina.”

“Hey mister, I don't want to hear it. Natasha's a big girl. She can make her own decisions as far as I'm concerned. Now, that you have succeeded in pissing me off, just who the hell are you and by that I want your name.”

“My names Harry Brummel and as I have said I'm Natasha Dubcek's agent.”

“Good for you. You know what Harry? Somewhere, sometime, someone told you that you were important. Whoever it was is full of shit. Now, just to prove a point Harry, when Natasha's finished tonight she and I will have a late supper. Guess what sport? I might keep her out late.”

After the show Wallace stood outside of Natasha's dressing room. He watched as newspaper reporters flocked to interview her while photographers took her picture. Deliverymen from various flower shops delivered large bouquets to her room. Margaret Helms tried to keep some kind of order.

Wallace also noticed that Harry Brummel was trying to get in the photo's being taken.

Robert was glad for her. She had danced and the audience had loved her. She deserved all of the attention others were giving her. He looked at his wristwatch and knew that it would be some time before she would be ready to leave so he decided to leave the dressing room area and have a cigarette. In an empty hallway he heard the sounds of his footsteps as he walked on the concrete floor. Out of sight he reached into his shirt pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes, took one out of the pack and after placing it between his lips lit it with his lighter. As he inhaled and exhaled one of the cleanup crew members came down the hallway pushing a canvas covered cart. “Ain't none of my business, but you ain't allowed to smoke here,” said the man.

“That figures. Since you must work here, just where is the smoking area?” asked Wallace.

“Hell, I just wanted you to know about the rule. I don't care if you smoke here or not”.

“I take it that you're the janitor”, said Wallace.

“I'm one of many janitors. This area is my responsibility. That's why I'm here.”

“Tell me. Do you also clean the dressing rooms of the dancers?”

“Yep, when I can or when someone asks me.”

“Do you remember sweeping up a broken glass in Gabriela Brunsdorff's dressing room?”

“Nope.”

“Damn. Where is the trash disposal?

“In the dumpster located on the street side of the Convention Center.”

“Has the Waste Management truck picked it up yet?”

“No, that will be sometime next week.”

“Thank you. What's your name?”

“Lou Crawford.”

At ten thirty that evening Natasha walked up to Robert and on tip toe raised her head and kissed him. “Thank you for the flowers,” she said.

“You're more than welcome. Now, I know that you must be hungry. Where do you want to go?”asked Wallace.

“What's open this time of night?”

“There are a few places open, providing you don't mind sitting and eating with hookers, pimps and guys wanting to do business with both.”

“I don't think so.”

“I'm teasing you. Although I will say there are those type of places here in town. No, how would you like to have a late supper consisting of fried shrimp, french fried potatoes and coleslaw?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Then let's go. The place is called, “Carson's”. What's in the bag your holding?”

“A change of underwear, hair brush, comb and toothbrush.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday. We can make love all night and sleep until noon.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

Harry Brummel

 

At ten o'clock Monday morning Robert Wallace attired in white, coveralls, climbed inside the trash dumpster, located next to the Convention Center. Once inside he began picking up and opening gray or black plastic trash bags, looking for one that hopefully contained the pieces of the broken glass taken from Gabriela's dressing room. Standing next to the dumpster was Frank Stiles and Kevin English. Both detectives also wore coveralls. Kevin was assigned to C.S.I. After about an hour Wallace picked up one bag and when he did he heard the tinkling sound of glass shards hitting one another. “Bingo!”, said Wallace. “This might be the one”,he continued handing the bag to Stiles.

As he climbed out of the trash container Wallace said to Kevin English, “What I want you to do is first examine the broken pieces of glass. Compare them to the shard I submitted earlier. If it is what I think it is, it's the broken glass from Gabriela Brunsdorff's dressing room, then look for any latent fingerprints that might have been left on it.”

“Do you have any idea of just how many people could have touched that glass?”, asked English?

“Yeah, two that probably did were Gabriela and Miss Helms. Send a technician to the morgue and have them take Gabriela's prints, then have someone go to the Convention Center and take Margaret Helms prints. That way if you find anything else you can eliminate the two women.”

At five thirty that evening Wallace and Natasha left the condominium and walked across the boardwalk and then stepped on to the sand of the beach. Then hand in hand they made their way to where the ocean waves gently rolled up on to the wet sand. It was now late September. While the weather was mild, still, there was a hint of the approaching autumn. A cool breeze blew in from the north sending a warning about what was yet to come. “How did practice go today?” asked Robert.

“Fine.”

“No problems?”

Natasha stopped walking and looking up at him asked, “Why do you ask?”

“Because awhile back you mentioned that you had a problem at rehearsal, but you didn't want to talk about it. In fact you referred to the problem as an incident. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“Was there another incident?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me what it is or was?”

“No, let it go Robert. I can handle it myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Let's walk. The ocean is beautiful right now. Look, it's still picking up the light from the setting sun. The water appears as if there are gold flecks in it. I've never seen it so pretty.”

“If you say so.”

“You probably don't appreciate beauty, you being so rough and gruff.”

“Sure I do.”

“Really give me one example where you regard something of beauty.”

“That's easy. You. To me you're the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on?”

“Sh. Don't talk.”

“Why have I said too much?”

“No, I just want you to kiss me.”

After the kiss they continued to walk hand in hand. As they did sandpipers ran ahead of them racing to search for food after each broken wave that had raced to the shore receded back into the ocean. Seagulls seemed to hang motionless as they rode the air currents and like the sandpipers searched for a meal, occasionally diving into the water taking small fish. And it seemed to him that he didn't want that time to end. Deep down, he knew he was falling in love with her.

The next morning Wallace sat patiently as Sergeant John Ackerman read submitted reports related to the investigation.

“There appears that you're not making too much headway Robert,”said Ackerman.

“Well, in my defense I'm still waiting for lab reports and they're slow in coming.” replied Wallace.

“At least you should be able to name a suspect.”

“To tell you the truth, just about everyone in the show could be considered a suspect.”

“Does that include the ballerina that you're sleeping with?”

Wallace fought against the anger building inside of him, the result of the Sergeant's remark. “No, if you paid attention to my report you would have seen that Natasha Dubcek was on stage doing her solo.”

“So?”

“So, it's my opinion that if a high dose of Lanoxin was placed in the frosted glass containing water it was put there when Natasha was dancing and Gabriela and Margaret Helms were out of the dressing room and in the wings of the stage.”

“Alright, I'll consider your excuse about needing the lab reports. At the same time I believe that you're losing your focus in this investigation. Wake up. Now, get back to work.”

Wallace walked back into the squad room. “What's up?” asked Frank Stiles.

“I'm bringing in Harry Brummel,” Wallace answered.

“Why?”

“ I did a background investigation on him. It seems that he is a dance agent with offices in both New York and Philadelphia.”

“So?” asked Stiles.

“If he's that busy, needing two offices, why is he here all of the time in Nautilus Beach?”

“Hey, it could be he's like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe he's got a thing for Natasha.”

“I don't know about that, but I do know that he's always backstage. In fact, he interrupted me while I was going over Gabriela's dressing room again.”

“And knowing you, he pissed you off,” said Stiles.

“Regardless, he like the others had a motive to see Gabriela dead.”

“What was it?”

“Think about it. Natasha is his client. If she replaces Gabriela and becomes the ballerina her salary goes up. When that happens his ten per cent increases.”

“I follow you, but I still think you're making a lot out of nothing. Do what you want.”

An hour later Harry Brummel sat beside the desk of Robert Wallace. “I want you to know that I resent being treated like some criminal. I'm a very busy man.” said Brummel.

“So am I. Now, if you co-operate and answer some questions we both can