Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 11, November 1982

Manchester paused a minute. “Perhaps. As I was leaving the cottage, I saw Philip Reede pull up. Of course I went to him and told him about Fields’ decision. He was even more outraged than I.”

With everybody’s sudden admissions, I was beginning to feel like the cheated-on husband — the last to know. “Why didn’t you mention this to me earlier?”

“Sheriff, a man in my position can hardly afford to become involved in such a sordid affair.”

“I’m afraid you’re already very much involved. Now, can you tell me what Reede did, where he went after you left him?”

“No.”

“Where can I find Reede?”

“Where he’s been all morning, with your daughter in the playhouse.”

As I left Manchester slumped before the fireplace, I had a sad feeling that he wouldn’t be signing any more autographs that afternoon.

It took a moment for my eyes to get accustomed to the darkness of the theatre. I could hear muffled voices as I moved toward the dimly-lit stage.

“Phil, you still haven’t told my why you changed my last speech?”

“Trust me. Now try the lines again. You cross to Roger, look him straight in the face, and say...”

Elaine hesitated, then began. “Duke Ferrara, I know my father the Count has promised you my hand, but I will not wed a murderer. You seem surprised that I have learned what happened to your last duchess. You offered her a famous name, riches, a castle. Soon after, you tired of her and cast her aside. In her sorrow she took her own life. Now callously you seek a new bride. Do you truly believe that another young woman by your side can restore your vitality, your youth?”

“Perfect,” Reede said. “You delivered the lines just as we practiced them.”

“But Mr. Fields would never have allowed such a change,” Elaine protested.

“Yes, but he’s no longer the director.”

I cleared my throat. “What I’d like to know, Mr. Reede, is — did you have anything to do with Fields’ sudden decision to pull out of the play — or his death?”

Startled, Elaine and Reede turned toward me. “Daddy!”

“I have a witness,” I continued, “who places you outside Fields’ cottage, in a state of anger, just before his death. And your little scene up there gives me a glimmer of a motive. If I remember that college lit class of mine, Hamlet changed the lines of a play that was to be presented at court in order to get his uncle to confess to murder.” At that moment I was thankful for stolen library books that had jogged my memory. “I’m not sure why you wanted the lines of this play changed, but Fields had to be put out of the way for you to do so.”

Reede walked slowly to the front of the stage and stared into the darkness. It was as if for the first time the mask he’d been wearing melted, and I saw the pained face of the real Philip Reede. “Actually, Sheriff, your comparison to Hamlet’s strategy is quite close to the truth. Both of us were using a play for revenge. I think I’ll feel better if I tell the truth. I wrote Death of the Duchess for one purpose — to get Roger Manchester. I wanted to shock the great leading man into realizing somebody knew what he had done, and originally Larry had agreed to help.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Larry Fields got lucky on a couple of skin shows, but what he always wanted to do was ligitimate theatre. Knowing that, I offered him a chance to direct Death, if he’d do it my way. He leapt at the opportunity. The other night Manchester told me Larry was pulling out before the premier, something about a big deal.”

Elaine trod downstage. “Phil, why did you use me like this? What do you have against Roger?”

“Roger Manchester is a murderer. To his fans those young girls he surrounds himself with are just pictures. For me, one of those girls was something more. Like Duke Ferrara, Manchester promised her the world. Then, when he was through with her, he tossed her out like yesterday’s newspaper. He didn’t care that she was in love with him. Three weeks after their breakup, Sylvia put a bullet in her head, and I lost a sister. My so-called friends tried to tell me that Sylvia was under a lot of pressure from other directions, that she was depressed over her career, but I knew it was all Manchester’s fault.”

“The Roger Manchester I left a few minutes ago seemed incapable of hurting someone intentionally,” I said.

“He used her, I tell you, he used her.”

“Are you really any better, Phil,” Elaine asked, “using me to get at someone who used your sister? You were willing to tell me anything, even that you loved me, to get me to do what you wanted. I should have realized you only showed interest in me after I took over the part from Samantha. Did you love her, or were you just using her too?”

Reede stood silently, the drops of perspiration on his forehead barely visible in the stagelight.

“There’s still the matter of Fields’ death,” I said. “For one reason or another you had a motive.”

“But,” Reede responded, “I have a alibi.” He looked at Elaine through sorrowful eyes.