Free Third Victim by Lawrence Kelter

not out him. He was a man of God and I understood that the slightest mention of a transgression might ruin his life, here on earth and for all eternity. I opened my notebook and offered it to him with a pen. “All we need is confirmation of where you were. Write down the name and phone number of the person who can verify where you slept Sunday night and this ends right now—no more questions, and no one will ever know.”
    It took a moment for him to accept my offer, but then he slowly reached out and did what he had to do.

Chapter Eighteen
     
    “What time is it?”
    Lido checked his watch. “Five thirty.”
    “Hank Green said the curtain on Singer’s play goes up at seven. I’m no showman, but I’m pretty sure that the star of a play needs to show up early enough to get into costume and makeup, review script changes, and that sort of thing. If he’s not there already, he should be there soon.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out Green’s business card. “Let’s check in with the press.” I punched in his cell phone number and waited for his phone to ring.
    “Hello?”
    “Mr. Green, it’s Detective Chalice. We met this morning.”
    “Oh yes. You have news for me, Detective?”
    “More questions than news.”
    “What kind of questions could you possibly have for me?”
    “Did you get your interview with Singer?” I cranked up the volume, put the call on speakerphone, and held the phone between us so that Lido could hear Green’s response.
    “No. Actually they’re in a tizzy down here at the theater. No one has heard from Rory since the curtain fell after the Sunday afternoon matinee. The show is closed on Monday, so he wasn’t expected back at the theater until thirty minutes ago.”
    “And considering he was a no-show for the banquet Sunday night …”
    “Yes, yes, they’re going crazy down here. The producer and his assistant are calling all over town, but no one has been able to reach him. They’re warming up his understudy as we speak.”
    I hit Lido with big eyes and mouthed, “Wow.”
    “Has he ever disappeared before?”
    “Rory Singer? Are you kidding? The man is the last of the great Broadway showmen. He wouldn’t miss a curtain call unless he was dead. He’d have to be lying in a ditch somewhere with his legs missing before he’d miss a performance. The man is solid as rock, I tell you. Solid as a rock.”
    “Do you have his address handy?”
    “Don’t waste your time, Detective. The producer already sent someone over to his place.”
    “And?”
    “They should be hearing back any minute. Singer lives in Greenwich Village. You know, with the rush-hour traffic … it could take a cab forty-five minutes to get downtown.”
    I looked at Lido and he cranked the engine.
    “I need Singer’s address, Hank. We’re on our way.”

Chapter Nineteen
     
    Singer lived on the top floor of the Morton Square Apartment Complex. A flash of our shields gained us entry to the exclusive residence and an escort from Armand, the building concierge. As we exited the elevator onto Singer’s floor, a young man was waiting to take it down. Even with the skullcap and sunglasses, I recognized him. He was the actor who’d played Harry Potter in the movies, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name. It might as well have well been Macedonia, which is another Slavic country I have trouble with.
    Lido covered his mouth. “That was Daniel Radcliffe,” he whispered. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice him.”
    Maybe I would have if he weren’t the size of a turnip. The legendary sorcerer was tiny in stature, miniscule to be more precise—an inch or two shorter and he’d have been labeled a homunculus. I was taller than he was and I dare say a few pounds beefier. There’s no way in hell I’d ever date a man that weighed less than I do. By the way, we’d pulled a copy of Singer’s driver’s license on the ride over and he was no giant either. I was beginning to feel like