The theater had stadium style seating so they had to walk down a long aisle to the front of the theater to get to the seats. They walked up the steps to the landing below the top tier of seats. She pointed to the seat the man had occupied.
"Second row from the top. Right in the middle." She said.
"And where were you sitting?" Her head felt like Stomp was giving a command performance on a little stage just behind her eyes. She knew from experience that if she didn't get this headache under control soon, it would turn into a full-blown migraine. "Behind him." She said just before the headache and the acrid smells of soda and stale popcorn and death caused her to vomit all over his nice suit.
In times like these, Lane wished that she were some little petite southern thing, the kind of helpless woman that men fawned over and would forgive anything. But, there she stood, all 5 feet 10 inches and 175 pounds of her. And, she was embarrassed from throbbing head to neatly polished red toenails. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail and she pulled it loose hoping it would help alleviate her headache.
"Oh my God, I am so sorry." She said as she fumbled in her purse for Kleenex as if that would even begin to help. There was a stifled chuckle from one of the uniforms as Detective McGuire removed his suit coat and yelled for someone to get him a towel. He took Lane gently by the arm and led her out of the theater as he quite calmly asked if she was okay. She explained about the headache. Someone handed her a bottle of water. She sat on a bench in the lobby and rummaged through her purse for Extra Strength Tylenol Sinus tablets.
Lane sat there and looked up, well squinted at the profile of the man she'd just vomited all over. He was a tall man - about six feet four inches tall, had broad shoulders, and a trim waist. He had dark wavy hair cut short. He wore small gold wire rim glasses. She thought he looked a bit like Pierce Brosnan. She swallowed the pills, chased them with water, and looked back up at Detective McGuire.
"I don't think I've been this embarrassed since Ricky Blair unbuttoned the back of my dress in the 4th grade." Lane said as she handed the bottled water back to one of the uniformed cops. Detective McGuire smiled. At least she thought it might have been a smile, the corners of his mouth twitched.
"I only have a few more questions and we don't have to go back into the theater. Think you're up to it?" She squinted as she looked up at him. Her head was still throbbing and the bright lights in the lobby hurt her eyes.
"I'm game if you are." She said smiling sheepishly as she looked woefully at the jacket he had laid on the concession stand counter. Boy was that stain going to be tough to get out.
"Although my head and I would be happier if we could get out of this bright light." She noticed one of the other detectives jerk his head slightly toward the theater next door. Lane swayed almost imperceptibly as she stood. Detective McGuire grabbed her arm.
"This could wait until tomorrow."
Lane put her thumb and fingers back on the bridge on her nose and squeezed. "I'd just as soon get it over with. I promise. The vomiting is all over." She said hoping it was the truth.
They walked into theater 17 and she sat in the first row. Detective McGuire stood. "You were here alone. Is that right Ms. Parker?" He looked at her. She was beautiful. Surely, she had a husband, significant other, boyfriend in her life. Why was she at the movie let alone anywhere alone on a Saturday night?
"Yes."
"Do you usually see movies alone, Ms. Parker?" She sat just looking at him for a minute. What the hell was that supposed to mean? That she didn't have any friends? That she couldn't get a date even if her life depended on it? Well, she thought, I do have friends and I can get a date ... well ... I do have friends.
"Actually, most of the time, I see movies with a friend who's currently out of town." Her head hurt, and she thought this guy was a bit of a jerk. A jerk doing his job, but still a jerk. "Look, Detective McGuire, I see at least two movies a weekend, sometimes more. I usually sit in the top row. I have a small bag of popcorn and a large Diet Coke. Sometimes, I splurge and have Milk Duds." Her outburst didn't faze him.
"I see. Do you always sit through the credits?" She wondered what on earth her movie going habits had to do with the dead guy.
"Yes, as a matter of fact I do." She was pinching her nose again.
"That's rather unusual, isn't it? Sitting through the credits I mean."
She closed her pale blue eyes. Suddenly it was 1977 again. It was the year Lane turned 13, the year her life changed forever. Funny that it was still the way she thought about it, the year her life changed forever. It was the year Lane had fallen down the steps at the capitol in Lincoln, NE and had broken both her legs. The year Aunt Marta married the man who had been Lane's orthopedic surgeon and then moved them to Omaha. It was Aunt Marta who started her in the habit of both sitting in the last row of the theater and staying to watch the credits. Both of Lane's legs had been broken in the accident, and when she was finally out of the wheel chair, she was on crutches. After the crutches came the walker and then the cane. They'd get to the theater early so that she could maneuver through the seats before anyone else was there and they'd stay until everyone left.
She opened one eye at a time and peered at him.
"I suppose it is. I was on crutches for a prolonged period as a teenager; it was just easier for me to sit still until everyone else left the theater then. It became a habit."
It had become a habit. One she'd never broken, but she'd have stayed for the credits on this movie anyway.
Detective McGuire sat in the seat next to her.
"I see. So you must have thought it was odd that the man was still sitting when you got up to leave."
"I guess you could say that. At first, I thought maybe he'd fallen asleep although I didn't know how anyone could have fallen asleep in there considering the volume level, so I bent over and tapped him on the shoulder. I couldn't get him to stir, so I shook him a bit. He slumped forward, and I saw the blood on the back of his neck. I took out my cell phone, dialed 9-1-1, and told the kid who was cleaning to get the manager."
"I see, well that's all I need for now." Detective McGuire stood up.
"Did you give all of your information to the uniformed officer, your name, address, and phone numbers?"
"Yes." She said thinking that she'd given them everything but her shoe size. She a made a mental note: never find another dead body. She followed the detective into the lobby area and stopped at the concession stand. She squinted to look at her watch. It had been an hour since she'd taken the sinus pills and they hadn't even dulled the pain. She asked for another bottle of water as she reached into her purse, pulled out an envelope, opened a cellophane sleeve before she tilted her head back slightly, and poured white powder on her tongue.
The detective was more than a bit curious. Surely, the woman wasn't taking a hit of a controlled substance right in front of him.
"What is that you're taking?' She handed him the red white and blue envelope. "BC Fast Pain Relief" was written on the front. He turned it over and read the active ingredients. Aspirin, caffeine, what on earth was salicylamide? "Give me your keys. I'll drive your car home and have one of the uniformed officers follow us in my car." She reached into her purse and handed him the keys. Just what I need, she thought, a dead guy, Stomp, and Detective McGuire.