The question surprised me.
“I don’t know. With the rest of the crew I suppose.”
“He’s disappeared, Miss Lowe. We know he was at the show but sometime between the show finishing and our interviews, he has vanished. Do you know where he could have gone, Miss Lowe?”
“No, why should I? Why is it important anyway? Maybe he went out to get food? What’s the big deal? Unless you think he is guilty of putting the dye in the rain truck.”
“It wasn’t dye, Miss Lowe. It was blood. Natasha Moreland’s blood. She’s not sick, Miss Lowe, she’s dead. The object Seth found in the rain truck was her severed head.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Where was the rest of her?” I asked when they finally let me out. The cop had wanted to “go over it again, from the beginning” but I made a big show of yawning and looking at my watch and he must have finally realised that it was nearly three in the morning.
“We’ll leave it at that for now, Miss Lowe,” he said pompously, “but we will need to talk to you again.”
“Great,” I replied sarcastically. “I can’t wait.”
“We will need her to make a formal statement,” he told my mother as he delivered me to her in the hallway. “We will call you to make a suitable time.”
“Mmm,” Mum muttered a vague reply then drew me down to sit beside her on an uncomfortable vinyl coated bench that sat against the wall of the corridor. “They’re still talking to Grant,” she said in the sort of almost-whisper people use in doctor’s waiting rooms.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “They’re not after him, they’re after Severn.”
“What?” Mum sounded genuinely horrified.
“I reckon. Apparently he disappeared when the show finished, so I guess in their book that makes him guilty.”
“But that’s ridiculous,” Mum retorted. “That would be advertising that you were guilty. Whoever did it would know better than that. They would have stayed and tried to look as normal as possible. No, no, no. The real killer was probably standing beside us all the time.”
As soon as she had said the words, Mum took in their meaning. Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “One of our theatre company is a murderer!”
“Not necessarily,” I tried to sound more reassuring than I felt. “It could have been someone she knew from somewhere else. She could have taken them there. I will bet one thing, knowing Tasha, I’ll bet it was a guy.”
“Well it wasn’t Grant and I wish they would let him go.” Mum sounded panicky.
“Of course it wasn’t. Nobody thinks it was. But he is the president of the society so it’s obvious they will have a lot of questions for him.”
“They kept you a long time. I was getting worried.”
“Yeah, well, I was the one that knew Tasha best. Plus they seem to think I know a lot about Severn as well, which I don’t. I’m sure they think I am hiding him somewhere.”
“Are you?”
“Mother!”
“Sorry.”
“Anyway,’ I changed the topic to something that was beginning to fascinate me now that the initial horror had subsided. “If her head was in the rain truck, where was the rest of her?”
Mum paused a long time before replying.
“Seth found her, down in the hole in the floor where the fly counterweights drop.” She paused again. “She wasn’t wearing any knickers.”
“Oh,” I started to giggle. “I guess that shortens the odds on my bet that it must have been a guy.”
At that moment a door opened further down the corridor and Grant appeared. He had worn old track pants and a paint-stained sweatshirt into the theatre and by now, tired and with a few hours growth on his whiskers, he looked like a homeless tramp. Mum leapt to her feet and rushed to him.
“Let’s go home,” he said as they hugged.
“Wait for me, I need to go to the ladies,” I said quickly as we headed towards the lifts.
“They’re up on the next floor,” Mum said, pointing to the stairs. “We’ll wait for you here.”
I hurried up the stairs to find the toilets so I was alone when I past a door and heard Severn’s name mentioned. I stopped to listen.
“It was the name, it rang a bell,” I heard a male voice say. “It’s funny, it was a few years ago now but I thought of it the other day when that body turned up on New Brighton beach. Now with this business, well, I did some checking.”
“You’re telling me that Severn Jura has a record?” I recognised the voice of the cop who had interviewed me. “Tell me all about it.”
“Like I said, it was a few years ago now, in Dunedin. A body was found at the Taieri river mouth. It had the same marks as the one found at New Brighton, that’s what made me think of him. We found a card in the dead guy’s pocket with an address and a set of fingerprints. Both led us to a guy called Severn Jura. He admitted knowing the guy and giving him the card but we could never pin anything on him so eventually we had to let the matter drop and he disappeared. We lost track of him and the case ended up in the unsolved pile.”
“Thanks, Bob, once again your prodigious memory for trivial facts is put to good use.”
“There’s another fact you may not like.”
“Yes?”
“Like I said, this was a few years ago, a rather long time ago. How old would you say Jura is?”
“Eighteen, nineteen at the most.”
“Hmm, that’s the problem. Jura was listed as nineteen then and I was twenty two. I retire later this year. The case was over forty years ago, Jura should be pushing sixty if he’s a day.”
“So? Maybe this one’s his son, or grandson even?”
“This is the bit you’re not going to like. I said there were fingerprints on the card. I checked. They match the prints we took off Jura’s sound board this evening. They are exactly the same. By all accounts, it’s the same guy.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I let Mum and Grant do all the talking on the way home. Fortunately Mum got all maternal and decided it had all been too stressful for me and I should just be allowed to go to sleep, both in the car and once we arrived home, so I didn’t have to join in their frantic speculations. I didn’t even listen to them as my mind was spinning with odd thoughts but I did take in one thing Grant said. Apparently the mechanist had reported finding the fire door at the back of the dressing rooms unbolted and carefully left so it looked shut but could have been opened easily from the outside. Grant thought that widened the field and proved it didn’t have to be a member of the theatre company as anyone could have got in, but Mum argued exactly the opposite - it had to have been an inside job to have known about the door, let alone unbolt it.
I left them to their discussion and crawled off to bed and when I woke it was mid-morning and the lounge was full of theatre company committee in an emergency meeting. I made myself some toast with marmalade and sneaked in to listen.
The debate was becoming heated. One half of the committee thought the show should be closed immediately. They argued that the whole matter would be splurged all over tonight’s news and that carrying on singing and dancing when a member of the troupe had died horribly was in extremely bad taste. The other half thought we should carry on but Grant should make a formal statement before tonight’s show dedicating it to Tasha. They argued that she would have preferred the show to go on. They also argued on the grounds of money. The show was costing thousands of dollars to stage and if we closed only a few days after opening the company would not be able to pay its debts. The ones who wanted to close said continuing was morbid and only ghouls would come out of some sick curiosity and the others argued that who cared why they came as long as they bought tickets and we got their money. Mum, surprisingly, was voting for continuing and Grant, as usual, dithered.
Even though I’m not on the committee, I spoke up to say that I agreed with the idea of Grant dedicating the show to Tasha. I knew exactly how much she liked to be the centre of atten
tion and I figured she would be loving it. Besides, I didn’t want the show to end. In a really childish way I didn’t want her to spoil my fun again. Ever since I had arrived at Eastgate High she had always managed to spoil everything that I enjoyed. When we went on school camps she wore designer clothes and complained when they got dirty. When our class went skiing she twisted her ankle and made the ski instructor carry her back down the slope. In a way she was doing it again. Anyone else would have died quietly of pneumonia or something. Trust Tasha to be spectacularly murdered. I wanted to finish the show because I was enjoying it. I also wanted to find Severn.
The argument went backwards and forwards for another hour but ended abruptly when Grant received two phone calls in quick succession. The first was from the police telling him that there was no way the theatre could be opened to the public tonight as they would still be carrying out forensic inquiries; the second was from Tasha’s mother saying she hoped the show would continue as she knew Tasha would not have wanted it to close. Armed with that information, Grant declared that the show would open again on Friday and would carry on as normal for the rest of the run. There were murmurings of “ghouls” and “disgusting” but when a vote was called for, Grant’s motion was passed by two votes and the meeting broke up.
Mum invited a select few of her friends to stay for lunch. I helped her rustle up some thick soup and herb bread and we spent another couple of hours going over everybody’s recollections of the previous night and their experiences with the police inquiry team. Grant had the most to say and I tried to stay out of it until Mum volunteered the information that I had spent ages talking to the police and that apparently Severn was a prime suspect. Of course that got everyone’s attention and I had to tell them every little detail of my hours at the police station. It didn’t help my temper that as soon as school finished Anita arrived at the door wanting to know what had happened and I realised I would have to tell the story all over again. Muttering curses, I dragged her off to my room to swap notes.
“So what’s going on?” she asked breathlessly, flinging her jacket and backpack into the corner.
“What do you think is going on?” I was being cautious.
“Well, something sure is.” She made herself comfortable on the edge of my bed. “You weren’t at school today, Tasha hasn’t been there since Monday, even Miss Davenport is away.”
“Maybe we’re all sick and it’s really serious and now you’re here, you’ll catch it too.”
“Maybe chocolate fish can swim!” She didn’t believe me. “Maybe you’ll tell me why there were police outside the theatre last night when the show finished.” Anita could tell by my expression that she had hit home. “Jo told us, in theatre arts. She went to see it last night and said there were cop cars everywhere afterwards. Jonathon Carter reckons that’s why Dilly wasn’t in class. He said she’d probably been arrested for drugs or something.” She paused, obviously waiting for me to speak. I told her the truth.
She sat, stunned, for several seconds, her mouth hanging open like a fish, then she leapt off the bed, grabbed the telephone extension by my bed and started dialling. From the rapid way she fired the information down the line to friends, I figured at least half the town would know about it long before it broke on the tv news.
“It must have been sooo gruesome,” she gushed as she finished her last call. “Imagine. Cutting her head off. Think of all the blood!”
“Yeah, whatever.” I replied, borrowing the reply Severn uses when he can’t be bothered with what you are saying. I wasn’t going to share it with Anita but while she was speaking I had been imagining the scene backstage and a few random snatches of conversation had clicked together in my head. I had an idea but to test it I would have to get into the theatre.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I figured I would have to wait till well after midnight. I didn’t know how late the forensic team would stay at the theatre and I didn’t want to get caught. I also didn’t want Mum or Grant to find out so I wanted to make sure they were well and truly asleep. Fortunately I wasn’t tired as I had slept so late, so it was easy enough to stay awake. I watched tv with them, catching as many news broadcasts across the various channels as we could. Obviously they share resources as the film footage was always the same - the outside of the theatre showing a poster of our show, an interview with Jason Broderick who said it was all “simply frightful”, and a tearful interview with Tasha’s mother in which she showed photos of Tasha in various skimpy dance costumes with fancy silver trophies. Grant’s official statement from the theatre company which displayed carefully worded horror and sadness at the brutal death of “a young and vibrant member of the troupe” but which stressed that “in accordance with the wishes of her family the show would go on,” was read by a reporter as Grant had refused to be drawn into what he termed the “media circus”.
They went to bed at about eleven thirty and I made a cheap excuse about making myself some drinking chocolate so they wouldn’t think it was strange if I didn’t follow straight away. I actually did make myself the drink, and some toast, and took them down to my room where I turned on my stereo softly and settled down with a book to fill in the time.
It was almost one o’clock when I heard a noise at my window. At first I thought it was the tree which Grant has never got around to trimming, but when it continued, I pulled back the curtain and stared straight into the distraught face of Severn.
He motioned me to keep quiet but the warning was unnecessary, I was already easing the window catch to let him in.
“The police are looking for you,” I whispered as he sat, shivering, on the end of my bed. “You look frozen.” That just goes to show how stupid I can be. I mean, it’s midnight, I have just let into my bedroom the man who may have cut off my friend’s head and I am worrying because he looks cold.
“I am,” he acknowledged, rubbing the bare arms that protruded from the lightweight t-shirt.
I rummaged quickly in my drawers and found him a hooded sweatshirt then threw him the extra blanket I keep in my wardrobe for really cold nights.
“The police are looking for you,” I repeated.
“I know. So is Seth. I can’t let either of them find me. Can I hide here tonight?”
‘Umm,” I hesitated, my brain processing quick scenarios of Mum walking in.
“I won’t hurt you.” Severn looked pleadingly from the folds of the blanket. “I didn’t kill her.”
“I know,” I replied. “I never thought you did. I’m just worried that here isn’t a very safe place to hide. It’s a bit obvious isn’t it?”
“Just for tonight. Please? I won’t be any bother. I’m cold, I’m tired and I’m very hungry. I just want to warm up and rest for a while and if you’ve got any food I’d really appreciate it. I also need to find a way to get a message to David, to the Reverend, without Seth and the others finding out. I thought I might have been able to sneak into the show but the only people there tonight were police.”
“You went there? You’ve been to the theatre?” I was horrified.
“Yes. I was careful. Don’t forget, I was trying to avoid Seth. You have to be really careful to do that. If I can avoid him, I can certainly avoid the police.”
“Maybe.” I wasn’t convinced. “Look, stay here and I’ll go and find some food. Then we’ll talk.”
Leaving him behind, I made my way quietly to the kitchen. Luckily the lounge and kitchen are in the middle of our house with the main bedrooms at the front while my bedroom is all by itself at the back. That’s why I chose it. So I was able to make a huge pile of toast and two mugs of coffee without disturbance. I carried the mugs and plate carefully back to my bedroom, placed them on the dresser and, as Severn ate ravenously, I plied him with questions.
“Why the Reverend? Why is he any more trustworthy than the others? Why are they after you? Come to that, if you didn’t kill Tasha why did you run away? If you ran away before we found out she was dead, how did you know there was anyth
ing to run away from, unless you really did do it and if you did I am now in very deep shit.” I faded off wishing I had stopped talking several sentences earlier.
Severn pulled the blanket tighter around himself and sighed.
“I said it before and I meant it, I didn’t kill Tasha, even though she was a silly cow and she probably deserved all she got. See, now I’ve even given you a motive so you can join all the others and think the worst. I think she was one of the most irritating, up-herself people I have ever met, Seth included, and I am not sorry that someone got so fed up with her that they chopped her head off. They probably did it to stop her talking. But, I repeat, I did not hate her enough to kill her. That would take energy that she was not worth expending. I did, however, know that she was dead, long before you did. We all did. Yes, I know you all think that Seth found her during the interval, but that isn’t strictly true. David found her earlier in the evening, when we first arrived. We just chose not to say anything.”
“What?” I squeaked. “You guys knew Tasha was dead, inside the rain truck, and you didn’t tell anyone? Why?”
Severn shrugged.
“It wasn’t our problem. None of us were responsible. We didn’t do it and we didn’t want all the hassle. I mean, if you find a body you’re automatically a suspect and we didn’t need that sort of strife. We figured she was one of you and you people could sort it out.”
“So why did you run away? That only made the police assume you were guilty. Isn’t that just creating the hassle you just said you didn’t want?”
He shrugged again.
“I guess. But I didn’t run because of her. I ran to save my own skin. If Seth catches me, I’m dead.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Try as I might, I couldn’t get Severn to explain any more. He agreed he and Seth didn’t get along with each other but when I suggested that he quit the group and find another job somewhere else, he shook his head and said that was out of the question. When I asked why, he refused to say anything and it’s not possible to argue with someone who doesn’t answer. In the end I gave up and left him to finish the food.
Blood in the Wings Page 6