Death at the Pantomime

by Evelyn James

  “Did that make him angry?”

  “There was a sadness about him,” Mervyn said thoughtfully. “Like his life had been a great disappointment. Honestly, we rarely spoke. His death was a surprise.”

  “Really? With his chronic ill health, I would have thought it would have been expected.”

  Mervyn looked Clara sadly in the eyes, clearly knowing something she did not.

  “You don’t know how he died, then?”

  “I assumed his illness finally caught up with him,” Clara said. “We all know those poor souls who suffer endless sickness and finally are so weak it snatches them away. I imagined pneumonia, or a complication from his existing health problems.”

  “That is how the papers made it sound,” Mervyn concurred. “Have you read his obituary in the London Theatre News?”

  Clara tried to recall if the clipping she had read in the scrapbook had been labelled as to its origins.

  “I might have,” she said. “I read one where Hutson gave a small quote.”

  “Sounds like the one,” Mervyn rubbed his chin. “It was very polite, as far as I can remember, didn’t go into details.”

  “How did Albert die?” Clara asked, feeling a slight hint of dread.

  “He hung himself,” Mervyn told her bluntly. “He lived all alone in rooms he rented. One evening he came home from playing in a panto. Ironically it was Aladdin and he was playing the sultan. No one had noticed anything amiss with him, the performance had gone smoothly. Mervyn walked up to his lodgings, saying goodnight to his landlady on the way.

  “Next morning he did not come down for breakfast. The landlady assumed he was sleeping in. When he didn’t appear for lunch, she started to grow concerned. Knowing Albert’s health was sometimes precarious she went up to check on him. She received no response from knocking on his door, so let herself in. And there she found him, hanging from a hook he had screwed into a ceiling beam.

  “He left a note. Said he was tired of being a failed actor. Tired of being the side part. He was also exhausted by his own ill health and was in a lot of pain. They say that clutched in his hand was the programme from the very first panto he was in, the one where he was meant to play the dame. I guess you could see that as a sort of symbolism.”

  The story of Albert’s passing cast a pall over Clara. She felt slightly numb as she envisioned the poor man hanging from the ceiling, all his hopes and dreams gone, and in his hand the one stark reminder of what could have been. Was it hard to imagine he was bitter? Maybe that he even hated the man who had stepped into his shoes and acquired the fame that should have been his?

  “I don’t see how this relates to Stanley,” Mervyn brought her back to reality. “Albert has been dead several years. He can’t have killed him.”

  “No, but I am thinking that someone who cared about Albert took revenge on his behalf, especially now you have told me the manner in which he died. That would make a person angry in their grief.”

  “Albert had no wife or children to take revenge for him,” Mervyn shrugged. “Though I do see your point. Would make sense of the ‘thief’ accusation. Someone felt that Stanley had not only stolen Albert’s part, but his future.”

  “Do you remember Albert’s act as the dame? Did Stanley permanently take on any of the traits Albert used in the performance?”

  Mervyn frowned, trying to rattle the past from his brain.

  “I’m not sure, I can’t really remember.”

  “Alright, what do you know about Albert’s friends and family? No one is totally alone in this world.”

  This was another aspect of the conversation that caused Mervyn to crease his brow in deep thought.

  “I think his parents were dead, he might have had a sister? I really don’t know. He was a figure in the background, someone who was there but who I rarely noticed. I recall him being friendly with Eustace Drake. That’s the actor who is playing the vizier in our Aladdin. Maybe he will know more.”

  That was something. Clara had a possible motive now, but she could also be barking up the wrong tree. She thanked Mervyn and walked away.

  She was about to leave the police station when she recalled that Park-Coombs had asked her to see him when she was done. She toyed with the idea; a part of her not wanting to face the inspector again, then she told herself she was being damn stupid and forced her feet around and back in the direction of the stairs.

  The inspector glanced up as she entered his office.

  “Anything?” He asked.

  “Maybe,” Clara loitered by the door. “There is this Albert Long, who killed himself and who some people seem to imply Stanley stole his dame part from. Could be someone was after revenge.”

  “Is that it?” The inspector asked, looking disappointed.

  “Pretty much until I can investigate further,” Clara was playing with her fingers nervously. “Anyway, I shall be off…”

  “Clara, what is the matter? You are acting as if I make you nervous?” Park-Coombs twitched his moustache, a sure sign he was unhappy.

  He looked a little hurt and Clara felt awful. She was acting nervous and treating him like there was something wrong and for what? Vague rumours and possible lies. How would she feel if such a thing was done to her? Pretty horrible. She would not only feel betrayed by her friends, but she would be offended that they had not trusted her enough to speak aloud their concerns. She would have liked to think they knew her better, just as she should know Park-Coombs better.

  Clara came to a sudden decision. She made sure the door to the office was shut and came and sat in the chair before the inspector’s desk.

  “I’m twitchy for a couple of reasons,” Clara explained, knowing that once she began the floodgates would be opened. “The first of which is that I have been told you are corrupt.”

  It was blunt, brutal, but the inspector deserved honesty.

  “I do not want to believe this, because you are my friend. But someone witnessed you receiving money from two thugs near the picture house and so now I feel utterly confused.”

  Park-Coombs had listened in silence, his face reddening with what Clara guessed was anger. She would be pretty angry too if she was accused of being corrupt and working with the enemy.

  “I haven’t known how to speak about this to you and it has been eating at me. That’s why I am acting so awkward. I feel terrible even considering such accusations and I hate that this has been even suggested to me,” Clara was speaking fast and had to catch her breath. “It’s all this gang business. It has muddled my head. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  She glanced at the inspector, waiting for an explanation. She thought he was going to explode, he looked fit to. Park-Coombs took a shaky breath.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” he said and his voice was remarkably calm.

  Clara anticipated more, but it did not come. She cleared her throat.

  “We have known each other long enough to deserve honesty,” she said. “That’s why I told you.”

  “And now you want an explanation?” Park-Coombs smiled grimly.

  “Maybe, if you want to tell me,” Clara dropped her eyes to her lap.

  “Hmm, explanations are all well and good if you believe them.”

  Clara lifted her head, fixed her gaze on him and said in a voice that was both calm and serious.

  “Try me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Inspector Park-Coombs sat back his chair and let his hands rest in his lap. The weariness Clara had observed before was now plainly visible – the bags beneath his eyes, the extra lines around his mouth and across his forehead, a hollowness to his cheeks that suggested a loss of weight due to infrequent meals. The toll of recent events was obvious and Clara felt a resurgence of guilt that she had doubted the inspector. He had been pushed to his limits recently and he did not need Clara’s suspicions on top of that.

  Park-Coombs closed his eyes for just a moment and took a long breath.

  “This is not a conversation I
ever expected to have with you, Clara,” he said, and the hurt in his tone stung.

  “No, I suppose not. I spoke in haste,” Clara said, feeling she should excuse herself and say he did not need to explain, but just as she was getting up the inspector raised his hand to halt her.

  “I want to clear the air, Clara. Obviously you have your reasons for your doubts.”

  “I am not sure they are good enough reasons,” Clara said unhappily.

  “Well, they are reasons, and I don’t want this difficulty between us. We need to work together. This is a dangerous time for Brighton, possibly a dangerous time for you.”

  Clara thought of her association with Chang and Leong.

  “Were you angry I told you not to mess about in this gang business?”

  Park-Coombs’ sudden question distracted Clara from her internal woes. She was surprised by the question.

  “No, I mean, I understood it was a task beyond me. If I went poking around, I would likely end up in a lot of trouble for no real reason. I would be putting you to bother keeping me safe. It was different when Peterson was involved, but I have no personal interest in the gang now. Even if I hate the fact it is operating in Brighton.”

  The inspector nodded thoughtfully.

  “That is not one of the reasons you wondered if I was corrupt?”

  “No,” Clara said firmly, though she recalled that it had crossed her mind. “Look, I think I just got the wrong end of the stick with all this.”

  “Well, let me attempt to put your mind at ease,” the inspector’s chair creaked as he rested back in it further. “What this witness of yours saw, I am guessing it was either Tommy or O’Harris? No, you don’t have to say who. Anyway, what they saw was me talking with two members of this particular gang. I won’t deny that. I have very few ways of getting into this business, and limited resources, some of my superiors are not convinced there even is a problem. You know how they think, if the matter only concerns the working classes and no one with any clout is being bothered, they are inclined to ignore the matter.

  “They are more interested in the perennial sheep rustling in Hove. Farmers and landowners have loud voices, you see. So, I have my hands tied. To make matters worse, those who might be witnesses to the trouble are the sort who like to avoid the police. They might have been in trouble with the law themselves, or they might simply view us with suspicion. Basically, this whole affair has become quite a struggle.

  “The only solution was to go down a different route. Remember the deaths of Jenny and Callum Little? That upset some folks around here. They were local people and seeing them being dispatched by outsiders, Londoners even, stuck in the throats of a few. I decided to use that to my advantage. I have contacts among the criminally inclined, all good policemen do, and I played on their local pride. I eventually found a couple of local lads who had become involved with this new gang but didn’t like the way things were going. They had friends who had been hurt, that sort of thing. They were resentful, but too scared of retribution to do anything drastic. However, they were prepared to supply me with information.

  “What your witness saw was me receiving information about the gang. However, they were not entirely wrong in their interpretation. You see, to provide an element of safety for my informants, we have been using the ruse that they are paying me off to look the other way.”

  Park-Coombs paused and opened a drawer in his desk. He withdrew three envelopes, all of them containing money.

  “These are my ‘bribes’,” he said. “My subterfuge. When this is all done with, I’ll donate the money to charity. And, before you ask, my superiors are aware of my shenanigans. I had the sense to run it past them before I started this operation. Since they would not offer me extra manpower or funding to crack this gang head-on, the least they could do is give permission for me to play this game.”

  Clara found herself staring at the money in the envelopes on the desk before her. There had to be several hundred pounds.

  “At least this explains why I was told you were being paid off. As far as the gang leader is concerned, you are a corrupt policeman.”

  “Exactly,” Park-Coombs allowed himself a small smile. “I thought you might have given me the benefit of the doubt, though.”

  The light rebuke in his voice prodded at Clara’s conscience.

  “I am a cynic, Inspector. What can I say?”

  “You could apologise,” Park-Coombs suggested.

  “Yes, you are right. Inspector, I am sorry I doubted you, I am sorry I did not come to you at once with my concerns instead of letting them fester in my mind,” Clara paused. “I hope you can forgive me?”

  “Of course,” Park-Coombs said gently. “And I would like to apologise for failing to alert you to what I was up to. I should have known that little escapes your attention.”

  They both hesitated awkwardly. Park-Coombs’ confession had forced Clara to consider her own secrets and how they were plaguing her mind. Her eyes wandered to those envelopes again, thinking about trust and how she was assisting Chang and Leong by keeping quiet. Finally, she decided that she must speak up.

  “I have a problem too,” she said. “I have been scared to speak about it in case it resulted in something bad happening.”

  Park-Coombs frowned. He leaned onto his desk, hands clasped together.

  “Clara?”

  “Brilliant Chang is in Brighton,” Clara said. “It’s all rather complicated, but it seems he wants to shut down this new gang as much as we do, though his reasons are less community-minded than ours.”

  “Chang,” Park-Coombs muttered the name. “He perceives this gang as a danger to him?”

  “If what he has told me is true, he has reason to be concerned. The gang is run by his sister, Jao Leong, and he fears for his own wellbeing. She is ruthless, or so I am told.”

  The inspector let out an incredulous whistle.

  “I didn’t know that. The gang leader is a woman?”

  “Yes, and Chang is very worried. He wants to use me as a go-between so that he can pass information to the police, to you. He wants his sister arrested and imprisoned before any great harm can befall either him or her.”

  “Nasty business,” Park-Coombs tutted. “Though wouldn’t be the first time siblings started a gang war. Has Chang offered you any useful information?”

  “Other than his sister is behind the gang, not really. At least nothing that would lead to her arrest, but there is more.”

  Park-Coombs raised an eyebrow to show he was intrigued but said no more.

  “Jao Leong has also approached me. She wants me to trace her brother,” Clara found just repeating what had happened somewhat unbelievable.

  “She has hired you?”

  “She did not exactly give me a choice. Not that she threatened me, rather she just did not give me a chance to turn her down. I confess I was a little dumbstruck by it all too,” Clara almost laughed at the bizarre turn of events. “It seems to me that this whole problem is an overinflated argument between two twisted and immoral siblings, with Brighton caught in the middle. I honestly don’t know what to do anymore.”

  Park-Coombs tapped his fingers on the desk, thinking through this new information.

  “Clara, you have to keep talking to both siblings.”

  “I don’t really want to, I am worried what might happen if either of them decide I am no longer of use, or worse, learn I have been playing them.”

  “I know, but you don’t really have an option. They have sought you out, and I doubt you will be given the option of backing out. Chang, at least, wants to use the police, or rather me, and that will be helpful. Leong is more complicated, but if she wants you to find her brother, I suggest you at least appear to be doing so.”

  That was not what Clara wanted to hear.

  “Surely, now you know her name, you could just arrest Leong?”

  “You know as well as I do that without evidence I can do nothing. I have the word of a criminal mastermind that
his sister is leading a gang. It’s not going to stand-up in court, especially as few people would consider a woman capable of such a thing.”

  “More fool them,” Clara muttered, but she knew he was right. “Then what do I do?”

  “Sadly, Clara, you have become involved in this messy business much like myself. You will have to play a tricky double-game. Tell Chang that Leong has hired you to find him, for a start, see what he makes of that.”

  “I am not supposed to get in touch with Chang,” Clara muttered. “He insisted on that for security, and I don’t really fancy taking a chance, even though I know where he is hiding out. When he wants me, he summons me.”

  “That really does not sound like your kettle of fish,” Park-Coombs looked sad. “Since when did Clara Fitzgerald take orders from anyone?”

  Yes, since when? Clara disliked the question because it offended her, but it was also accurate.

  “I suggest you find a way to contact Chang sooner rather than later,” Park-Coombs had become very serious. “Leong will likely have limited patience for you to find her brother, so you need to arrange something with Chang. I think it would be best for your safety.”

  “I’m not sure I want to be a detective anymore,” Clara grumbled. “I have this dread in the pit of my stomach all the time.”

  “I understand,” the inspector offered her what sympathy he could. “With any luck I shall have this whole matter resolved soon and there will be no more Leong to worry about. Until then, you must do everything in your power to stay safe. Any concerns, you must come to me day or night. I could send a constable to watch your back.”

  “That would be too obvious,” Clara replied. “I shall have to manage this myself. No one, apart from you, knows about this. I thought that for the best.”

  “O’Harris and Tommy might get a little over-protective?”

  “O’Harris is already sensitive about this gang trouble. He wants revenge for Peterson, though he has not admitted that to himself. Tommy isn’t much better. They would act rashly and potentially get themselves hurt.”

  Clara did not vocalise her fears of something much worse happening, she preferred to keep such thoughts secret, even to herself.