Murder Dancing

by Lesley Cookman

  She stopped, annoyed with herself that she’d lost her temper and suddenly aware that the entire room had gone quiet and was listening. Ben had appeared in the doorway and was looking surprised, while Harry was leaning against the wall next to him, arms folded and with a smile on his face. She took a deep breath.

  ‘So, yes. It is important. Someone has to get to the bottom of all this to stop these things happening.’

  Max and Owen looked at one another.

  ‘Hear, hear!’ called a voice from the back of the room, and Tom was seen to be applauding over his head. Surprisingly, the rest of the dancers all joined in. Even Damian and Sebastian were smiling.

  Max sat down suddenly and smiled ruefully.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have realised.’ He looked round his company. ‘Does anyone want to stop? Should we pull out?’

  The dancers looked at each other and murmured.

  ‘No,’ said Tom, finally. ‘If we can keep the theatre safe – and ourselves, of course – I think we should go on. We’ve come this far. But to be fair, I think it should be up to Libby and Ben. As Libby says, they’ve had to put up with a lot.’

  All eyes turned to Libby, who was looking at Ben. He came over to stand beside her.

  ‘I happen to agree with every word Libby said – although that’s pretty rare,’ he added, raising a laugh. ‘But you’ve all worked hard and it seems a shame to waste all that. Besides the money it’s cost to hire us for two weeks.’ He got another laugh.

  ‘Thank you, Ben.’ Max looked at his feet. ‘I did say to Libby the other day I thought perhaps we should pull out, but I never really wanted to.’ He looked up at his company.

  ‘I don’t know who or what is behind all this, but I want you all to promise to watch out for each other and the theatre for the next few days. Once we get to Saturday, we’re safe.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Tuesday afternoon passed quietly. The dancers rehearsed, Ben stood by to assist Sebastian should it be needed, Peter attended to the lights and Libby shut herself in her conservatory to paint.

  ‘When you think about it,’ Libby said to Ben that night over chilli con carne, ‘it must have cost Max a fortune, this exercise. Meals every night, either in the pub or at Hal’s, for everyone, all the accommodation …’

  ‘I expect it’s going through the company books,’ said Ben. ‘He’s hardly using his own money.’

  ‘I wonder if he’s had to pay Damian for the music?’

  ‘That’s a point. Although Damian’s a salaried employee, as far as I can tell, so perhaps it comes under his terms of work.’

  ‘Seems a bit harsh, if so. And Max did say the programme will say that’s it’s Damian’s score and from an idea by Alan.’

  ‘I expect they’re just pleased to be acknowledged,’ said Ben. ‘And the company did workshop it, so it’s a joint enterprise.’

  ‘Which makes it even more surprising that one of them is trying to sabotage it.’

  ‘Sure it’s one of them, are you?’

  ‘Who else could it be? Only they’re not regarding one another with suspicion, are they? You’d expect them to be avoiding each other.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they can believe that any of them could do it. You said that when you and Fran took Tom and Jonathan out they couldn’t think of anyone capable of harming the company.’

  ‘Except the ones they didn’t know.’

  ‘The auditionees? But they all seem completely harmless.’

  ‘Except Paul.’

  ‘Oh, don’t start on him again!’ said Ben. ‘Poor bloke! He’s come in for more speculation than anyone else. Even from my mother.’

  The subject was dropped in favour of discussion of what to watch on television for their last night off until Sunday. Although Libby was not involved in the production, she would be attending to bar and front of house duties for the week.

  On Wednesday morning, Libby awoke with a feeling of anticipation, slightly tempered by apprehension. All through early morning tea and breakfast she was subconsciously waiting for the phone to ring with news of some fresh disaster. By the time Ben left to go and attend to neglected duties in the estate office, she was hopping about like a cat on hot bricks.

  Finally, abandoning the painting she had been attempting the day before, she packed up her things and set off to the Manor. She waved at Beth Cole putting a poster up on the village notice board, Ali at the eight-till-late putting out trays of bread on his counter, Nella at the farm shop putting out her trays of fresh vegetables and Harry having a morning coffee at the big table in the window of The Pink Geranium. Her village, she thought. How comforting it was, and how glad she would be when they went back to normal.

  Normality was something that looked unlikely as she approached the Manor and saw, parked carelessly on the forecourt, a large and ostentatious black car.

  Cautiously, she approached the door and listened.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she heard Ben say, ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you into the theatre just at this moment. I can get a message over there, and perhaps Max can come over as soon as he’s free –’

  ‘’E’ll bloody come over when I says so,’ came back a guttural voice, ‘and so you tell ’im.’

  Libby stepped into the hall and was confronted by a broad, black, barathea back, topped by a huge head of white hair.

  ‘Libby,’ said Ben, ‘this is Stan’s father.’

  Wally Willis turned round and Libby saw that he was leaning on two sticks.

  ‘’Oo are you then?’ he said.

  Libby smiled as pleasantly as she was able. ‘Libby Sarjeant,’ she said. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Willis.’

  He narrowed tiny, dark eyes at her. ‘You summat to do with this set-up?’

  ‘Part-owner and my partner, Mr Willis,’ said Ben smoothly, coming to Libby’s side. ‘Would you like to come into my office?’

  Wally Willis grunted, and Ben held out an arm to usher him forwards. Over his shoulder he mouthed, ‘Phone Ian’ at Libby, then asked aloud, ‘Would you like coffee?’

  ‘Tea,’ said Willis, and stumped into the office. Ben winked at Libby, who went to the kitchen.

  ‘Still ’ere, is ’e?’ said Hetty. ‘I’ve boiled the kettle.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ said Libby. ‘He wants tea. I’ll take it in, but Ben’s asked me to phone Ian first.’ She made a face. ‘He’s revolting, isn’t he? I don’t want to touch him.’

  However, Ian’s personal phone went straight to voicemail, and his work one Libby was nervous about using. In the end she sent texts to both numbers, then called Fran very briefly to let her know what was going on.

  Wally Willis was sitting, legs akimbo and hands on knees, in the big chair opposite Ben, who sat looking calm and superior (she thought) on the other side of the desk.

  ‘Tea,’ said Libby, putting the tray down on the desk. ‘Mr Willis?’

  He looked suspiciously at the tray, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the china teapot.

  ‘Ur,’ he said.

  Libby poured tea into two cups and politely asked if he took sugar and milk.

  ‘Milk.’

  She poured a little milk into both cups and passed one each to Ben and Willis.

  ‘Will you excuse me,’ she said. ‘I’m expecting a phone call,’ and nodded slightly at Ben’s raised eyebrows.

  ‘Phone rang,’ said Hetty as she returned to the kitchen. She snatched it up and checked. Ian.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I was giving Wally Willis tea.’

  Ian spluttered. ‘Tea?’

  ‘He didn’t want coffee.’ Libby grinned at Hetty.

  ‘What’s he doing there?’

  ‘I think he wants to see Max, but he started off by trying to get Ben to let him in to the theatre.’

  ‘Is Max in the theatre?’

  ‘I assume so, I only arrived just before I called you and Willis was already here.’

  ‘Damn. Look, don’t let him get away. I’m
coming over.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Does that matter?’

  ‘Yes. I wanted to know how long you might be.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I’m in the office. I’ll be about twenty minutes.’

  Libby ended the call.

  ‘Did you see Willis first?’ she asked Hetty.

  ‘We come out into the hall together when we ’eard the door,’ said Hetty. ‘Doesn’t look as if ’e could knock the skin off a rice puddin’ now, does ’e?’

  ‘He still looks dangerous to me, though,’ said Libby. ‘And nothing like his son. Flo said he was small and neat, like Stan. He’s certainly put on weight.’

  ‘That was the little feller with the glasses, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I’m just wondering if I should nip over to the theatre and let them know he’s here.’

  ‘I shouldn’t, gal. Worry ’em before they need to be.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. Shall I go and see if Ben needs rescuing?’

  Hetty snorted. ‘You can try!’

  ‘… and ’e’s responsible whether ’e likes it or not,’ Willis was saying as Libby re-entered the office. ‘Employment law, innit?’

  ‘I don’t think it works quite like that in a case of murder,’ said Ben, ‘unless, of course, the employer is the murderer.’

  ‘I reckon ’e is,’ said Willis. ‘Morally.’

  Libby saw Ben’s mouth twitch, and had to bite her own lip. Ben caught her eye and she nodded. Willis swung round in the chair as far as he was able.

  Before he could speak, Libby said sweetly, ‘Did your wife not come down with you, Mr Willis? I suppose she’s devastated.’

  His face darkened. ‘You leave ’er out of it.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby. ‘Right.’

  He turned back to Ben. ‘You gonna get that Tobing or whatever ’e’s called out ’ere, then?’

  ‘Not just yet, Mr Willis. If you’ll just be patient a little longer.’

  ‘Then I’ll go meself.’ Willis grabbed his two sticks propped up by the chair and struggled upright. Neither Ben nor Libby made a move to help him, but Libby went to the door and stood in front of it. Willis turned to face her breathing heavily. ‘Get out of my way.’

  ‘Mr Willis, we’ll tell Mr Tobin you’re here shortly, if you’ll just wait for a minute or two.’

  ‘I said get out of my way!’ roared Willis.

  The door opened behind Libby.

  ‘Don’t you shout like that in my house,’ said Hetty, coming round to stand by Libby, arms crossed in front of her apron. ‘Sound like a bloody docker, you do.’

  Taken aback, Willis wobbled on his sticks, and Ben quickly rounded the desk to support him.

  ‘Get off,’ he muttered, but Ben held on.

  ‘I think ’e ought ter go,’ said Hetty. ‘Don’t want the likes of ’im in my ’ouse.’

  Amused, Libby said, ‘Shall we put him out, Hetty?’

  ‘I’m not goin’ bloody anywhere,’ said Willis, eyeing Hetty warily.

  ‘Then it’ll ’ave to be the police,’ said Hetty, unmoved. ‘Ben, call –’

  ‘All right, all right.’ Willis struggled back to his chair. ‘Bloody women.’

  Ben stifled a snort and Hetty winked at Libby. Just as she did so, they heard the unmistakable sound of tyres on gravel.

  ‘That’ll be Ian,’ said Libby, and went to let him in.

  ‘You’ve just missed Hetty getting the better of him,’ she whispered, as she led him and a wide-eyed detective constable to the office.

  ‘I wish I’d seen that,’ he whispered back and entered the office behind her.

  ‘Hello, Hetty, Ben,’ he said. ‘This is DC Irons. Who’s this?’

  ‘Mr Wally Willis,’ said Ben. ‘Stan Willis’s father.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Ian didn’t hold out a hand. Neither did Wally Willis. ‘I believe one of my officers went to see you in London last week?’

  Willis nodded, looking even more wary now.

  ‘Is there anything we can do for you now you’re here?’ continued Ian.

  ‘Let me into that theatre.’ It came out as a growl.

  Ian glanced at Ben, who shook his head.

  ‘Not just at the moment, sir.’ Ian moved round to the side of Ben’s desk, forcing Willis to turn and face him. ‘Who did you want to see?’

  ‘That bloody Tobing!’

  ‘Mr Max Tobin, would that be, sir?’ Ian said mildly. Libby had to turn away and discovered Hetty had, too. While they both struggled to contain their mirth, Ian was going on.

  ‘I’m afraid he can’t tell you any more about your son’s death than I can. What did you want to know?’

  ‘’Is fuckin’ fault, innit?’ The roar was back.

  ‘No, sir, Mr Tobin had nothing to do with the death. In fact, he was attacked himself.’

  Willis goggled and suddenly sat down again.

  Hetty cleared her throat and went to pick up the tea tray. She glanced at Ian, who nodded and smiled, and left the room.

  ‘Now, Mr Willis,’ said Ian. ‘As you’re here, perhaps you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions. DC Irons will just take a few notes.

  ‘Already talked to your lot.’

  ‘I know, sir, but there are a few things I’d like to clarify.’

  ‘’Oo are you?’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Connell, I’m senior investigating officer on the enquiry into Mr Willis junior’s death.’

  Willis grunted.

  ‘Ben, Libby, I’m sorry to turn you out, but …’ Ian smiled deprecatingly.

  ‘OK, we’re going,’ said Ben with an answering grin. ‘Come on, Lib.’

  As they left, they heard Willis ask, ‘Friends o’ yours, are they? That’s ’andy, innit?’

  ‘What a horrible man,’ said Libby as they entered the kitchen.

  ‘Lots like ’im in the East End,’ said Hetty. ‘Ought to ask Flo up to have a look at him.’

  ‘As a curiosity?’ suggested Ben. ‘Are you making Ian tea?’

  ‘Yes. Mugs this time. ’Ere, Lib, you can take ’em in.’

  ‘I’ll bring the sugar in case DC Irons wants it,’ said Ben, artlessly.

  Ben knocked on the door and opened it for Libby, who went in and put the two mugs down on the desk. Ben offered the sugar to DC Irons, who shook his head, looking embarrassed, and he and Libby regretfully left the room.

  As they did so, the front door opened and Sebastian almost fell through it.

  ‘Is it Stan’s father? Is he here?’

  ‘Yes, he is. I thought you said you didn’t know him?’ Libby frowned at him.

  ‘I don’t – but he’ll know me, won’t he? Oh, God, don’t tell him I’m here!’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Ben steered Sebastian into the sitting-room.

  ‘Now, what do you mean by that? And if you didn’t want him to know you were here, why did you come over?’

  ‘Because he’s bound to come to the theatre and I wouldn’t be able to get away from him!’ Sebastian sank on to one of the sofas, head in hands.

  ‘Why are you scared, Seb?’ Libby sat down beside him.

  ‘After you told me Stan’s father was a criminal it was obvious how I’d been let off the whole drugs thing. The more I thought about it the more likely it seemed. And Stan used to threaten me. I wondered what he could do to me, but I didn’t dare try to find out.’

  ‘And how did you know he was here?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Max recognised the car. He’d gone up to the box and noticed it when he was coming down. We’ve finished over there, and he was going to give his pep talk.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ben. ‘Go into the kitchen. Where are you sleeping now, by the way?’

  ‘Oh, they’ve let me back into the room in the hotel. They’ve taken all Stan’s stuff away.’

  ‘Right, well, go into the kitchen, as Ben says, and we’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out,’ said Libby.

  She showed a quivering Sebastian into the
kitchen with a ‘Look after him, Hetty!’ and returned to Ben.

  ‘Did he seem unduly scared to you?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Libby looked thoughtful. ‘He did rather. Why, do you suppose? He professed to know nothing about Stan’s father or how the drugs barons or whoever they were let up on him. Do you think he was lying? I thought he was telling the truth at the time.’

  ‘He’s had time to think about it since then. He might even have had a look on the internet. Probably scared him stiff reading about what Willis got up to back in the sixties and seventies.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s it. I wonder if Ian will let him see Max?’

  As if in answer to her query, Ian appeared at the sitting-room door.

  ‘I’m sorry to be a nuisance,’ he began, and Libby raised her eyebrows, ‘but would one of you mind fetching Tobin over here?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Ben.

  ‘Sebastian’s hiding in the kitchen,’ said Libby. ‘He doesn’t want to meet Stan’s father.’

  ‘Now why would that be?’ Ian frowned.

  ‘Go and ask him?’ Libby suggested.

  ‘Not until I’ve supervised the meeting between Willis and Tobin. He might be an old man, but he could do some damage with those sticks.’

  ‘Do you think he still has the power to cause any real grief?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Associates, you mean? There’s certainly some influence there, especially if Seb is right and Stan got the hounds called off. When was that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Couple of years, maybe?’

  Ben arrived, with Max in tow looking worried.

  ‘What does he want?’ he asked Ian.

  ‘Satisfaction,’ said Ian with a grin. ‘But I felt it was only fair to let him see you.’

  ‘Under supervision,’ put in Libby.

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Ian. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Aren’t you two coming?’ Max looked at Libby and Ben.

  ‘No. Not our business,’ said Ben. ‘We’ll wait here.’

  ‘Shall we go and relieve Hetty in the kitchen?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘You go. I’ll stay here and wait for Max,’ said Ben, so Libby went back to the kitchen, where she found Sebastian sitting at the table gloomily contemplating a mug of tea.