There was a pause as though she was working out which was a greater threat: the mysterious and threatening customer, or spending time with me in a taxi. ‘Very well,’ she said eventually, making no attempt to disguise the note of reluctant resignation in her voice. I was, it seemed to me, only the slightly better choice between the two alternatives.
‘Good. I’ll be with you shortly,’ I said, in a snappy businesslike tone and replaced the receiver.
It couldn’t be the Raymond Carter who had returned to the mask shop to threaten Maxine, I pondered, as I sat back in the taxi rumbling through the murk that was London in the blackout where phantom buildings and ghostly pedestrians slid silently by. I reasoned that the real Carter wouldn’t be that reckless or stupid enough. Surely? Unless, of course, he really had lost his marbles. I ruled that scenario out – for the moment. No, I told myself, it must be someone impersonating him. The same someone who had knifed me the night before and who had brought about the demise of my old overcoat. As I snuggled down in my new posh double-breasted replacement, I thought that I had at least one thing for which I could thank my assailant.
Maxine was waiting in the doorway of her shop when the taxi pulled up. She emerged from the shadows when I alighted. She was wearing a white trench coat and a plain black headscarf and looked adorable. I raised my hat in greeting and opened the door of the cab for her. She threw me a nervous smile and got in without a word.
‘You’d better tell me exactly what happened today?’ I said, when the cab was in motion once more.
She turned to me and in the shadowy light, I could see from her strained features and nervous glances that she was really frightened. I squeezed her hand as a mark of encouragement but she drew it away. ‘That man, the one you were interested in … well, he came into the shop this afternoon and he asked if anyone had been enquiring about the mask … the one you showed me. The … Charlie Dokes design.’
‘You are sure it was the same fellow who ordered the mask in the first place.’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Can you describe him for me?’
‘He was tall and lean, but I think he wore a disguise.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘When he came close to me I could see that his beard … it was false. It was fake hair stuck on like an actor on stage. And probably his big glasses with the thick lenses were there to hide his face. And he spoke in an odd fashion as though he had a frog in his throat.’
‘To disguise his real voice. You say that he threatened you.’
‘Yes, yes he did. He grabbed me and shook me. He looked very angry as though he couldn’t control his feelings. He wanted to know if anyone had been asking about the mask. He really frightened me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘He knew about you.’
‘Me?’
She nodded. ‘He knew you’d been in the shop asking questions and he wanted to know what I had told you about him. I thought he was going to hit me, or do something worse.’ She turned her face away from me as her eyes grew moist with emotion. With fear.
I took her limp hands in mine once more and squeezed gently. This time she did not pull away. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said gently. ‘You’re safe now.’ I knew I couldn’t be absolutely sure of that but I hoped the idea would make her feel better.
‘It just took me by surprise. I’ve never been threatened in such a way before.’
‘I understand. What did you tell him?’
‘Nothing. I said that I hadn’t told you a thing. I was frightened that he would really hurt me.’
I nodded sympathetically. ‘That was brave and sensible.’
‘He seemed to believe me. He said that if I kept quiet, I would be safe but if I told you anything it would be “the worse” for me. Those were his words: “The worse”. The girl shivered as she spoke. The experience had really unnerved her.
‘And yet you have disobeyed him.’
‘He is a bad man, yes?’
‘Yes, he is a bad man.’ I could have added that he had already murdered one man and tried to kill me, but I didn’t fancy having to placate an hysterical French girl in a moving taxi.
‘I thought as much. In that case his words mean nothing. He could do me harm whether I speak to you or not. And you are a policeman, yes?’
‘I am a detective. A good guy. I work with the police.’
‘Then you will catch him.’
I could not help smile at the simplicity of her equation. I was the good guy therefore it followed as the night the day that I would catch the bad guy. Simple as that. In the movies that formula worked a treat but not always in real life, alas.
‘Why are you smiling?’ she asked, her own features softening.
‘It’s not often I get someone who has such faith in my powers.’
‘You are not a good detective?’
‘Quite good, I suppose,’ I replied, with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. I really was smiling now and my amusement puzzled Maxine all the more.
‘I do not understand the joke. This is serious.’
‘There is no joke. And I know it’s serious. And, to be honest, it has become a little more serious in the last ten minutes.’
‘Why so?’
‘Because you have told me. Because you are in my company. While Mr False Beard is on the loose, you’ll need protection. Do you live with your parents? Friends?’
She shook her head. ‘I live alone. I have a small flat above the shop.’
So, I thought, he’ll know where to find you.
Briefly as I could I told her about the real Raymond Carter and the threats he had been receiving. I said I believed that the joker who had waltzed into her shop and ordered the mask was most likely the fellow who was behind the threats. It was clear that he was a nasty piece of work and he was unpredictable. I didn’t frighten the girl further by telling her about Arthur Keating’s murder. I reckoned Maxine was in danger now and she had to be protected and as such she couldn’t go back to her place tonight.
At this point the taxi pulled up outside Orchid Villa, the home of the Horner sisters.
‘I’m just going to pick up Peter …’
‘Your nephew.’
‘Yes. And then we’ll go for something to eat and talk some more.’
Peter was waiting in the porch for me, but I popped inside to have a few words with Edith and Martha Horner, the spinster ladies who looked after my orphan friend for most of the time. They told me how excited he’d been at the prospect of seeing Charlie Dokes. If only they knew the truth!
Before getting into the taxi, I told Peter that there would be a lady with us this evening. He gave me a sly grin. ‘Is she your girlfriend?’ he said.
‘No, no, nothing like that. She’s just a friend. A new friend and she’s in a bit of trouble.’
Peter’s eyes bulged with excitement. ‘Are some crooks after her? Trying to kill her? Is she one of your customers?’
I couldn’t help but smile. Peter viewed my career as a detective in comic-book terms. I was the square-jawed crime-fighter always up against criminal masterminds who were determined to kill me, but I always managed to escape the cunning torture chamber or the burning building in time to see the baddies rounded up and imprisoned. No matter how I tried to disabuse him of this notion, he retained the fiction. Fate had deemed that we had shared a few dangerous moments together in the past which had strengthened this belief. He perceived my life as glamorous and exciting instead of what it was: mainly routine with some rather unpleasant interludes where I’m attacked with a knife and wounded in the arm and thigh.
‘No,’ I said wearily, ‘some crooks are not after her. And I don’t have customers, Peter. I have clients.’
‘Is she your client then?’
‘Not exactly. As I said, she’s just a friend who I’m helping out.’
Peter looked a little disappointed at this explanation.
As I shepherded him towards the cab, I whispered, ‘Now you b
e polite to the lady – her name is Maxine – and don’t go asking her any awkward questions.’
‘OK,’ he said, without enthusiasm.
I bundled him into the taxi and carried out hurried introductions before instructing the driver to take us west. Maxine and Peter said hello to each other, while shaking hands in a formal manner.
‘Are you coming to see Charlie Dokes with us at the Palladium tonight?’ Peter asked.
‘Er, no I don’t think so.’ At the mention of the name Maxine’s eyes narrowed with apprehension and she cast me a worried glance.
I shook my head in an attempt to indicate to her there was nothing to worry about but I didn’t really succeed. Maxine’s frown remained in place. She sat back in the cab looking very uncomfortable. I didn’t want to let the girl go home alone. At the moment she was vulnerable and possibly the target of an unpredictable killer. I needed to find her a safe gaff and for this I had an idea.
TWENTY-FOUR
* * *
Larry Milligan stood at the back of the stalls of the Palladium and watched the second act finale of the Charlie Dokes Show. The audience was laughing merrily at the dummy’s snide remarks and crisp one-liners and Raymond Carter seemed expertly in charge of the act, but Milligan, who had seen Carter perform countless times before, knew there was something missing. There was neither heart nor soul in the performance. He was just going through the routine like a well-trained robot. Although the audience didn’t seem to notice, there were a few mistimed lines and Carter’s eyes were as dead as those of his dummy.
Al Warren had been right: this man was beginning to crumble. Imperceptibly to his adoring public, maybe … but it was only a matter of time. He had placed his feet on the slippery slope downwards and no one but himself could prevent his descent. Milligan knew that if Carter continued like this, he’d be washed up within six months. It wouldn’t take long for the punters to realize they weren’t getting the full package. The faults would grow and the spark would die away completely.
Milligan lit a cigarette and deliberately let the smoke cloud up before his eyes masking his view of the stage. He didn’t want to see any more. His steel-grey eyes narrowed and a slight sardonic smile touched his lips briefly.
‘You shouldn’t drink between shows,’ Milligan said in a sharp tone, indicating that this was not an observation but an instruction.
It was fifteen minutes later and he was standing in Raymond Carter’s dressing-room gazing down at his client who was sitting in his vest and underpants at the make-up mirror with a bottle of gin in his hand.
Milligan lifted the bottle from Carter’s limp grasp and placed it on the shelf above the mirror. ‘After tonight’s show … maybe.’
‘I need something to help me get through—’
‘Don’t be pathetic. Use adrenalin like you used to,’ snapped Milligan, pulling up a chair and sitting close to Carter. ‘I watched you out there this afternoon. It was like an end-of-the-pier side show. There was no life, no warmth, no … nothing. You got away with it by the skin of your teeth.’
Carter shook his head fiercely as though he wanted to dislodge some thought, some violent memory from it and then he scrabbled in his trouser pocket and retrieved a sheet of paper which he passed to Milligan.
‘I found this on my dressing-room table when I got here this afternoon.’
Milligan unfolded the paper. There were words scrawled in red ink across the sheet: ‘Tap, tap, tap. Death is about to come knocking.’
‘He’s been here … in this room. He’s close to me. He could attack at any moment. Is it any wonder that I’m bloody well lacking life and warmth? I am bloody scared, that’s why. Terrified.’ His voice had risen to an hysterical pitch.
‘Have you told the police?’
‘I’ve not had time, have I? The show must go on, you know. And what good would it do to tell them anyway? They’d only say I’d written it myself, or just file it away to use as evidence after they’d found my dead body. They’re no bloody good.’
‘What about that detective of yours?’
‘No results there either. I’d give him the push but I’ve got to have some lifeline.’
Milligan lifted the gin bottle off the shelf and handed it to Carter. ‘I reckon you could do with a slug of this after all.’
Without a word, Carter grabbed the bottle and splashed a very generous measure into a tumbler on the table and swilled half of it down in one go.
‘You realize that you are playing right into his hands, don’t you?’ said Milligan, leaning back on his chair and lighting up.
‘Who?’
‘The bastard who’s taunting you with these messages.’
‘And leaving a corpse on my doorstep, eh?’
‘Yes. He’s playing a game and he’s got Raymond Carter on the losing side. He seems determined to destroy you but he’s cunning enough to let you do it yourself. He’ll get more pleasure from that than from just bumping you off. If you can be strong, you can foil him.’
‘I wonder,’ said Carter, glancing at Milligan over the rim of the glass, ‘if you would be so confident in your analysis if this creep were doing these things to you?’
For that, Milligan had no reply.
Carter finished off his glass of gin, turned back to the mirror and began removing his make-up. ‘It’s the not knowing … the uncertainty of it all. I’ve no idea what to expect next. A call in the middle of the night. Another body. A personal attack.’
‘If only we had some clue, some inkling who’s behind it all.’
Carter glared at his own complexion in the mirror and gave a twisted grin. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s me, of course. I’m the guy behind it all,’ he said sneeringly in his Charlie Dokes voice, his eyes fixing into a manic stare. ‘It’s me. I’m the killer!’
After Milligan left, Carter made a phone call to Evelyn.
‘I just wanted to hear you … hear you speak soft words,’ he said, and she could easily detect the emotion in his voice.
‘Has something happened?’ she asked.
‘No, nothing. I’m just feeling rather low. Despite what I said this morning, all this … this mess is getting to me, I’m afraid. I’m trying to be strong but failing somewhat.’
‘You can do it.’
‘Perhaps … with your help. Look, sweetie, let’s forget about going on the town after the show tonight. How about me coming round to your place when I’m done here with a bottle of Champers and you can soothe my furrowed brow?’
If Raymond could have seen Evelyn’s face at that moment he would not have been comforted in the least. She wore a cold, grim mask, her forehead wrinkled in distaste. She did not like the way that things were going with her sugar daddy. She was prepared to sleep with the fellow in pursuit of her ends, but she certainly didn’t want to take on the role of comforter and nurse Carter’s shattered nerves as his life began to crumble. She was beginning to think that if this particular money boat were about to founder, it would be best to abandon ship now. If there was to be scandal and tragedy, she had to be sure none of it tainted her. However, at the moment, in lieu of no better excuse, she agreed to his suggestion.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
Unaware of her emotional restraint, Carter smiled and cooed, ‘Thank you, Evie.’
‘See you later,’ was her final, brief response before she put down the telephone.
Ray replaced the receiver in his dressing-room. He was still smiling.
Perhaps, he mused, he was fonder of Evie than he realized.
He was about to lie down on the sofa and catch an hour’s sleep before getting ready for the next show when there was a sharp rap on the door and Al Warren entered.
‘Hi,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting. Just came to see if you’re OK.’
Despite himself Carter was genuinely pleased to see Warren. His youth, enthusiasm and apparently ruffle-free persona were a tonic to h
im.
‘I’m surviving,’ he said, sitting on the edge of the sofa. ‘Take a seat.’
Warren dragged across the bentwood chair by the make-up mirror so that it faced Carter, and draped his tall elegant frame on it. ‘No further developments with the Keating investigation?’
‘None that I’ve heard about. I want to pick your brains.’
‘Sure. Go ahead. Shoot!’
‘I’m not sure just how much you know of my predicament.’
Al shrugged. ‘Most of it, I guess. I know you’re getting death threats on the telephone from some crazy guy who impersonates Charlie … and I know that Arthur Keating was murdered probably by the same crazy guy … no doubt with a view to having the big police finger of guilt point at you. However, I reckon they’re not buying it….’
‘For the time being. They’re waiting for “further developments”.’
‘To see who you’ll bump off next, eh?’
‘Something like that.’
‘And that’s about it … Oh, yes and you’ve got a one-eyed private detective on the case also.’
Carter nodded.
Al smiled. ‘Couldn’t you get one with two eyes? Or did he come cheaper? I thought it odd you took on a guy who can only see half of what’s going on.’
Carter couldn’t help but smile at this observation. ‘He’s OK. Although he doesn’t seem to have dug up much so far.’ Carter suddenly leaned forward touching Warren gently on the knee, his face pale and serious. ‘As I said, I just wanted to pick your brain on this, Al. You’re a bright, perceptive, creative chap with a vivid imagination, I wondered if you have any ideas or theories.’
Al raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You want me to play Sherlock Holmes?’
‘Just let me have your thoughts about things. If you have any, of course.’
Al seemed to chew his lip for a minute before he spoke again. ‘Of course I have some notions. I care about you, Ray, and your career and I’d do anything to protect both, so I have already given this nasty business some thought. Sadly my conclusions are only common-sense ones. I reckon the guy – and I presume it’s a guy – behind it all is not crazy, as I suggested, but very cunning. One line of thought is that he’s someone who has a real issue with you. At some point, whether you know it or not, you have seriously upset him and rather than kill you straight away, I reckon he’s out to destroy you slowly – chipping away at your sanity. Another possibility is that he’s a fan, an unhinged fan, who, for some reason, has taken against you in a big way. It can happen. There was a case in the States a few years ago of a fellow who drove a B-movie actor to suicide.’
Requiem for a Dummy Page 16