‘That’s easily answered. I was at home with Jane.’
‘When did you leave here?’
‘It must have been at about six-thirty or so. We left together. You know it was the dress-rehearsal? We had the usual post mortem and chatted a bit to people afterwards and then went home.’
‘Anyone see you leave?’
‘Yes, Clare and John. We walked back together and they came in for a cuppa.’
◆◆◆
‘Am I right in thinking you’re the longest-serving member of the company, Mrs Maidment?’
‘Yes, twelve years now. Terrifying when one thinks of it.’
Felix smiled. ‘Seen a few changes, I expect?’
Millicent wagged her head equivocally. ‘Not so very many really until the arrival of the talkies. That’s going to hit us hard, I think. And this ghastly business feels like the last straw. I’d like to be able to say I wish we’d never clapped eyes on Charlie Sullivan and his confounded floozie but if it wasn’t for his five hundred pounds, we’d be done for. People need paying. The worst of it is, we’d have doubled it and more tonight. The first night is always the best. It was heart-breaking to give it all back. That sounds callous, doesn’t it?’
‘But understandable. You do the company’s accounts, I believe?’
‘I’m more of a wages clerk really; I share duties with Moira Bethencourt. You need someone on the spot. We used to have an accountant but we had to let him go.’
‘Don’t you get any help from the Hubbards, with funding?’
‘Well, no. It’s we who are supposed to be paying them. Old Ezra Hubbard is a theatre man to his fingertips but he knows the way the wind’s blowing better than most. He won’t want to throw good money after bad. I’m not sure what Robin Hubbard thinks about us, but I can guess.’
‘Not sympathetic?’
‘I don’t really know, to be honest; you’d have to ask him.’
‘Tell me where you were between seven and nine last night.’
‘Is that when it happened? My husband picked me up and we were home by seven or so. I doubt, actually, if many of the cast were late away on Friday. We all wanted a rest and to get our beauty sleep. Some of the backstage folk will have stayed longer though. It’s quite a technically demanding production, for its size.’
◆◆◆
‘He’s dangerous, that man,’ said Jane, warming her hands on her coffee. ‘He’s a disturbing combination of sexy and avuncular. You find yourself wanting to tell him things.’
‘What sort of things,’ frowned Figgy.
‘Oh, I don’t know — things.’
‘He’s the kindliest of souls,’ said Clare. ‘Me and John owe him a lot.’
‘That’s what makes him so dangerous,’ said Jane. ‘He wants to talk to me again tomorrow.’
‘Why?’
‘I suppose he hopes I might remember something else.’
‘Hmm, I should keep a close eye on that one,’ said Figgy, ‘he might try to seduce you.’
‘He will not! He’s married anyway; he’s got a ring.’
‘What’s that got to do with it? I wouldn’t trust any of them.’
‘He’s married to Connie,’ confirmed Clare. She’s about Jane’s age and an ex-model.’
‘Beautiful, I suppose?’ said Figgy.
‘Yes, very. Well, she was; she’s getting a bit plump now. She’s a lovely person though.’
‘I’m in with a chance, then,’ said Jane cynically.
◆◆◆
‘Your name is Betty Bagshaw, you are twenty-three, and you live at ninety-nine Exeter Street. You sometimes use the name Vladlena Ossipova, I believe?’
‘It was my stage name when I worked at the Folies Bergère. It’s a nightclub in Britham street.’
‘What did you do there?’
‘I was a dancer and hostess.’
‘A revue dancer, would it be? Josephine Baker and all that.’
‘Yes, more or less.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘I met Mr Sullivan and he didn’t like me working there. He asked me to marry him and I was thinking about it.’
Felix glanced at Rattigan. ‘Then please accept our condolences, Miss Bagshaw. How did you come to be involved with the Regent Playhouse?’
Betty’s already forlorn expression darkened further. ‘I wish to God I never had! I once made a casual remark about wanting to be a proper actress and it seemed to catch Charlie’s imagination. He’d heard the Regent was looking for investment and he effectively paid them to take me on as Principal Boy. Five hundred pounds!’
‘But you didn’t actually perform. Why was that?’
‘I didn’t want to do it. I never wanted to do it. I only said I would to please Charlie. I did it at the dress rehearsal but then I got cold feet. I was frightened sick if you want to know, and I felt bad about pushing out Miss Figg when I didn’t even want the part. And then there’s Jane Herring, who’s really talented, and I’ve never acted in anything, and she hates me and people would be able to tell.’
‘Why does Miss Herring hate you?’
Betty shrugged. ‘She just does.’
‘There must be a reason. Did you do something to upset her?’
‘I suppose because I pushed Miss Figg out and she’s her special friend, and because I pretended to be Russian and was really rude to her.’
‘Why did you do that?’
Betty sighed. ‘Because I’m stupid. When I was at the Folies I made up a Russian name and a sort of Russian accent because I thought it made me sound more interesting. Charlie really believed I was Russian when he met me. I think he still did; or wanted to. He was really fun to be with and didn’t act old at all. Anyway, I told myself I could do it if I was Vladlena Ossipova because then I wouldn’t be myself and it wouldn’t matter if I messed it up. Does that make sense?’
Felix smiled. ‘I’d have to think about that one, but go on.’
‘Well, it made sense to me. So, then I pretended to be really bossy and arrogant, like I imagined Vladlena would be, and I was really rude to Jane. I suppose I hoped I’d be sacked for that but I wasn’t. Then the photographer guessed I wasn’t Russian and Jane smelled a rat as well so I had to admit the truth to them and that’s why she hates me. Jane, I mean. Anyway, I went to Alastair, who is really nice, and he took me home and hid me until it was too late for me to perform.’
‘Was he cross?’
‘Not really, because he wanted Miss Figg anyway and Millicent as the Fairy Godmother because she needs to be fat. Only then I was afraid of what Charlie would say and Alastair said it would be best if I came in and owned up, rather than let him find out in the middle of the performance, and I did, except I needn’t have worried because by then he was dead!’
And she began crossly to weep.
Felix gave her a handkerchief. ‘Did you love Mr Sullivan?’ he asked gently.
‘I don’t know,’ she sniffed, ‘and I never shall now, shall I?’
‘What do you think?’ said Felix, when she’d gone.
Rattigan nodded contemplatively. ‘A very creditable performance,’ he said at last, ‘She may or may not be a professional actress but I’d hire her on the strength of that. A bit pointless, I’d have thought, acting the featherhead, even counterproductive. Most of it can be checked and it’s just barmy enough to be true anyway.’
‘Then you don’t think she’s as stupid or naïve as she makes herself out to be?’
‘No. Do you?’
‘No. She’s playing a part. The acting’s all right but the script wants work. Girls like that don’t use “effectively” or even “arrogant.” Do you think she killed him?’
‘Wouldn’t that require Bethencourt to be lying?’
‘Not necessarily. We’d need to take a closer look
at the times. I’d guess, though, that she’s a bit more than a revue dancer. I might call in at the Folies tomorrow and check her story.’
‘Any excuse.’
‘How dare you! I’m a married man.’
‘They’re the worst.’
◆◆◆
‘Come in, Mr Bethencourt. Did you want to use your telephone?’
‘No thanks. I rang my wife from the booking office, with one of your constables in attendance. Unfortunately, everything one says immediately sounds like a gangster telephoning his moll.’
Felix smiled. ‘Never mind, sir. When this is over you can write a play about it. How may I help you?’
‘Well, I was wondering, now that the rest of the cast has cleared off, if I might be allowed to go home myself, if that’s all right. I’ll be back tomorrow, of course, if only to try and sort out this mess a little. For one thing, I must talk to the Regent’s owners. It occurs to me that I don’t even know if they saw the show, or what they know about all this.’
‘Yes, I must do that too. And go home by all means, but before you do, could you answer one or two questions?’
Alastair sat down. ‘Ask away.’
Felix observed him for a moment. ‘There’s a natural tendency in our business to concentrate on the most interesting people in the case – though it doesn’t, of course, always put us on the right track – and the most interesting by far, we find, is Miss Betty Bagshaw, girlfriend of Mr Sullivan. I have, incidentally, put a plain clothes constable to watch over her home tonight, firstly to ensure that she returns here tomorrow, and secondly in case our murderer has a go at her too. One can’t be too careful, under the circumstances, and if, for example, Mr Sullivan died because of something he knew, Miss Bagshaw might know it too. Tell me, have you learned anything about her that she hasn’t told you herself?’
Alastair thought for a moment. ‘No, not a thing. She was reasonably forthcoming yesterday evening as regards her background, family, and so on, but, yes, it’s all come from her. Normally we’d have learned much more about a new recruit, but the circumstances of her arrival were unusual to say the least.’
‘I must say,’ he continued, ‘I’ve begun to warm to her somewhat, and she did try quite hard to get herself sacked before she cried off, strutting about the place like some prima donna and insulting my Cinderella, but I failed to see it for what it was. When she did approach me, I think it was in some desperation. We knew Mr Sullivan would be cross, of course, and that obviously worried me, but ticket sales were excellent, and with the first night’s takings in the coffers we’d no longer be dependent on his largess. In fact, we could just about have paid him his stake back, if necessary.’ He flung out a despairing arm. ‘One could hardly have anticipated all this.’
Felix shook his head sympathetically. ‘No, indeed. And finally — timing. When did you and Miss Bagshaw leave the theatre last night?’
‘At seven-fifteen, or thereabouts. She was eager to get away in case Mr Sullivan came to pick her up, which he sometimes did.’
‘Were you the last to leave?’
‘By no means. The stage manager was here, for one. He has his own key, as several people do. Mrs Maidment, for example.’
‘But you carried away the box-office takings?’
‘Oh yes, always that.’
‘All right, Mr Bethencourt, thank you. Good night.’
Nash and Yardley came in.
‘Dressing rooms all dabbed, sir,’ said Yardley. They’re not all in use so we stuck to those that were.’
‘We’ve still got to search them thoroughly,’ said Nash.
‘Did you look into the empty ones?’
‘Yes, briefly. They were locked but one of them still had a key in the door and it opens all the others, including the occupied ones.’
‘What about the pumpkin coach?’
‘Yes, done that,’ said Yardley, ‘though I doubt we’ll get much off it. It’s filthy, absolutely plastered with dabs, probably from the year dot.’
‘According to Clare they do Cinderella every four or five years,’ said Nash. ‘That’s a lot of dabs.’
‘Is Clare still here?’
‘No, she went back with the girls.’
‘All my lot are done, sir,’ said Inspector Hilliard, coming in behind them, ‘and everyone seems to have left.’
‘Except me,’ said Alastair, reappearing. ‘I forgot, after all that, I hadn’t locked up. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going at the moment.’
‘You’re going,’ smiled Felix, ‘and so are we.’
Chapter Seven
Eight o’clock on a chilly Sunday morning and the hospital morgue was in near darkness. Only a single light illuminated the sanguineous remains of Charlie Sullivan and the dwarfish little man in a white coat working on them.
‘Ugh!’ said Felix, turning away.
‘One would have thought,’ said Howard Benyson, bending myopically over his work, ‘that you’d have got a bit used to it by now. He’s quite fresh after all, and surprisingly healthy. Apart from being dead.’
‘Anything new about the shot?’
‘Ballistics have the bullet, which as I expected was embedded in the skull’s frontal bone having narrowly missed an eye. I thought you might be in a hurry to know what it was so I dropped it in to them. It’s pretty distorted but they think it’s a .25ACP, which is apparently the semi-automatic pistol equivalent of a .22 rifle bullet. Report to follow.’
‘Thanks, Howard. Appreciated. Though it was almost bound to be a small pistol of some sort. Does it suggest to you a struggle?’
‘Fighting for the thing, do you mean, and it goes off? Queer sort of place to be shot otherwise. I’ll tell you what, though – which is more my province – he may have been moved. Am I right in thinking he was more or less sitting up in the coach?’
‘Yes, he was — sideways on the seat, probably with his knees up. It’s very small in there.’
‘That’s what I assumed. There’s marked blood pooling from when the body was in that position, which you’d expect, but there’s also some suggestion that it had been lying on its back for a good while before-hand. It would have had to be moved before rigor set in, of course, but they would have had up to three hours to do it.’
‘Oh, I see. So, he might have died elsewhere, lain on the floor or wherever it was until it was safe to move him and been put in the pumpkin coach quite a lot later.’
‘It’s possible, yes. I wouldn’t stake my life on it.’
‘Hmm, that may help. Thanks Howard. Seems ever more likely to me to have been an accident rather than murder; though why the pumpkin coach, God knows. I’m guessing they went to move him, heard someone coming and panicked. There’d be nowhere much else to put him on or around the stage. By the way, it seems I’m expecting again.’
‘Er?’ said Benyson, still occasionally caught out by his friend’s non sequiturs. ‘Oh, I say! Congratulations! Yes, I see now that you have that tell-tale glow about you. No wonder you’re feeling squeamish. Oops, sorry, glove’s a bit mucky. Use this tissue. And what does young Connie think of this development, mere vessel though she is?’
‘Oh, she seems quite pleased. Hoping for a boy.’
‘And you?’
‘I don’t mind really.’
‘Well, you’ve changed you tune.’
◆◆◆
‘How the fellow can work alone in the dark in that place I don’t know,’ said Felix. ‘It gives me the heebie-jeebies. Morning, Cribb, what’s the lowdown on Miss Bagshaw, as our American friends would say?’
Constable Cribb took out his notebook. ‘Nothing out of the way, sir. She went straight home last night and was in bed twelve minutes later. She left the house at eight thirty-three this morning, took the bus and arrived back here at five past nine. She’s presently in her dressing room.’
<
br /> ‘By herself?’
‘Yes, sir. Bewdley says no-one called at the house overnight and she didn’t go out again.’
‘How do you know when she went to bed?’
Cribb cracked a smile. ‘Thin curtains, sir.’
‘Hmm, I see. Thank you, Constable. Or perhaps you should be thanking me. Tell me. You’re a personable sort of chap. How would you describe your capacity for conversation?’
‘My missus says I could gas for England, sir.’
‘Good. Then now is your opportunity to shine. The booking office will be handing out refunds today and your job is to stand about in the foyer looking approachable. You can talk to the ladies on the desk as well, of course. If you hear anything interesting, make a note of it. If it goes quiet, wander about the theatre in general.’
‘What about the press, sir?’
‘I’ll be leaving a press-release in the booking office. Now then, where have we got to, Teddy? How many folk admit to having been here last night, during the critical period?’
Rattigan consulted his notes. ‘It depends where you set the limits. Most of our interviewees were still here at six and some few of them until about seven. After that, not so many. Betty Bagshaw was here until she was taken away by Bethencourt at seven-fifteen. We haven’t any witnesses to that, though. According to Hilliard, Bill Hutchings and Ron Cooper, his lighting man, were here until about nine and were the last to leave; although he reckons those two are out of it. Not sure what his reasoning is.’
Felix looked thoughtful. ‘Six or seven o’clock doesn’t sound very promising on the face of it. Most people seem to have been with someone else after the dress rehearsal, talking about it or adjusting the scenery, and then getting ready to go home. A buzz of activity in fact. And wouldn’t someone have seen or heard something of Sullivan if he’d been there then?’
‘According to Bethencourt, Miss Bagshaw wanted to be away by seven-thirty to avoid him. Presumably he wasn’t expected earlier.’
‘Seems a little late for an after-work rendezvous, but who knows? We don’t even know what he was doing these days. He’d be about retirement age, I should think.’
Death and Cinderella (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 11) Page 6