Passion in the Peak

by John Buxton Hilton

  ‘I’m sorry, sir—but I thought—’

  God protect all Superintendents and their kind from anybody on their staff who ever indulged in the imitative conceit of pretending to think.

  ‘I thought—I think, sir, that this is it. I can’t find Mr Kenworthy. And I think you need to know this.’

  ‘Tell me, then, and I shall know.’

  Unfair. No man could be giving of his best when he was in this sort of temper.

  Kershaw told him about the presumed blackmail. Gleed took it in, but stopped short of praise or enthusiasm. He knew what Kershaw didn’t—the tie-up between this and the peculiar way in which Cantrell’s guards had been treating him.

  ‘And have you any idea what this blackmail might be about?’

  ‘Up to now, no, sir.’

  ‘Well, tell me this, Kershaw—if there is in fact a conspiracy among the security guards, why should a kitchen-hand be involved in it? Who is this Dave?’

  ‘I’ll work on that, sir.’

  ‘Do. And this time you may contact me direct if you come up with anything.’

  Gleed hung up, and the phone rang again almost as soon as the receiver hit the cradle. Kenworthy.

  ‘Thought I’d better put you in the picture. Furnival rang me. Wants me over there pronto.’

  ‘Any idea what for?’

  ‘Apparently the three of them have some sort of statement to make. They want me to help them to put it together. What it amounts to, I guess, is that they want to make their statement to you through me. I’m to help them to balance it: that was the word Furnival used. That way, I suppose, they think they’ll be better listened to. Shall I be buggering up your plans if I go through with it?’

  ‘Far from it. I was just about to come over to the Hall myself—but I’ll leave the field free for you. You’ve no idea how long this is going to take?’

  ‘None whatever.’

  ‘I may have to interrupt you. I can’t afford to wait for ever. I’ll give you a couple of hours. And while I’ve got you, what do you think Cantrell’s guards might find to try to blackmail him with?’

  ‘I don’t know—but I’m not short of guesses.’

  ‘Guess on.’

  ‘The night Larner’s corpse was unpacked from its crate, someone must have issued an order keeping the patrols away from the theatre at the critical time: the beats must have been re-scheduled. Someone may have drawn his own conclusions. Someone may even have known.’

  ‘This is beginning to hang together, Simon. But why should a kitchen hand be involved?’

  ‘Someone who witnessed something? You’d better ask Kershaw. If he doesn’t know yet all that goes on in that kitchen, he soon will.’

  Jimmy Lindop had parked his car in an unfrequented lane not far from Little Longstone. He did a newspaper crossword and dozed, leaving his radio on. Late in the afternoon he heard a news bulletin. Alfie Tandy’s ‘escape’ was reported in not more than a score of words. Jimmy Lindop laughed. It was not until first dark that he drove away from the spot.

  He took a road that would get him back to Peak Low.

  The conversation between Joan Culver and Julian Harpur lasted some half an hour after Kershaw had seen them. Then they broke up, partly because Joan had caught sight of Kenworthy, who was crossing the lawn that edged the terrace. The goodbye smile to which she treated young Harpur would have delighted Freddy Kershaw’s heart if it had been directed at him and Harpur shambled away, his face assuming something of its habitual moroseness as he moved out of her sight.

  ‘Well?’ Kenworthy asked.

  ‘Amazing. I had no idea. I hope it isn’t going to give me a guilt complex.’

  ‘There’s no reason why it should. None of it’s your fault.’

  ‘It’s sad, too. I mean, his parents are to blame, aren’t they?’

  ‘You could say so. But is there any point in trying to apportion blame? Many a boy would have survived parents like the Harpurs. Anyway, thank you for trying.’

  ‘I’m not sure that it will work in the long run. I’m not even sure it’s wise.’

  ‘Give it a whirl.’

  ‘I think when he finds out how stupid I am about all matters scientific—’

  ‘Just don’t let him get you trying to plot the course of a submarine, that’s all.’

  ‘I did learn one thing from him. Lord Furnival’s wasn’t the only car on the Brackdale road that Saturday night. Good Lord—the amount of time that that boy has spent in nocturnal wandering.’

  ‘Unrest. Whose car?’

  ‘He doesn’t know their names. But he says he’s seen them often enough on and around the stage.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  There was a sense of doomed decision about the faces of the trio. Lord Furnival made some initial pleasantry, but it was mechanical and brought no reaction from the other two. Cantrell was looking flushed and Dyer melancholy.

  ‘Couldn’t tell you much on the phone,’ Furnival said. ‘But I dare say you’ll have worked most of it out for yourself.’

  He had offered coffee and cognac, which Kenworthy had not declined. Kenworthy noticed that Dyer was taking no alcohol.

  ‘Obviously Gleed will be along presently.’

  ‘I’ve held him off for an hour or two.’

  ‘From his point of view, we must be highly suspect. He must know we have all three been disingenuous. We have suppressed vital information—all, I might say, to fend off this demon of adverse publicity. But it creates the wrong impression, and that’s why I’d rather you put our case to Gleed in the first instance.’

  Furnival opened a drawer in his writing-table and brought out a sheet of notepaper.

  ‘It will help, I am sure, if we get the timings right to begin with.’

  Saturday, 3.30 p.m. Phone call received from garage in Buxton: Larner had retrieved his car.

  6.15 p.m. Cantrell received phone call: his operators had lost track of Larner in Macclesfield.

  10.30 p. m. Phone call received: Larner had arrived with Miss Culver at The Grey Cat Club, and had sung numbers from Passion.

  Sunday, 12.45 a.m. Phone call received from Grey Cat: Larner had left with Miss Culver.

  1.30 a.m. Phone call received from Fräulein Mommsen, speaking from kiosk in Peak Low Square. Excited and barely articulate: believed some outrage intended on Larner’s car up Brackdale Hill.

  I at once informed Cantrell and Dyer. Cantrell rang his theatre command post to order action squad to Brackdale. Some irregularity in application of duty roster, and unable to make contact.

  We set out for Brackdale ourselves, but before we had got further than the end of the Hall drive we heard an obvious car crash. We drove on as fast as was safe, and met Larner coming up towards the Hall on foot.

  ‘At this stage,’ Furnival said, ‘I prefer to take up the narrative orally.’

  ‘One minute,’ Kenworthy said. ‘You set out for Brackdale—was there any delay in getting on the move?’

  Furnival glanced peevishly at Dyer.

  ‘Not everyone had the same sense of urgency. One of us insisted on changing his shoes. And couldn’t find the pair he wanted.’

  ‘So how much delay?’

  ‘Five minutes?’

  ‘During which time Detective-Constable Kershaw was running up Brackdale Hill. Sorry to interrupt.’

  Furnival had not liked breaking his flow, but he clearly had second thoughts about letting his impatience show too obviously.

  ‘Larner was dazed, but in control of himself—shaken, but not in shock, as far as we could see. The truth is, I don’t think he had enough imagination to appreciate what a narrow escape he had had. We got him into the car.’

  ‘You did not think of going down to the scene of the crash?’

  Furnival looked uneasy.

  ‘All we thought of was giving him any attention he might need.’

  ‘Did you ask him whether he had had anyone in the car with him?’

  ‘I’m sure one of us must have do
ne.’

  ‘Or were you so glad to have got your own man out of trouble that nothing else mattered?’

  Kenworthy in abrasive mood was a phenomenon that Furnival had not met before, and it went against the grain to be spoken to like this.

  ‘I don’t care for your attitude, Kenworthy. I’m telling you the truth.’

  ‘And I can understand why you haven’t told it before. It sounds pretty thin to me.’

  ‘That is an unhelpful remark.’

  ‘It was meant to be helpful. I’m trying to see things as they will appear to Gleed. So what did you do with Larner? Put him to bed?’

  ‘Not immediately. Brought him back here—to this room. Gave him a drink. Got him to tell us as well as he could what had happened.’

  ‘And how well could he tell you?’

  ‘As I’ve said, he was somewhat dazed. But he was able to give a coherent account of himself, and I’m afraid, from then on we didn’t exactly treat him as needing intensive care. I repeat: there were no obvious symptoms of shock, and I must admit that I didn’t consider delayed reaction. We were all too angry. You see, I am telling it as it was, Kenworthy.’

  ‘You were angry because his conduct was endangering your show?’

  ‘From our point of view it was a serious matter, Kenworthy. There’d been two or three characteristic businesses with women. In the normal way, show business is pretty permissive, but this is a religious play. There’d been a lax scene at rehearsal—Jairus’s daughter. There’d been public performances of songs that were still under seal of confidentiality. Then there was the impounded car. He was in breach of contract, and I was sorely tempted to screw it up there and then—which wouldn’t have done Dyer any good. I might add, if it hasn’t occurred to you, that both insurance and road-tax on the vehicle had run out. What sort of a book could your friends in Traffic have thrown at Jesus Christ, do you think?’

  ‘So you held a kangaroo court?’

  ‘We left him in no doubt as to his future if he did not watch points from then on.’

  Furnival remembered to replenish Kenworthy’s glass. Kenworthy held up his hand to keep the peg short.

  ‘Yes. This begins to have the ring of truth, Furnival—on balance. But I suggest that a little more expansive truth-telling might add to your credibility.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I mean other matters about which there has been futile speculation.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Can’t you think of any?’

  ‘I don’t like being played with, Kenworthy.’

  ‘Mary Magdalene?’

  ‘Not relevant to the main issue.’

  ‘But relevant to the image of a man who is claiming to hide nothing.’

  Furnival took a few seconds to recompose himself.

  ‘Not my proudest inspiration, in retrospect. How did you get on to it?’

  Kenworthy stared him out. Furnival never was to know whether he was bluffing at that moment or not.

  ‘You have to realize, Kenworthy, that the success of a show like this depends on something more elusive than mere quality. We can buy the finest music, the snappiest lyrics, outstanding costumes, consummate decor, settle the bills for a lavish spectacular. We still need bottoms filling our seats. We need publicity. And publicity sometimes comes by illogical means.’

  ‘Such as the mystery of what is dogging the footsteps of every woman who tries to play the Magdalene?’

  ‘It brought the media to the site and has kept them here daily. The block bookings started shoaling in after Madge Oldroyd’s shoes had been nailed to the dressing-room floor.’

  ‘With Ricarda Mommsen primed to write the anonymous letters?’

  ‘A loyal little lady. What happened to her has been the saddest feature of this whole affair.’

  ‘And you put Jimmy Lindop in executive charge of Exercise Magdalene?’

  ‘You haven’t missed much, have you, Kenworthy?’

  ‘Which also put Lindop in a position to bugger you about as much as it pleased him to, with his Stalagmites tapes.’

  Kenworthy turned in his chair and faced Cantrell squarely.

  ‘And which of you other gentlemen has the urge to confess?’

  Cantrell could not hold Kenworthy’s eye, but he was clearly going to make a last ditch of it.

  ‘Don’t look at me, Kenworthy.’

  ‘No? It seems to me that your night patrols have you over a barrel, Cantrell.’

  ‘I’m afraid you have lost me.’

  ‘This is going to be one of those slow, laborious businesses, is it?’

  ‘Some of them seem to think—’

  ‘What do they seem to think?’

  ‘That there had been some jiggery-pokery with the patrol rosters, the night Larner’s body was shifted.’

  ‘And wasn’t there?’

  ‘The whole point of security when you haven’t enough men on the ground is the random element: unpredictable movements. Don’t you see, Kenworthy, it can also work the other way round? The men handling Larner’s body must have waited for the rosters to be made known before they chose their time. I must have had a spy in my camp.’

  ‘That story,’ Kenworthy said, ‘is what is vulgarly called as weak as piss.’

  Freddy Kershaw had found his first day of general kitchen duties exhausting. He was ready to drop into bed—if he had enough energy to get himself to his bed—when the chef de cuisine waylaid him on his way out.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going, Kershaw? You haven’t finished by a long chalk. It’s Dave’s day off.’

  ‘Dave?’

  ‘It’s always Dave’s job to take the guards their midnight rations—bread, cheese and cocoa. You’re standing in for him tonight.’

  So that was the connection between bent guards and the kitchen. Dave had seen what he had seen—and had not been slow to get himself dealt in on it.

  Kershaw rushed to ring Gleed.

  ‘Piss poor,’ Kenworthy said to Cantrell. ‘And may I save you the embarrassment of your next line of defence. The changes in rostering were not, repeat not, a coincidence.’

  He turned to Furnival.

  ‘I’m sorry, your lordship, but the Colonel’s intransigence looks likely to catapult you all back into it. I was beginning to think you might possibly be in the clear.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Cantrell—’ Furnival said.

  ‘So how long did you spend kangarooing Wayne Larner?’

  ‘Three-quarters of an hour, give or take.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Sent him off to his bed with an outsize flea buzzing in his ear.’

  ‘Piss poor,’ Kenworthy said again. ‘But then, true stories sometimes are.’

  It was at this juncture that Gleed arrived.

  Chapter Thirty

  Gleed caught Kenworthy’s eye, querying. How much could one professional man convey to another without speech? There had been relatively little talk between the pair about this case, but their minds were trained along the same tracks.

  Gleed gave Kenworthy the go-ahead. Go on talking, his eyes were saying. I’ll pick it up when I’m ready.

  ‘These gentlemen,’ Kenworthy said, indicating Furnival and Dyer, ‘are going to extract the chestnut for us. Because up to a few minutes ago, they were beginning to look as if they were in the clear. Now Cantrell has buggered things up for them. So shall we leave it to them to deal with him?’

  It was doubtful whether even Gleed could put the correct interpretation on a hint as obscure as that.

  ‘Let me put it this way,’ Kenworthy said. ‘Julian Harpur knows that there were two other men out in a car while these three were picking up Larner. I don’t have to tell you, do I? Hajek and Szolnok. Hajek and Szolnok working together, gentlemen. I find that significant, don’t you?’

  There was still nothing forthcoming. Then Gleed spoke, suddenly, in a tone of imperative finality, such as none of them had ever heard him use before.

  ‘
Well, Cantrell?’

  Cantrell looked as if he was not quite sure whether his voice was going to respond to his volition. He straightened himself in his chair, as if calling on some military mystique that had stood him in good stead in the past.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘and I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you. I was hoping that this wasn’t going to come to light, because in all honesty, none of us wants this sort of publicity—’

  ‘Get on,’ Gleed said.

  ‘The night when you claim Larner’s body was unpacked from its crate, I was approached by Hajek to keep my patrols away from the theatre between two and three-thirty a.m. He was going to try out for himself some stage-lighting scheme that the electricians hadn’t got right since rehearsals had started. He’d reached the stage of exasperation in which he was going to make his own experiments at the switchboard and he didn’t want any interference.’

  ‘And you believed that story?’

  ‘I’d no reason not to. I’d not been here long before I gave up trying to account for the way these theatrical people organize their lives.’

  ‘Was there evidence that any experiment with lighting effects actually took place? Was there any aura of light over the theatre?’

  Cantrell did not know. No one had reported anything. They had not, after all, been checking on Hajek.

  ‘It doesn’t make any difference anyway, as far as you are concerned,’ Gleed said. ‘All right, Kenworthy. There’s no need for you to stay. I’m sure you’re ready for bed.’

  As he undressed, Kenworthy looked out of his window across the parkland. The moon was past its full, and the lines of the theatre looked like marble rather than concrete behind the trees. Pity about the Passion. It had had its possibilities.

  The show must go on.

  That had been Furnival’s standby, first thing the next morning. For three weeks, he managed to keep rehearsals going, with his associate producer and musical director doing their best to exploit the flair of Hajek and Szolnok. The new Mary Magdalene, an uncontroversial singer, signed her contract. So did a new—and unimpeachable—Jesus Christ. But everyone knew that they were failing. It was ironical that Furnival had spoken of the illogicality of publicity. Somehow the Press got hold of the truth about the Mary Magdalene pranks. The Mothers’ Union withdrew their bookings and that started an avalanche. Agencies and hoteliers rushed to reduce their commitments. Furnival found himself with cash-flow problems. His bankers got cold feet. A month after the arrests he gave in and closed down the show, making brave promises about another year that no one believed.