by Ann Bloxwich
‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course they weren’t shut! Do you think I’m an idiot?’ Simon asked, sighing loudly again. He did that a lot, Gary noticed. It was almost theatrical, and it was getting on Gary’s nerves.
Gary rested his arms on the table and leaned forward, making his suit jacket strain at the seams. He may not have been as slim as Craig, but not an ounce of his bulk was fat. His colleague could outrun most people, but Gary was the muscle. He was proud of his strength and could bench press one hundred and sixty kilos without breaking a sweat.
Simon looked at the bulging arms and swallowed hard.
‘Listen son, stop being a smartarse and answer the questions. Start by telling me what time you were here from and when you left, and everything you did in between. And stop bloody sighing.’ Gary raised his voice, his usual cheeriness momentarily deserting him. Simon moved his chair back a bit.
‘You can’t speak to me like that!’ Simon croaked, his voice abandoning him for a second.
‘You’re right, I’m sorry if I caused you any offence, sir,’ Gary said, relaxing once more and sitting back slightly. ‘Now then, where were we?’
Simon cleared his throat a couple of times. ‘I was meant to come in around 5.30 p.m., but Sally called me in early. The guy who does the stock run had phoned in sick, so I had to do it. I ended up doing two runs to the warehouse – in my own car too. I bet I don’t get any extra money to cover my petrol,’ he whined.
‘What time did people start arriving?’ Gary asked. ‘I mean the acts, not the staff.’
‘One bloke was here when I got back from the first run, so I let him in and went off to get the next lot. That was around 6 p.m., I reckon. I don’t know what time the others got here; they were all here when I got back.’ He looked like it was a real effort to speak for so long without sighing.
Gary wrote the word Prick in the margin of his notebook before motioning for Simon to continue.
‘Oh yeah, before I did the warehouse run, I made sure the back room was ready for the performers. They usually give us a list of what they need before they arrive. It saves them having to ask us later when we’re busy serving customers.’
‘What sort of stuff did they want? I’m curious, that’s all.’ Gary added as Simon gave him a funny look.
Simon thought for a moment. ‘The drag queen’s assistant had phoned and asked for a table and two chairs, both without arms. She also wanted a table-top mirror and asked us to make sure there was plenty of decent lighting. The blokes didn’t ask for anything, they rarely do. I put a couple of bin bags and some toilet rolls in there, but they still left loads of mess. I think your guys took the bags away, they’re not there now.’
Gary flicked through his list of questions. ‘What about during the show? Did you see anything out of the ordinary?’
‘Not a lot, it was manic. One thing I will say though – that woman who died was being a bitch to the staff. She pushed in at the bar a couple of times, which pissed a lot of the other customers off, and she was rude when Angela asked her to wait her turn. She was going on about needing to get a drink for one of the strippers, so she needed to be served first. In the end, I came and served her just to get rid of her before she caused a fight. And she had a go at the security man. He was really angry.’ Simon sat back in his chair again.
‘Do you know what she said to him?’ Gary asked, without looking up from his notebook.
‘I didn’t hear her, he told me about it later when we went for a smoke outside. He said she was in his face, screaming about how the stripper had told her to come through to the dressing room, but the security guy refused to let her go in. She said she’d make sure he was fired. The thing is, none of the strippers had told him about her, so he was right not to let her through.’ Simon looked at Gary, as if waiting for him to agree with him.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be speaking to him in due course. Do you know his name?’ Gary asked.
‘I think it was Alan, or it could’ve been Aaron. He doesn’t work for us, I think the drag act hired him. Sorry if that’s not very helpful.’
‘No problem, we’ll track him down. Now, did you see anything unusual when you went for a smoke?’
‘No, I don’t think so. To be fair I was a bit preoccupied.’ Simon looked embarrassed. ‘This bird came out while I was having my break. She was a bit drunk, started coming on to me, you know? She was very fit, so we had a bit of a moment.’
‘Really? Was that all? How long were you outside, and whereabouts did this “moment” take place?’ Gary paused from writing and looked hard at Simon.
‘I’ll show you if you like,’ Simon said, standing up but Gary waved him back down into his seat.
‘In a bit, Mr Tate, let’s get this done first. So, you and this lass – what was her name?’
‘I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I was just happy to get a bit of action. Afterwards, she went back inside while I got my breath back. She was a bit of a looker, not the sort that usually bothers with guys like me.’ Simon had a faraway look on his face as he recalled the memory.
‘What about at the end of the evening, once the show was over?’ Gary asked. ‘Did you see the victim after your run-in with her at the bar?’
‘No, I didn’t see her after that. She disappeared backstage with the stripper around half ten. It started to empty out around midnight, and she didn’t come back to the bar. Her mates did though, they were steaming. Especially the blonde one, she was completely off her face. I gave her an ice bucket in case she was sick. I bet she had a hell of a hangover the next day,’ he grinned.
***
DS Craig Muir was in the function room and was faring a little better with the bar manager.
Sally Cameron was a short, large-breasted woman in a clingy dress designed for someone both younger and slimmer, with shoulder-length black hair that flicked up at the ends. She teetered on her six-inch stilettos, and her vivid green eyes roamed over Craig as if he were a prime steak. The expression “Cougar” came to Craig’s mind. He tried to keep a respectable distance between them, but Sally seemed to find any excuse to move closer to him.
‘Yes, I booked the show, it’s very popular at this time of year,’ she said, her voice like nails down a blackboard. ‘Mind you, I’m a red-blooded woman, so the opportunity to have some gorgeous men getting their clothes off was right up my street! They were really fit too. Do you know if they were married? I don’t do married men. That drag queen was a right diva, so full of himself. Or should that be herself? Anyway, I’m thinking of booking another show for New Year. What do you think? Will it seem disrespectful, on account of that woman getting herself murdered like that?’
She paused to take a breath and Craig jumped in quickly. ‘To be honest, I’d rather stick to the questions if you don’t mind. Was there any trouble that you are aware of? Any fighting, or arguments at all?’
‘Oh, there’s always a scrap or two at these events. Women getting drunk and losing control, thinking they’ll get off with one of the guys, then losing it when the guy makes eyes at their mate. It happens more than you know. The security man was very good, so professional. He had to escort a couple of women off the premises, they were doing drugs in the toilets. I don’t have any of that nonsense here. If they want to kill themselves, they should do it somewhere else. Oops, that sounds bad, given the circumstances, but you know where I’m coming from don’t you?’ Sally had the grace to blush.
‘Anything else?’ Craig asked.
‘To be honest it was so busy I had to help out behind the bar to keep the queues down. It’s been our best night of the year sales-wise. I think the dead woman had a row with one of the security men, but I don’t know which one. They all look alike to me, those coloured blokes.’
Craig bristled at her ignorance, but kept his mouth shut. ‘How many people were backstage?’
‘There was the drag queen and her friend, that cute blond guy with the tattoos, a big black man – he wa
s gorgeous – and a dark-haired guy who looked a bit miserable. Ray turned up later with his assistant.’ Sally scrunched her face up in thought, causing her thick make-up to crack. She looked a lot older than the thirty-eight years old she’d claimed to be.
‘You said earlier that you didn’t know the strippers’ names,’ Craig said.
‘I said I didn’t know the other strippers, but everyone knows Ray Diamond. He’s been stripping for years, and he’s still the best out there. You’d make a good stripper; you’ve got a lovely figure.’ Sally stroked Craig’s lapels and he felt his balls shrink back up into his body.
‘My charms are for my wife’s eyes only,’ he said, stepping back out of her reach. His back bumped the bar.
‘Pity, I could teach you a thing or two. Anyway, are we done? I’ve got loads to do, can’t stand around being chatted up by you all day.’ Sally laughed.
‘Just one more thing,’ Craig said, pulling his wallet out and pointing to the shelf behind the bar. ‘Give us a couple of those cheese rolls, will you? I’m starving.’
21
Alex stood on the dance floor at the comedy club in Bradstock, listening to a band on the stage. He was waiting for Neil Stone to turn up and had been drawn towards the stage when he heard some of the numbers the band were practising. They were very good, and Alex found himself humming along under his breath. The lead singer bounced around the stage like a teenager, and Alex wished he had half his energy. It was refreshing to see a band with an older line-up, not the boy bands that seem to be popular these days.
As they finished the Ramones number, the lead singer spotted him and climbed down from the stage and bounded over towards Alex. He was older than he’d first appeared, around forty years old, and was dressed in black jeans, a blue Superman T-shirt and red trainers. His jet-black hair was styled to look like he’d just got out of bed, and his green eyes sparkled with adrenalin.
‘Hi mate, how did we sound? Not too many bum notes I hope,’ he said, pushing his glasses back into place. ‘I’m Dean Smith, and we,’ he gestured towards the stage, ‘are Nowhere Fast.’
Alex introduced himself and explained he was waiting for Neil Stone. ‘You can carry on if you like, I’m happy just listening to you, although I’m more of a Queen fan myself. You’re all really good. Have you been together long?’
Dean gave a small bow. ‘Thank you very much. We’ve been together around six years. There’s been a few line-up changes, but we’ve got a good mix now. We’re playing a charity gig here on Saturday if you fancy coming along.’ He searched in the pockets of his jeans. ‘I did have some tickets here somewhere, I’m happy to give you a couple on the house.’
Alex shook his head and pulled his wallet out. ‘No need for freebies, I’m happy to pay for them. I’ll take six please, some of my colleagues might want to come too.’
Dean was delighted. ‘No problem, hang on, I’ll grab some tickets from Matt.’
He rushed back to the stage and was back in a flash with six tickets. ‘They’re a fiver each, so that’s thirty quid in total.’
‘What are the chances of you doing a Queen number? I’ll give you an extra tenner for your charity if you can manage it.’
Dean scratched his head. ‘We can try, but it’ll be tough. They aren’t really our style.’
Alex grinned. ‘There’s a lot more to them than you think. I recommend you listen to the album titled: A Night at the Opera, I think you’ll be surprised how diverse they were.’
‘Cool, I’ll see what the lads think.’
‘I’ll make it twenty quid if you can do a Beatles track for my wife, too.’ Alex laughed at the expression on Dean’s face.
‘Challenge accepted, but don’t blame us if she never speaks to you again,’ he said.
Alex took the tickets and handed over the money. Even if the others couldn’t make it, he was happy to support local talent. He looked at the tickets Dean had given him.
‘Bulldog Promotions – would that be John Jackson’s agency? He’s next on my list of people to talk to.’
Dean nodded. ‘Yeah it is. We did a free gig for one of his charity shows, and he took us under his wing. Most agents wouldn’t look at an older band like us, but he’s been great.’
‘Brilliant. Well, I’d better get back to it. I’ll see you on Saturday.’ They shook hands again, and Dean went back to the stage and started talking to his bandmates.
Alex turned away from the stage and almost collided with a woman standing behind him, startling her and causing her to drop her handbag. He bent down and picked it up, handing it back with an apology.
‘No need to apologise. I’m so sorry I’m late, one of the old dears at the bingo hall had a funny turn, and we had to send her off to hospital,’ the woman said, in a dark smoky voice. Alex did a double-take and the woman smirked at him.
‘Detective Inspector Peachey I presume? Kitty McLane at your service, or Neil Stone if you prefer. Shall we go through to my dressing room?’
The small room that served as a dressing room was bleak to say the least. There was no window, and the only lighting came from a solitary bulb hanging from the ceiling. A distinct lack of ventilation meant the smell was quite nauseating, like old socks, stale beer and cheap perfume all rolled together. The small folding table along one wall was heaped with sequinned dresses, feather boas, wigs and what looked like bags of bird seed. Alex perched on the edge of a wooden box that stood along one wall and took out his notebook and pen.
Neil slipped his wig, jewellery and dress off and threw a black silk kimono on over his underwear. He sat down at the dressing table on the opposite side of the room and pulled the mirror closer, before rummaging in a box by his feet and taking out various tubs, packets and tubes, and placing them on the tabletop. He opened a large tub of cold cream and smeared a thick layer of it over his face before realising he was still wearing his false eyelashes. Neil swore softly to himself before peeling them off and dropping them on the floor, where they lay like two dead spiders.
Alex shuddered and tried not to look at them.
‘You don’t mind if I take my slap off while we talk, do you? I get terrible spots if I leave it on too long and I’m getting a little too old for acne,’ Neil wiped off the first lot of cream and applied a different product.
‘Not at all, it’s fascinating to watch if I’m honest,’ Alex replied, watching as Kitty slowly disappeared and Neil took her place.
‘Whenever I pull a double like I have today, I try and let my skin breathe between jobs. Now then, what would you like to know?’ Neil asked, bringing the conversation back to the matter in hand.
‘Mr Stone, I need to ask you about the show you did last Friday night. Can you give me a run-down of the evening, please?’
‘Please call me Neil. I won’t bite you – unless you ask me very nicely!’ Neil winked broadly at Alex and looked him up and down. ‘Trust me, I’d give you anything you ask for.’
Alex looked at him with a blank expression and Neil looked sheepish. ‘Sorry, force of habit to chat up handsome men,’ he admitted.
Alex repeated the question and Neil put his finger to his lips and closed his eyes, deep in thought. There were still traces of silver glitter on his eyelids.
‘I got there around 7.00 p.m., Des was already there, and Chad arrived a few minutes later. I started putting my face on, Ruby laid my clothes out and helped me into my frock. Once I was ready, I went out to give my music to the DJ and chatted with some of the women. A couple of them bought me drinks, bless them. I came back in to check the running order and grab my microphone, that was around 8.30 p.m. Si had just arrived; I think he’d had some trouble with his car. Des and Chad were getting ready when I went out to get the show started.’
Neil took a baby wipe from a packet on the table and smoothed it over his face and neck, removing the cream and leftover make-up. He turned from the mirror and smiled at Alex. He looked so different that Alex would never have guesse
d that Neil and Kitty were one and the same. Neil was around forty years old, bald and brown-eyed. He reminded Alex of one of the guys in those fast car movies that Jayne loved.
‘What about Ray Diamond?’ Alex asked.
Neil pulled a face as if he’d smelled something offensive. ‘I don’t know what time he arrived, but he was there when I came off at 9 p.m. Des and Chad went on, I got changed and had a quick snack. I went back on, did a quick introduction for Si, then once he was finished, I did twenty minutes to close the first half. Ray went on after the interval, which was around 10 p.m. or thereabouts.’
Alex wrote quickly, hoping he’d be able to decipher his scrawl later. ‘Did you talk to Ray at all?’ he asked.
Neil raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘Darling, it’s a well-known fact that Ray and I don’t get on. I keep as far away as I can and pay him as little attention as possible. It’s not always easy though, but I try.’
‘Was there anyone else in the dressing room at all?’ Alex asked.
‘Only Ruby and Michelle, but that’s normal. Ruby Clarke is my dresser, she comes to all my gigs, she lays out my costumes, helps me with my zips, that kind of thing. She filled in when I split up with my partner, and she’s been with me ever since. She knocked Ray out once, he made some remark about her being related to the chimps from the tea advert. You probably don’t remember those adverts, do you? I expect you’re too young.’
‘I remember them, I’m older than you think,’ Alex admitted, causing Neil to raise his eyebrow again.
‘Why are all the good men straight? Such a waste,’ Neil lamented before continuing.
‘Michelle Simmons is Ray’s dresser, but more so. She does whatever Ray tells her to do. She’s a little darling, she’d do anything for anyone, and she’s the only person who can calm Ray down when he loses his temper.’
‘Is Michelle romantically involved with Ray Diamond?’
Neil started packing his toiletries away again, balling up the used tissues and cotton wool and dropping it into the wastepaper basket under the table. ‘No, definitely not, although I expect he’s tried. He’s so stupid, he thinks he can get into anyone’s knickers just by batting his eyelashes at them. Michelle knows what he’s like, she’s quite often had to wait in the car while he gives some little scrubber a quick one in the car park. I don’t know how she puts up with it to be honest, he treats her like shit.’