Murder in the Second Row

by Bev Robitai

  ‘Ah, they’re all very nice until they get the handcuffs out. Then watch out, they’ll have their wicked way with you. They can do anything they want to you while you’re helplessly chained up, can’t they?’

  ‘Shut up, Austin.’

  ‘Righto then.’

  Clara-Jane spoke up tentatively. ‘One thing we haven’t talked about is the possibility of cancelling the show. People might expect it, after a death.’

  They sat in silence, mulling over the suggestion.

  ‘I don’t think we can,’ said Jessica at last. ‘There’s too much at stake. If we don’t do the show, it means the theatre cash flow stops dead, but the bills don’t. Even if we don’t make the profit we hope for it’s still better than doing no show at all. Financially, anyway.’

  ‘That makes sense. I just thought I should mention it.’

  MaryAnn put it succinctly enough for all of them.

  ‘The show must go on.’

  Later that night while getting ready for bed, Jessica wondered how many different circumstances had prompted the use of that expression in the past. There were so many things that could go wrong at a theatre and it was no wonder there was a cast-iron rule about it. Did the curtain jam and fail to open? Then send the stage manager out to announce a slight delay, and get the problem fixed as silently as possible. Did an actor fall off the stage and break his arm? Send on a replacement, reading the part from a script if necessary. Did a fire alarm force a full evacuation? Well then, you damn well played the rest of the show in the car park. That was the rule. She smiled to herself. It was probably because theatre managers would do anything to save having to refund ticket costs to disappointed patrons. As long as you finished the show, they got what they paid for. The show must indeed go on.

  Apparently Bayldon Oliver, the developers, didn’t share her view. In Friday’s paper they were quoted:

  “The Regent Theatre is old, dark and dangerous. Small wonder that it has become a venue for violent crime. There is no place in today’s society for a decaying anachronism that barely pays its own way and provides a haven for drop-outs and criminals. It is overdue for removal, to make way for a new, clean, safe building complex with bright lights, trained security personnel, and 24-hour monitoring. The new shopping mall will bring positive benefits to the town with employment opportunities and business rewards. Why delay its progress to preserve a sagging wooden structure that houses nothing but termites and murderers?”

  Jessica read the piece and cursed until the air turned blue. Jellicoe took fright and fled behind the couch, staring out with wide green eyes. Jessica paced, picked up the paper and re-read it, then hurled it down again. Then she reached for a jotter pad and started to write furiously.

  Ten minutes later she called Nick.

  ‘Did you see that piece about the mall developers in tonight’s paper?’ she demanded. ‘What a load of feckin’ bollocks that was! Have you got any ideas for rebuttal?’ She didn’t allow him time to reply. ‘Because I certainly have. Let me read this to you Nick. See if it makes sense.’

  She read through the lines she’d written, stumbling now and again where her writing had been so violently impassioned that it was barely legible.

  ‘Well, what do you think? Can I send this to the paper?’

  ‘It’s certainly a strong piece, Jessica.’ Nick’s voice was cautious. ‘I think it might be improved even more if we work on it together a little bit. Some of your suggestions might possibly be libellous, and others are probably physically impossible. How about I come round and we’ll put our heads together? I think two brains would be better than one in this situation.’

  ‘Fine, whatever we have to do to put our side of the story and nail these pricks to the wall. Are you free right now?’

  ‘Er, yes, I can be there in ten minutes.’

  ‘Make it five.’

  Six minutes later Nick was at her door.

  She waved him in, barely noticing that the bruise on his face had started to turn yellow and that the scratches had now faded to thin red lines. He followed her into the living room, sitting warily on the couch as she expounded her views on Bayldon Oliver and the PR puff piece.

  ‘Listen to this crap, …make way for a new, clean, safe building complex with bright lights, trained security personnel, and 24-hour monitoring. Mein Gott, vill there be towers in ze corners mit ze spotlights und machine-guns? Razor wire und guard dogs?’

  She snarled and threw the newspaper onto the table.

  ‘How do we fight this, Nick?’

  He paused thoughtfully, chin in hand.

  ‘We don’t.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No no, hear me out. Obviously we do try to put the opposing view, but not as a direct rebuttal. If we get into a slanging match we won’t win public approval, and they’re better resourced than we are. No, we have to be clever about this.’

  ‘OK, go on.’

  ‘We have to talk up the value of the theatre so that it would look like the worst sort of cultural vandalism to tear it down.’

  ‘But we’ve been trying to do that for years. Every time there’s a threat to the theatre we trot out the same facts and win a few converts, but then have to do it all over again when the next threat comes. She scrubbed at her face wearily.

  He shrugged. ‘That’s the nature of conservation. It’s a constant battle to win hearts and dollars, whether it’s for endangered dolphins or historic buildings.’ He paused, looking oddly intense. ‘But there’s one good thing about this battle, Jessica, at least we’re in it together. We make a good team, you and I. If anybody can save the theatre, we can.’

  She ignored the comment.

  ‘So how do we make the Regent Theatre sound like the most valuable community asset since the Tree of Knowledge then? Any clever suggestions?’

  ‘Well, let’s start at the beginning. It was built in 1878, right? Let’s see what else was going on back then, to help people see it in its historical context. Fire up your computer and we’ll Google it.’

  ‘What do we look for?’

  ‘Type in “what happened in 1878” and let’s see what we get.’

  ‘Really? It’s that easy?’ She typed in what he told her.

  Nick leaned in closer to read the screen. ‘There you are – Wikipedia gives the year 1878 categorised into events, countries, categories, everything you need to know. Let’s have a look here.’ He ran down the list. ‘Ah, here’s something everyone has heard of. Thomas Edison patented the phonograph, and started the Edison Electric company. Ooh, here’s another one, Stalin was born.’

  ‘I’m not sure that association helps our cause.’

  ‘You could be right. Good old Queen Victoria was on the throne with another twenty-three years to go, and Gilbert and Sullivan wrote HMS Pinafore.’

  ‘That’s all pretty cool.’ She smiled at him and his eyes lit up. She looked away quickly. ‘What about things that hadn’t been invented yet when the theatre was built? How about you do it?’ and she vacated the chair, uncomfortable at his closeness.

  He took her place at the computer and typed a few more characters. Two minutes later he produced a list of exactly what she’d asked for.

  ‘OK, it was built before the use of electric light, escalators, revolving doors, radio, television, fountain pens and biros, paperclips, zips, and x-rays. Levi Strauss jeans had been around for five years and the telephone for two. It was before cash registers, CocaCola, candy floss and Kodak. There wasn’t even a public electricity supply here until after 1887.’

  ‘Ah, now we’re getting into the meaningful stuff. So our theatre would have been lit by gaslight?’

  ‘Hang on, let’s see what I can find out.’

  That question took a bit more delving into the archives.

  ‘Looks like it would have been kerosene and candle lamps.’

  Jessica’s face went dreamy as she pictured the scene. ‘Can you imagine how romantic that would have looked? The patrons arriving in horse-drawn c
abs. Soft yellow lamplight, elegant ladies in flowing skirts with bustles, whiskery men in top hats and tails. It was a different world.’

  ‘Throw in a bit of fog and it sounds like Jack the Ripper territory.’

  ‘Nick,’ she reproached him. ‘That’s not the golden picture of a glamorous age that we’re trying to convey here.’

  ‘Oh, hold on, he was ten years later, anyway.’ He typed a few more words and looked up at her, grinning. ‘Gosh, the Regent theatre was running even before the first Sherlock Holmes story was published!’

  ‘Cool! Well all that lot should give us plenty of material to catch the public’s imagination. How’s a shopping mall going to compete with that?’

  ‘Ah, this complex was built before series ten of Big Brother? Ooh, what a significant cultural milestone.’ Nick printed out a list of historical events and shut down the computer.

  Jessica slapped him on the back. ‘Good work, Nick. You write up the story and get the article to the paper tomorrow. Good man. Off you go now, I’ve got a new rehearsal schedule to organise.’

  Once Nick had left (reluctantly and with many a backward glance), Jessica pulled out her show folder to work out what alterations she’d need to make for the changed venue. Of course, it would help to know how long the theatre would be out of action. She smiled and picked up the phone.

  ‘Detective Senior Sergeant Matherson? Hi, it’s Jessica here. How’s that murder enquiry going? Can I have my theatre back yet?’

  At the other end of the phone, she could hear the answering smile in his voice.

  ‘I’ll answer that question if you’ll answer two of mine.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘One, have you had dinner yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Two, can you point me towards a decent restaurant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In that case, if you’ll come to dinner with me, your answer is “tomorrow”.’

  ‘Brilliant! In that case we should celebrate at Etrusco, if you like Italian food.’

  ‘I do indeed. Well that sounds like the very place. I look forward to the pleasure of your company for dinner there this evening.’

  ‘Um, let me just check my diary.’ She paused for the merest split second. ‘Yes, it appears I’m free tonight. In about an hour, then?’

  ‘Perfect. I’ll meet you there if that’s all right, Jessica. It’ll look a bit less like an off-duty policeman socialising with a potential suspect.’

  ‘A suspect?’ Her voice rose. ‘You think I’m still…’ She broke off, hearing his warm chuckle down the phone line.

  He was already waiting when she entered the restaurant, and he raised a hand in welcome. As she approached the table he stood up and pulled out her chair. She sat carefully, placed her purse on the floor, and surveyed him.

  His white shirt was expensive but he wore it casually, open at the neck and with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned arms with a dusting of brown hair. His silver watch looked practical and well-worn. No rings.

  He smiled, eyes crinkling up at the corners with a flash of mischief. ‘You’d recognise me in a line-up after that appraisal. Did I pass?’

  She put her head on one side and considered. ‘Well, yes, I think I can safely say Jack, you’re a fair cop.’ Her grin and approving tone were enough to convey her real message.

  ‘Well thank you. You look pretty spectacular yourself, Jessica. That dress has exactly the effect you hoped for when you chose it to wear tonight.’

  Her cheeks reddened. How had he known her thoughts so accurately? It was almost as if he’d been standing in her bedroom watching her try on outfit after outfit, before throwing caution to the winds and pulling out the one remotely elegant thing she owned, in the hope that he might be impressed.

  Then her realistic self kicked in, telling her that his comment would fit any such occasion. In fact, it was probably a standard line he’d used lots of times. Still, it was quite a good one. She took a sip of water to compose herself.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I know you’ll have questions about the murder, and there will be some that I won’t answer, but we’ll spend five minutes talking about the case and then leave the subject alone for the night. Deal?’

  ‘Sure,’ she agreed. ‘Fine with me. So you said the theatre will be available tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, we’re all done with the scene exam. There wasn’t too much mess or damage, but you might want to run a steam cleaner over the carpet in the auditorium.’

  She made a face.

  ‘Sorry. One of the inescapable facts of death, I’m afraid. And you’ll want to do the whole room. It looks like the deed was actually done in the second row and the body was dragged up the aisle to the back row, probably in the hopes it would stay undiscovered for longer.’

  A waitress approached to take drink orders. Jack glanced at the wine list and looked questioningly at Jessica.

  ‘Shall we order a bottle? What sort of wine do you enjoy?’

  ‘Oh, white for preference. Is there a Sauvignon Blanc or a Chardonnay you like the look of?’

  Jack made his selection and Jessica waited until the waitress had left.

  ‘Do you know when it happened?’

  ‘Probably right at the end of the rehearsal. The others said Tamara was on stage with them the entire time, prior to the last scene. She wasn’t in that one. Several saw her go down to the second row to watch. She’d been seen eating an apple at lunchtime and the pathologist used that to narrow down the timeframe even more. She died between 4.20 and 5.30pm.

  Jessica paled.

  ‘So it could have been while we were in the workshop? There was a killer murdering someone in our theatre and we didn’t even hear a whimper?’

  ‘It’s hardly surprising,’ he said practically. ‘You said yourself you were in a virtually soundproof room, and probably using tools that made a bit of noise. There’s no way you could be expected to hear anything.’ He paused, assessing her state of mind. ‘It’s possible the killer was still in the building when you left, and took their time moving the body and tidying up after themselves. As you are aware, the door unlocks from the inside and he or she would have simply re-locked it before pulling it shut as they left.’

  She shuddered. ‘Is our five minutes up yet? I think I’ve had enough.’

  He patted her hand across the table.

  ‘Absolutely. I don’t want to be talking shop on my first free evening all week either, and it’s definitely not a topic for dinner conversation.’ He leaned back and relaxed a bit. ‘OK, tell me about this town of yours. I’ve only been here a month and I could really use a native guide to tell me what’s what.’

  The waitress came back and poured their wine. Jessica took a sip and made an approving noise.

  ‘You were transferred here? Where from?’

  Her innocent question was met with a pause while he selected his words.

  ‘From a city station up North where my superior officer felt he’d had enough of me. The feeling was mutual, so here I am, lower in status but happier in spirit.’

  ‘Slumming it in the provinces, eh? You must have really annoyed him.’

  ‘Let’s not go there. We’re not talking about work, remember? I want to hear the good points about my new town of Whetford.’

  ‘Ah, the good points.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘Well, rush hour really is only an hour morning and evening, not like the big city.’

  He laughed immediately. ‘Yes, I’ve seen your so-called rush hour. Both cars were finding it very hard going.’

  ‘All right, all right, it is only a small town after all. Have you had a look at the river? There are walkways along it right through town, and parks, and places to swim. You can rent canoes and paddle around throwing bread at the ducks.’

  ‘OK, I like boats. What else have you got?’

  ‘Ooh, let’s see. Whetford Museum, Whetford Art gallery, and a fairly ancient railway station. How’s that?’

  ‘Gosh, all that as well
as a historic theatre. What a haven of culture I find myself in.’

  ‘Look, if you’re just going to take the mickey…’

  ‘Sorry. I’m just enjoying watching you defend your home town. It makes you go all pink.’

  The pink deepened to red. ‘Shut up!’

  He burst out laughing and she threw her napkin at him. It missed, and was scooped up by the waitress returning to take their order.

  ‘Ah, just give us a few more minutes, would you?’ Jack asked her, with a charming smile. ‘I don’t think we’re quite ready yet.’

  Jessica studied her menu closely and took a long drink of water.

  ‘Have you decided what you’re having, Jack? The Conchiglie Al Cinghiale looks rather good.’

  His jaw dropped at her flawless Italian accent.

  ‘Well if you recommend it – and if you’ll order it for me! Otherwise I shall be stuck with a pizza, and probably the Leonardo because I don’t think I’m up to pronouncing Salsiccia. And would you mind not looking so damned smug?’

  ‘Who’s the uncultured one now, city boy?’

  He held up his hands in surrender. ‘All right, you win that one. Who knew you were so cosmopolitan? Do you have a particularly good language school here, or did you get that fluent overseas?’

  ‘I spent an exchange year in Italy when I was sixteen. Had a fabulous time, managed to learn reasonably good Italian, and came home several sizes larger after all that Italian food.’

  ‘Speaking of which, will you please order some soon because I can’t spar wittily on a stomach this empty.’

  Jessica summoned the waitress and gave their order, asking for breads and dips to sustain Jack until the meal arrived.

  ‘Whetford isn’t a bad little town really. There are plenty of places to go for day trips out in the country, if you enjoy farmers markets or wineries or craft galleries. If you like, I’d be happy to do the touristy thing with you on your next day off.’

  ‘Well thank you, Jessica, that’s a very nice offer. It may be a while before that happens though. We hardworking coppers keep our noses on the trail pretty hard in the early days while the scent’s still fresh. Ask me again in a week or so, will you? I’d like that very much.’