by Bev Robitai
The group was quiet for a moment while they processed this piece of information, then Jessica intoned solemnly, ‘The name’s Bond. Gazza Bond.’
They all cracked up.
‘Bloody hell,’ gasped Howard. ‘You’ve certainly been in deep cover. Nobody would ever imagine you in an immaculate dinner suit ordering cocktails! Hell of a disguise mate, well done!’
Gazza doffed his battered leather cap and bowed, a grin creasing his stubbled features.
‘I’ve got one,’ said Stewart eagerly. ‘Why did Adam kill her?’
‘Ooh, that’s a good one,’ said Jessica. ‘What reason could Adam possibly have to want Tamara dead?’
Their brains, muzzy with alcohol and tiredness, trawled for ideas.
‘Got it!’ said Clara-Jane eventually. ‘She approached him with faked paperwork proving that she was his daughter from an illicit liaison with an actress years ago. She demanded money to set up her own business but he could see that she would keep coming back with more and more demands for years to come. She’d follow him round the country, auditioning for every show he was directing, and he’d never be rid of her. Finally he snapped, and so did her neck. The end.’
There was a round of applause.
Nathan raised his hand. His dreadlocks quivered with suppressed giggles.
‘I think Simone tripped up and fell on her, and she suffocated!’
Clara-Jane, herself no lightweight, fixed him with a steely gaze but couldn’t keep from laughing with the rest of them.
‘You’re a cheeky little sod, Nathan. You wait till you’re a bit older and have plenty of cash for beer and food. If you’re that skinny when you’re thirty, I’ll eat rice wafers for a week. I tell you what though,’ Clara-Jane added thoughtfully, ‘as far as solving this murder goes, there is a likely candidate on the crew who could do that.’
‘There is?’ Howard looked puzzled.
‘Yes, right under our noses. Haven’t you noticed how Gert looks just like Miss Marple? She may not hail from St Mary’s Mead but I bet she has a shrewd grasp of human nature.’
‘Better her than that bloody little Belgian git. Hercule Poirot always annoyed the hell out of me,’ said Gazza. ‘Such a smug, self-righteous windbag.’
‘I always wondered why Hastings put up with him,’ said Howard. ‘Perhaps there was some kind of unspoken homoerotic subtext there.’
‘What!’ Clara-Jane looked mildly disapproving. ‘You guys think everything’s about sex, don’t you?’
Jessica stole a quick glance at Stewart but he appeared untroubled.
‘Well, most of the old girl’s murders were motivated by sex or passion, weren’t they?’ said Howard. ‘Human nature hasn’t changed much since she wrote her novels, just the world around us. Fewer servants, for one thing.’
‘That’s true. Not many subservient butlers lurking unnoticed round the theatre to quietly slip cyanide into the champagne,’ said Clara-Jane.
‘Talking of butlers, does one of you want to pass me another beer?’ asked Gazza. ‘I’m parched over here. You can skip the cyanide though.’
‘Here you go, mate.’ Howard handed him a bottle. ‘So when we’re back in the theatre tomorrow, should we tell Gert she’s our great white hope for solving the mystery – or will she figure that part out as well?’
‘Oh, let’s allow the plods to have a crack at it first, just to be sporting,’ said Jessica. ‘Some of them seem reasonably bright.’
Something in her voice caught Clara-Jane’s attention.
‘Oh yes? Who have you been talking to, Jessica? The interviewing officer I spoke to was nothing to write home about. Did you get someone more exciting?’
‘No! I only got to see Detective Senior Sergeant Matherson. Nobody special. Oh, and the officer who took my prints down at the station. Like you said, nothing to get excited about.’
‘It took me ages to get that damned ink off my fingers,’ said Gazza. ‘Bloody nuisance. They seemed to take a special interest just because I was last out of the building on Saturday.’
‘Hey, Gazza,’ said Jessica, sounding concerned. ‘What happens when they run your prints through the database and discover your secret?’
‘Eh?’
‘Your under-cover alter-ego top spy secret. It’ll blow your cover wide open!’
* * *
Next day, there were a few sore heads among the construction crew as they hauled the hotel set into position.
‘Somebody remind me why we do this?’ said Howard.
Gazza grunted.
‘Because it’s so much fun?’ offered Shane, one of the teenagers on the crew.
‘Why? Because it’s our duty as highly-educated and well-resourced intellectuals to bring theatrical culture to a mass audience,’ said Jessica brightly. ‘Thus expanding their understanding of the world around them and helping to clarify their place in it.’
‘You had the low-alcohol beer last night, didn’t you,’ accused Gazza.
‘Yep. That’s why I was making so much more sense than the rest of you.’
Howard grabbed Gazza’s cap and threw it at her, spinning it like a nunchuck. She fielded it neatly and handed it back to its owner.
‘So, Mr Construction Manager, what’s our task for today?’ Jessica asked.
‘To sort out this blasted elevator, mainly. We’re going to need a sliding door in this wall, and that nuisance of a pointer indicator thingy that shows what floor the lift’s on.’
‘OK, how about I take care of the indicator while you guys do the door. Are you up to it?’
‘As long as you stop being so bloody cheerful,’ groaned Howard. ‘Thanks for taking care of that, Jessica – aren’t you wonderful? Now, has anybody seen my pencil?’
Gazza threw one at him.
Jessica retreated to the workshop and busied herself with a piece of plywood.
After an hour’s work she had made a passable attempt at a lift indicator. She put a coat of paint on it and went to see how the guys were doing.
The stage was littered with tools and covered in drifts of sawdust. Howard and Shane were holding the sliding door while Gazza checked the clearance in the doorframe. There didn’t appear to be anything she could help them with so Jessica grabbed a broom and swept up the sawdust to clear the work area. Then, once again, she went into the Green Room to make coffee.
The cast members were having a break from their rehearsal in the Rose Room. Simone was complaining to anyone who would listen about the inconvenience of police interviews.
‘They parked their police car right outside my house, didn’t even have the common sense to use an un-marked vehicle. Heaven knows what the neighbours thought. They might just as well have cordoned off the garden with police tape and hung a “guilty” sign on the front gate. I don’t know why we pay our taxes for dolts who treat us like common criminals.’
‘So they didn’t find the hydroponic marijuana in your greenhouse then, Simone?’ Pippa asked innocently.
‘Don’t be absurd. The only thing growing in my greenhouse is a perfectly splendid crop of tomatoes, thank you very much.’
‘So the P lab in the cellar remains undiscovered then?’ said Jessica on her way to the sink.
‘Oh very droll, dear. I thought you of all people might have had some sense. Apparently I was wrong.’
‘Sorry, Simone. I was just trying to keep the mood light. I know it’s been upsetting for all of us. These little jokes are just our way of breaking the tension. No harm intended.’
Simone sniffed haughtily and stalked off, back to the Rose Room.
‘You know, I’m never quite sure if she’s playing her character or just being herself,’ said Pippa. ‘Sometimes there’s not much to choose between them.’
‘That’s one of the skills of good casting,’ said Adam. ‘Finding actors who can use the least effort in changing from their normal selves to the character they’re portraying.’
‘Well, I reckon you got it dead right with Simone,’ said P
ippa. ‘She’s perilously close to Ada Boynton, and just like in the script there are times when we all want to do her in!’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘No,’ said Jessica at last, having given the matter some thought. ‘I think just the one murder per season, don’t you? We don’t want to deter new members, do we?’
The following night, most of the cast had gathered on the stage ready for rehearsal when Pippa burst in looking wide-eyed and anxious.
‘Sorry I’m late everyone, sorry Adam.’ Her normally immaculate appearance had given way to messed-up hair and a cardigan buttoned up wrongly. ‘I’m afraid Phil’s not going to make it to rehearsal tonight, Adam…’ her voice caught and she swallowed hard. ‘He’s been taken in for questioning. The police came and picked him up about half an hour ago, they said it was just routine enquiries but they took him away in a police car. I don’t know what to do.’ She looked around the group. ‘How can they possibly suspect him? You guys don’t think he did it, do you?’
The rest of the cast clustered round her in support. Adam took both her hands in his and held them clasped against his chest.
‘No, of course we don’t. All right, Pippa, take it easy now. Take a breath. And again. Relax those muscles.’ He looked intently into her eyes as she drew a deep breath and blew it out again. ‘That’s better.’
Jessica darted out back to the Green Room and returned with a glass of water which she handed to Adam. He nodded his thanks.
‘Here you are, Pippa, sip some of this. OK? Feeling calmer now? What do you need to do? Would you rather be with him at the police station, or do you think you need to arrange a lawyer for him?’
Pippa shook her head helplessly.
‘I have no idea. I just don’t know what to do.’
‘What exactly did they say to him?’ Jessica asked gently. ‘Did it seem like they were interested in him for some specific reason?’
‘They said something about a row at the school, a couple of years ago. Phil was overheard yelling at Tamara and some bloody little student remembered it and told the police.’ She looked up at Adam. ‘It can’t have been anything serious – I certainly don’t remember any trouble about it at the time.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘It just doesn’t make any sense. They took a DNA sample as well, right there in the kitchen. Swabbed inside his cheek just like they do on TV. It’s all so unreal, and yet it’s happening to us.’
‘OK Pippa, here’s what I want you to do,’ said Adam firmly. ‘Go and sit down quietly, let yourself calm down a bit so that you can think straight. If you want to go home or to the police station and need company, I’m sure Jessica wouldn’t mind going with you for moral support.’ His eyes flicked to Jessica for confirmation and she nodded. ‘We’re going to get on with the rehearsal now, and if you feel up to it and want to join in that’s fine too. You’ve got five pages before your first line.’
He shooed her off to a chair in the wings.
‘Stewart, when we’ve got past your lines as the clerk can you read Phil’s part please, from page six onwards?’ Stewart’s head lifted in surprise. ‘Right, let’s get started.’
By the end of page four, Pippa gave Jessica a thumbs-up and a weak smile, and went to take her allotted place onstage.
When the session was over, Adam called Jessica aside for a quiet word.
‘I suppose we’d better plan for the worst. If Phil is going to be, ah, unavailable, then I’d like to think we have a replacement ready on standby. At a pinch, Stewart could do the role with a little extra make-up to age him a few years. He’s not as strong an actor as Phil, but in this role it wouldn’t matter too much. It’s probably going to be easier to replace the hotel clerk as that role can be played by any age. Can you think of anyone we could draft in at short notice?’
Jessica thought back to the men who had turned up for auditions.
‘Do you remember that guy Terence? About forty-five, scrawny sort of chap? He’s usually available, and he can act OK, he just tends not to get picked for shows because he’s such a drag backstage.’
‘Frankly, backstage behaviour is the least of our worries right now. How about giving him a call to see if he’ll do it? If he’s up to it we might get him to understudy a couple of the other roles, just in case the police decide to expand their number of suspects.’
‘Oh God, don’t say that,’ shuddered Jessica. ‘If you start thinking along those lines I might just end up in some ultimate casting emergency playing Simone’s role.’
‘Never, my dear, it would require far too much make-up and padding.’
Jessica grinned and blew him a kiss as she went off to her office to call Terence. The phone rang five or six times before a reedy voice answered.
‘Hello? Terence here.’
‘Hello Terence, it’s Jessica, from the Regent Theatre. How are you?’ Immediately she regretted letting the words out of her mouth, as Terence took her enquiry literally and began an extensive listing of his various medical problems. In a micropause between ulcers and piles she managed to insert her question.
‘Would you be interested in understudying a couple of roles for us in our current show, Terence? Adam has asked for you specifically, if you’re available.’
‘Well, it would mean learning lines, wouldn’t it? I have been having some memory lapses now and again, possibly early-onset Alzheimers they think, but I’d be happy to give it a try with what brain cells I have left. I’ve been taking Omega 3 capsules and they’re certainly helping with –’
‘That’s sounds great, Terence, I’m sure you’ll be just fine. If you can make it to rehearsal tomorrow night at 7, then Adam will fill you in on the details. Thanks so much Terence, bye!’
Jessica hung up the phone and groaned. What misery had she just inflicted on the entire company?
Chapter 9
Banner headline, Whetford Morning News:
Murder Mystery Schoolmaster in Detention! A police spokesman said today that thirty-two year old Philip Nigel Jessop is helping them with their enquiries into the death of Tamara Margaret Fitzpatrick at the Regent Theatre on September 23. The dead woman was a former pupil of Jessop’s at Whetford Girls’ School.
Jessica dropped the paper onto the table.
‘At least he hasn’t been arrested yet,’ she told Jellicoe, who was sitting at her feet listening intently for the word “breakfast”. She read the rest of the article carefully, then phoned Pippa to offer what moral support she could.
‘It’s an absolute nightmare,’ said Pippa. ‘All the school kids that walk past the house are pointing and staring in. I can just imagine what sort of vile things they’re saying about Phil. You know what teenage girls are like. The police have let him come home but there’s no way he can go to work while this is hanging over him. He’s just sitting around looking utterly blank. I don’t know how he’s going to cope if I leave him to go to work myself.’
‘I tell you what,’ said Jessica. ‘How about I pop round to see how he’s doing a bit later on, once school’s started? I’m sure I can find something that I need his help with at the theatre today. At least it would stop him brooding.’
‘Oh, would you? Thanks, Jessica. That really would help. I’ll see you tonight then, OK? God, you’re wonderful.’
Jessica hung up and smiled.
‘Did you hear that, Jellicoe? I’m wonderful.’ Jellicoe processed the words, failed to recognise “breakfast” or “dinner”, and walked away. ‘OK, fine,’ Jessica called after him. ‘Breakfast is coming, you spoiled fat lump.’ She shook some cat biscuits into his bowl and earned a look of thanks.
When she knocked on Phil’s door he opened it a crack and peered out cautiously. Seeing Jessica he pulled her quickly inside. ‘Hurry, before anyone sees you. What with the school kids and the press it’s a bloody disaster zone out there.’
Jessica obeyed, blinking at his haggard appearance. He was wearing an old blue dressing gown and hadn’t shaved or even combed his hair.
That scored a smile. He disappeared for a while and came back dressed, shaved, and almost as well-presented as usual.
‘Thanks, Jessica, that does feel better. I lost the plot for a bit there. Sorry.’
‘Not a problem. Now, do you want to hide under a hat and sprint for my car, or walk out there with your head held high?’
‘Um, hold my head high, pull down my hat, and get to your car quickly but without unseemly haste, how’s that?’
‘Done! Come on then, I need your body.’
He smiled bravely and made his way to her car without rushing, although she noticed him glance along the street to check for staring eyes.
At the theatre, Jessica set him to work with a heat stripper, taking a few of the many ancient layers of paint off the billboard panels. Phil crouched on the concrete floor in the corridor, using a wide scraper to peel back the heat-softened paint onto sheets of newspaper. She figured it was messy and demanding work that would occupy his attention for at least a couple of hours, after which he could paint the boards white. By that time she would have the design ready to draw onto them and he could tackle that too.
As she sat at her computer in the office upstairs, it occurred to her that some people might have felt nervous at being alone in an empty building with a murder suspect. She snorted to herself. Hey, this was Phil – she’d known him for years. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. But then her mind turned up the odd fact of his having a shouting match with Tamara at school. That behaviour didn’t match what she thought she knew about him. She frowned. It was horrible, the way suspicion ate away at your belief in people. How did police officers cope with everyday interactions when their working life was such a grim picture of mistrust and betrayal? Perhaps that’s why Jack had been so equivocal when she’d asked him a personal question – maybe it became second nature not to trust anyone with those private details, particularly when they didn’t know the person well. It must make relationships a bit of a minefield.