Murder in the Second Row

by Bev Robitai

  Jessica leaned forward on the worn red velvet rail and surveyed the audience. To her right, tiers of circle seats stretched across the auditorium, filled with faces reflecting bright light from the stage. Their attention was riveted on the drama below, but Jessica couldn’t shake off an odd feeling that she was being watched herself. Down in the stalls there was a sea of heads with not an empty seat to be seen. She smiled with satisfaction.

  Her only disappointment was that Jack hadn’t managed to see the whole show. He had come one night mid-week but had been called away during interval, and she had realised that with his police duties and her theatre schedule, they would struggle to have a regular social life.

  Deep in her pocket, her cell phone vibrated with a text message. She took off her jacket and pulled it over her head to shield the light from the phone’s screen.

  ‘On my way, can u find me a seat? Lve J’ She grinned and texted him back.

  ‘Come 2 L-hand box upstrs. Lve J’

  Flushed and smiling, she smoothed down her hair and pulled forward a second chair from the dim recesses at the back of the box.

  Several minutes later, a draft of air told her that the door to the box had been opened. She turned with a smile, but the happily-whispered words of greeting died on her lips. It wasn’t Jack. Instead, a tall thin figure was silhouetted against the light from the hallway. An arm raised. Light glinted off a thin blade.

  As the figure plunged forward, Jessica instinctively threw herself sideways off the chair and swept it up, jabbing it hard at the figure’s midsection, the blow landing on a soft spot with satisfying force. As her assailant folded over, Jessica leaped past into the hallway, pausing for a split-second to decide which way to run. To the upstairs toilet to lock herself in and ring for help, or down to the foyer to find more immediate assistance?

  She ran down to the foyer, looking round urgently for Greg or Matt or even Gerald, but astonishingly the whole place was empty. Part of her mind made a note to find out why the entire front-of-house staff had deserted their posts. Feet sounded on the stairs behind her. She bolted forward, crashed through the swing door on the other side of the foyer and bounded up the shabby steps, two at a time, to her office. She fumbled for her key and had just unlocked the door when her assailant burst through the door below and started towards the stairs. In a fleeting glance down, Jessica saw a gaunt woman with wild hair and staring eyes who looked vaguely familiar. She desperately searched her mental database for a name.

  ‘Mrs Fitzpatrick? Ruth?’

  The woman’s eyes narrowed and she leaped up the stairs, holding the gleaming blade in front of her with deadly intent. Jessica shot into her office and slammed the door shut, locked it, and put her foot against it in a purely reflexive action while she pulled out her phone. Shaking fingers hit speed-dial.

  He didn’t answer and it went straight to message recorder. ‘Jack! That nutter – I think it’s Tamara’s mother! She’s here at the theatre and trying to kill me with a knife. She’s outside the office door now.’

  A blow to the door made it shudder. Jessica squeaked.

  ‘Jack, could you make it quick! And please, try not to disrupt the show. No sirens…’

  A second blow to the door sent her sprawling as the frame splintered. She picked herself up and ran to the window, twisting the paint-stiff catch and heaving up the bottom section with an almighty effort. Tamara’s mother advanced down the narrow office, eyes glittering.

  ‘Heathen!’ she hissed. ‘Vile blasphemer! When I sharpen my flashing sword I will bring vengeance on my enemies!’

  She darted forward just as Jessica was climbing out of the window, slashing down with the knife but missing by a fraction as Jessica pulled her hand away from the sill.

  Jessica edged along the parapet that ran across the front of the theatre. It was a narrow ledge, purely for decoration, and she was only too well aware that some of the supporting timbers were well past their use-by date. A quick glance over her shoulder showed the woman climbing nimbly out the window and coming after her. She tried to remember, from the last time they’d had a painting bee up there, which timbers were rotten. Right in the middle, she recalled. Below the drama faces plaque. She stepped across that area as widely as she could reach and looked back. Tamara’s mother was gaining on her.

  In the distance she heard a siren. As it came closer the sound ceased.

  ‘Stop,’ called Jessica. ‘The police are on their way. Stay where you are and don’t make this any worse. Please Ruth, just stop there.’

  Her wild-eyed assailant strode forward along the ledge, muttering garbled fragments that Jessica could only partly decipher.

  ‘All who curse their father or mother must be put to death! Wicked girl, wicked. She’s gone.’ She glared at Jessica. ‘You will be an object of horror to all the kingdoms of the earth. Your dead body will be food for the birds and wild animals, and no one will be there to chase them away. The Lord will afflict you with boils and with tumours, scurvy, and the itch, from which you cannot be cured.’

  Jessica only had time to think that it was just as well Terence wasn’t hearing all this, when there was a loud cracking sound and her pursuer fell forwards.

  Jack’s car pulled in sharply on the street below.

  Jessica watched, frozen, as Tamara’s mother pulled herself up bodily and climbed out of the broken timbers, advancing steadily. Trails of blood ran down her arms and legs, looking black under the orange streetlights. Jack’s shout roused Jessica from her horror-struck daze. She was trapped with nowhere else to climb to. Ruth was just a few feet away, and she still had the knife in her hand.

  Jessica called out to Jack. ‘Get ready, I’m sliding over the edge!’ She sat on the edge of the parapet and let herself slide down the steep roof of the veranda, scraped painfully over the sharp edge, and dropped vertically, landing neatly in Jack’s arms. As she slid down his body, her hands went round his biceps.

  ‘Ooh, have you been working out?’

  ‘Jesus, Jess, not now!’

  He put her down carefully and looked back up. Tamara’s mother stood on the parapet, shaking with fury, arms stiff and fists clenched. A camera flash went off, searing the image of the theatre façade on their retinas. She shrieked, picking up chunks of broken wood and hurling them at the newspaper photographer, reminding Jessica of King Kong’s defiant last stand on the Empire State building. Jack ran to move the photographer back to a safe distance.

  With a piercing scream, Tamara’s mother launched herself from the parapet like an avenging angel and dived straight towards Jessica with the knife blade foremost.

  Jack whirled round and started back towards her. There was no time. He couldn’t reach her.

  Jessica looked up, sidestepped smartly, and watched as the woman’s body hit the road with a sickening thud. The knife clattered away and lay still.

  Chapter 17

  Jack moved Jessica away from the body as two patrol cars pulled up with a screech of brakes. The arriving officers immediately began processing the scene, unrolling tape and taking details. Once she’d given a quick statement, Jessica excused herself. She brushed dust and debris from her hands and arms, straightened her clothing, and ducked inside; interval was due to start at any moment.

  ‘Gerald, keep the outside doors locked for interval, would you? Nobody can go out front for a while. I’ll explain later. Tell the smokers tough titty, they’ll have to wait. But do it nicely, of course.’ She was determined not to let the real life dramas out in the street spoil the show’s final performance.

  She succeeded. By the time the show ended, the area outside was cordoned off and well-screened from view. Departing patrons assumed that there were some roadworks going on and went home calmly. They would find out the true events much later when the morning paper came out, probably with a banner headline, The Mother Did It! above a dramatic picture of a knife-wielding Ruth poised on the parapet.

  When the last audience member had finally left the theatre, J
essica went to find Jack. He was in the corridor talking quietly to Matt, jotting down a few key words in his notebook.

  ‘So you didn’t actually see anything of the woman then?’

  ‘No, nothing that registered anyway. We got a bit tied up just before interval with a girl who fainted in the middle of a row of seats. Gerald and Greg and I had to squeeze between the rows and carry her out – we were in the auditorium a fair while. A herd of elephants could have run through the foyer and we wouldn’t have noticed them.’

  ‘So that’s why none of you were on hand to rescue me,’ said Jessica. ‘Damn good thing you showed up so fast, Jack. I do like a man who responds promptly to a damsel’s distress call.’

  He switched out of official mode to give her a warm hug. ‘Wild elephants couldn’t have kept me away. Are you feeling OK now?’

  She felt a jolt in her stomach at the tenderness in his eyes. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I might have a few bruises tomorrow from clambering round the woodwork, but hey, it could have been a lot worse. Did you hear what she was muttering about putting children to death if they curse their parents? Tamara must have sounded off at her one too many times. If only the blasted woman hadn’t chosen my theatre to do the Lord’s work in!’ She took a breath. ‘Jack, I’m guessing you’d prefer us to cancel tonight’s festivities? We can easily postpone the Final Night party till tomorrow, and that would keep people out of your hair while you guys are doing your thing with the scene.’

  Jack nodded. ‘That sounds like a really good idea.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Jessica, ‘it doesn’t seem quite right to celebrate after Ruth Fitzpatrick just splattered herself all over the tarmac, even if she was the one trying to shut us down.’

  She went backstage, checked her plan with Howard and Austin, then made the announcement to cast and crew.

  ‘I have bad news, good news, and better news, people.’

  They were glued to her every word, as murmurs of the night’s events had been filtering through to the cast with varying degrees of accuracy.

  ‘The bad news is that since Tamara’s mother died here tonight, we will postpone the Final Night party.’ There were gasps from those who hadn’t heard about the death, and groans from those who had.

  ‘The good news is that the party will go ahead tomorrow after pack-out.’ Solemn faces cleared. ‘The even better news is that we’ve re-scheduled pack-out to start at 1pm instead of 9am, so you can all enjoy a well-deserved Sunday sleep-in.’ Wild cheers greeted this statement. ‘Now go home, get some rest, and we’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon, right? No pack-out, no party!’

  She eased herself down from the chair she was on and shooed people towards the door, and then went into the kitchen to make herself a coffee, stirring in two heaped spoonfuls of sugar for medicinal purposes. After all, it wasn’t every day that she got attacked by a knife-wielding maniac. She sat on the high bench seat by the back door and cupped her hands round the hot mug for comfort.

  Howard came in, smartly dressed for the party that wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘You’re a bit of a hero, aren’t you? That was a bit above and beyond the call of duty, you know, luring that homicidal lunatic outside so she didn’t disrupt the show. Your friend Jack told me all about it. He sounds rather proud of you, you know.’

  Gazza came in, casually dressed in his usual well-worn jeans and sweatshirt. ‘There’s some really cool footage of you on the security camera, Jessica, good enough to put on YouTube. You look very daring, climbing out of that window and leading your assailant into a trap. Did you remember where those rotten boards were, or was it pure luck?’

  Jessica shuddered. ‘I knew enough not to stand on them myself, but the rest was a complete surprise. I thought she’d be finished off by falling halfway through the roof, but then she just climbed back out and kept on coming. And she never even dropped the damn knife!’

  Jack came in as her voice rose an octave describing the scene. He took the coffee cup from her hands and pulled her to her feet.

  ‘Home for you, young lady. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one night. Come on guys, time to head off. You can lock up as you leave. The officers have finished checking the inside of the building.’

  Howard winked at Jessica. ‘He’s very masterful, isn’t he, your young man?’

  Jessica quirked an eyebrow. ‘I’m quite happy for him to tell me what to do, as long as it’s what I want.’

  Gazza snorted. ‘Good luck with that one, Jack.’

  There was a record attendance at pack-out the following afternoon. Emma Sinclair was on time for once, and not hungover. Phil and Pippa worked contentedly together helping Clara-Jane to sort out items of clothing to put back into wardrobe or return to their owners. Terence carried boxes of props around for Gert, entertaining her with blood-curdling stories of his experiences with syringes. Even Simone put on a scarf and an apron and got to work with dustpan and brush.

  Midway through the afternoon, Nick made an entrance. Everyone downed tools and crowded round to welcome him back. He was especially congratulated for turning up to pack-out when he could just as easily have stayed home enjoying his freedom.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to help Gert in the upstairs props cage?’ suggested Austin slyly. ‘Assuming you haven’t developed a fear of enclosed spaces while you’ve been in the pokey?’

  The stage was a frenzy of activity. The heavy sliding doors that separated it from the Green Room were rolled open, and the construction team worked swiftly to break the set back into its component parts, wielding electric drill-drivers like surgeons. As fast as walls were laid down and stripped of their fittings, willing hands carried them off to storage. Austin sweated in the flats bay below stage, making sure things were returned to their right places.

  The elevator stood upstage left. Stewart ducked inside it, calling out ‘Ground floor, cosmetics, ladies’ fashions. First floor, bedroom furnishings.’

  ‘Come out of there,’ growled Gazza. ‘We haven’t got all day.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Come out? You want me to come out?’ Stewart slid the elevator door open, struck a pose, and exclaimed dramatically. ‘All right – I’m coming out, people!’

  Jessica looked up and saw the determination on his blushing face.

  ‘You really mean that, don’t you Stewart? You’re ready to make a public announcement?’ She smiled. ‘Good for you. I bet it’s not easy.’

  He half laughed, half sobbed. ‘No, it isn’t. Heaven knows what my parents are going to say. I thought I’d try it out on you guys first and see how it went.’

  ‘You can do what you like with your personal life,’ said Gazza, ‘I’ve got no problem with it as long as it’s not made compulsory.’

  ‘Eh? What did I miss?’ said Howard, sticking his head round a section of wall.

  ‘Stewart just came out of the closet,’ said Jessica. ‘I reckon it’s quite an honour that he trusts us enough to do that.’

  ‘I’m g- , I’m gay, Howard,’ said Stewart bravely.

  ‘Well of course you are.’ He disappeared back behind the wall. ‘It doesn’t stop you using a screwdriver though, does it? Come on, get those flats dismantled, will you?’

  Stewart shot a startled look at Jessica, grinned, shrugged, and got back to work.

  Once the set had been cleared away, the lighting bars were lowered so that all the lights and wires could be stripped off. Half-melted colour gels were tossed in the scrap pile while less-toasted ones were carefully stored in Gazza’s concertina file for re-use. At last every piece of equipment was put away and every inch of the theatre was clean and tidy. It was time to mess it up with a party.

  Erica and Shane brought in armloads of plastic-wrapped plates of food and set them out on a trestle table in the Green Room, while the rest of the company disappeared into dressing-rooms and private corners to change into their party clothes.

  Gazza, resplendent in new black jeans and a dark-green shirt, rigged up a mirror-
ball and aimed a pin-spot at it, sending arcs of light wheeling around the stage area. Greg, Matt and Paul brought in the alcohol and started dispensing drinks to the gathering crowd. MaryAnn, as the president’s wife, went into full hostess mode making sure that everybody was looked after.

  Howard waited until everyone had a glass in their hand before calling for silence.

  ‘It’s time for the speeches, folks.’ There was a token groan. ‘Yes, I know, you just want to eat, drink and be merry, but I promise we’ll keep it short. First, I’d like to thank everyone associated with the show.’ He consulted the programme to make sure he mentioned everyone by name. ‘Without all your efforts, Appointment with Death wouldn’t have been the success that it was. I’ll call on Gerald our treasurer to give you the final figures. Gerald?’

  Gerald stepped centre stage clutching a sheaf of papers. ‘I’m pleased to report that the show made a profit.’ A cheer went up. ‘Quite a big profit, in fact.’ An even louder cheer went up, acknowledging how rare that was. ‘Once running costs are taken out, we will have enough to replace the roof, fix up quite a lot of the exterior timberwork, and still have a significant fighting fund to keep the theatre operating.’

  The crowd went wild.

  ‘I’ll expect to see you dancing on the table later,’ called Jessica. Gerald smiled and bowed and handed back to Howard.

  Howard waited a moment for the whistling and shouts of glee to stop. ‘Thank you, Gerald. It’s always nice when an artistic success is matched by a financial one. With the publicity we’ve had over the last few weeks, interest in the theatre should be high enough for us to survive for quite a while longer. Now, here’s the final announcement you’ve all been waiting for – nominations for the Golden Paddle award.’