“I thought you weren’t superstitious.”
“I’m not,” she said defiantly, “but obviously there are limits.”
♦
“I’m glad we were able to run you to ground. Have a look at this.”
Bryant smoothed the creases from the article Summerfield had penned for The Times and slid it across the table to Andreas Renalda. The tycoon was furious at being brought directly to the unit instead of being taken to his Highgate home to change for the theatre. He peered angrily out of the dusty windows as if searching for a means of escape. May called his attention to the document.
“What is this?” the tycoon asked, gingerly touching the edges of the pages.
“A history of your family,” Bryant explained. “You were reluctant to talk about your background, so I took the liberty of digging it out.”
Renalda flicked the sheets aside in disgust. “We sued over this damned article. There were dozens, and we took every one to court. They were appearing all over the world.”
“You won this battle without going to court. The piece was never published.”
“It was the last thing our shareholders would have needed to read about at that time, a public washing of dirty laundry. This man had no right to write about my father, but at least he was one of the few to suggest my brother’s guilt. Things were very difficult for me personally. I had lost my beloved wife, the light of my life.”
“You still believe she was murdered by your brother?”
“He said he took her out dancing as a gesture of reconciliation. My Elissa, out dancing, with her husband away on business! In our culture, this is not done. She did not know the island, and she had hardly ever had a drink in her life. They passed the evening in a taverna, and at midnight they walked along the harbour wall together. Ask anyone in the town and they will tell you that my wife was deliberately drowned. Every night, before I go to bed, I blame myself for being away in Athens on a trip that I could have easily delegated to one of my staff. Minos was waiting for me to leave.”
“But you have no proof.”
“There are some things in life you do not need proof to see.”
“You don’t think that your wife – ”
“Mr Bryant, I hope you are not about to suggest that she was in any way attracted to my brother. That would be an insult to her memory.”
“May I ask how your mother died?”
“In hospital, from cancer.”
“You’ve never feared for your own life?”
“Of course not.”
“I don’t understand. If you’re convinced that your brother is capable of murder, why are you so sure that you’re safe?”
“My mother let everyone know that her religion protected me. Minos believed in the old gods enough to avoid angering them. Now I think I have answered all your questions.”
“But you,” persisted Bryant, “do you really believe in the old gods?”
“It is how I was raised. I would sit in the cliff garden and see my ancient protectors seated all around myself and my mother.”
“And do they still protect you?”
“Of course. The events of my life are beyond my control, just as yours are. I must get to the theatre.”
“I’m sorry to have kept you.” Bryant rose to his feet. “I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
“I’m fascinated by your mythological beliefs. I wonder if you’d care to take lunch with me tomorrow. The theatre has no performance, and you can tell me more about them.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mr Bryant. I’m a little too old to fall for such obvious tricks, don’t you think?”
“I assure you, I intended only to be sociable.” Bryant was flustered, mortified.
“It’s all right, I suppose in your clumsy way you mean well.” He gave a sour laugh. “You have a lot to learn, I think. I can take care of myself without the help of the damned police. I worry more for my friends at the Palace. My theatre is under attack, my staff are being killed and injured.” He struggled to his feet and swayed so violently that for a moment Bryant thought he was going to topple backwards. “The Palace is being assaulted by Christian moralists, your courts are trying to close me down before we even open and the press is denouncing me as a filthy foreign pervert out to corrupt the innocent, plucky islanders. This is no time to attack cherished national institutions. Well, we shall see who survives and who falls, but I know one thing: the show will go on, come hellfire, Blitz or the Lord Chamberlain. If people think I am the devil, we shall have a merry Hell.”
And with that declaration of war, Andreas Renalda swept from the cluttered office with as much force as his crippled legs could muster.
“Interesting,” said Bryant after the magnate had been helped back into his car. “He’s hiding something about this brother of his. But he’ll only answer direct questions, and I’m clearly not asking the right ones.”
“Then let’s run with your instincts,” said May. “Take a chance.”
Bryant shook the idea from his head. “We have to uncover the truth about Minos before we start accusing anyone. Come on, it’s time for curtain up.”
∨ Full Dark House ∧
44
LOOKING OUTSIDE
“They’ve put together an e-fit of your culprit.” Liberty DuCaine waited for the printer to finish running off a hard copy of the monochrome JPEG, then passed it over to May and Longbright. The annexe of Kentish Town station was experiencing an eerie lull in the battle-stations activity that had been surging around them all day. Officers sat making quiet phone calls, wearily nursing plastic cups of coffee.
“What’s it based on?” asked Longbright, examining the face on the desk.
“A couple of bouncers from the Camden Palace were walking past Mornington Crescent tube station, heading for their car. They saw this geezer come out of the door to the unit just before the bomb went off.”
“These things are about as much use as old Identikit posters,” May complained. “He looks like a character from a video game. How can you identify someone from that?”
He studied the picture more carefully. It was the blurred face of an old man with staring alien eyes and abnormally large teeth. This wasn’t Bryant’s murderer. May was sure that the man seen loitering outside his flat had also stolen his partner’s dental records. The infuriating part of it was, May knew his identity. But they had met only once, and had not seen each other in over sixty years. You could study the face of an old man and find no vestiges of his youth. DuCaine’s e-fit bore no resemblance to that wartime killer. Time wrought great changes. How would he ever recognize such a person now?
“These two guys couldn’t even agree on how he was dressed,” warned DuCaine. “They’d been smoking a bit, and when I say a bit, I mean a lot.”
“This looks more like Arthur than our mad bomber. So much for technology. Did nobody see him turn up at the unit?”
“If they did, they haven’t come forward.”
“What about the CCTV cameras?” asked Longbright.
“Nothing on that side of the road. We’ve got a shot from a supermarket camera further along the pavement, someone standing outside the entrance. Trouble is, the time lapse on the footage lets him simply disappear. All we’ve got is a distant figure in a grey coat.”
“You couldn’t tell if he was carrying anything?”
“Not from the back. Nothing identifiable at all. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right,” sighed May, running his hands through his white hair. “We weren’t expecting a breakthrough. I’m told they want to use you here for a few days.”
“Yeah, I was going to ask you about that. I mean, the unit’s got nowhere to work from, and they’ve got all this shit going on. Kids running around, taking each other out with activated replicas.” DuCaine felt guilty, but he was too valuable a resource to waste. His restless energy needed to be applied, and May wasn’t about to hold him back.
“Someon
e around here is bringing Ingram Model Ten sub-machine guns in from the U.S. and converting them into working firearms. It’s the accessory of choice for would-be gangsta rappers. I’ve got some contacts, I can help – ”
“There’s no need to explain,” interrupted May. “Do what you have to do. Longbright and I will figure this out.”
♦
“Well, what do we do now?” asked Longbright as they walked towards the tube station.
“Something I should have done earlier,” May replied. “I have to start thinking like Arthur. If he could do it, track down someone after six long decades, why can’t I?”
“How do you propose to do that?” How much weight he’s lost, she thought. This could be the last thing he ever does.
May thought for a minute. “When I first met Arthur, he’d already suffered a tragedy. I didn’t know it at the time, of course. It was your mother who told me what had happened. Later I realized it was what made him look beyond rational explanations. It drove him to solicit the advice of outsiders. In a way, it was what made him the man he became. It locked him out of the normal world.”
“You make it sound almost like a good thing,” said Longbright, stopping.
“Sometimes it almost was.” May gave a rueful smile. “It could also be disastrous. That’s why he needed me. To balance him.” He gave the detective sergeant a gentle pat on the elbow. “I’ve been too sensible for too many years. It’s time I learned the lesson he was always trying to teach me. Come on.”
∨ Full Dark House ∧
45
IN THE DEVIL’S COMPANY
The audience was resplendent in evening dress, but most members were carrying gas-mask boxes. They were as Helena Parole had predicted, culturally more diverse, livelier and younger than the lethargic Home Counties brigade who usually attended operettas – perhaps reflecting that this was not in any sense a classical production. Eurydice’s opening striptease and virtually naked seduction by an outrageously priapic Aristaeus saw to that.
The single intermission occurred between the second and third tableaux, and listening to the exhilarated hubbub in the building’s bars, Bryant judged the production to be a hit – more, a sensation. The crowd made him feel claustrophobic. He descended the grand staircase and wandered out into the lobby. The bow tie he had donned for the occasion was strangling him. Few playgoers had ventured down here because the night was so cold. He nodded to PCs Atherton and Crowhurst, who were meant to be acting as security on the entrance but found themselves holding back a ragged line of irate demonstrators. Rain was falling hard from dark, low clouds, and that meant a cloak of safety for the theatre.
“We’re going to need more men if this goes on every night, sir,” warned Crowhurst.
“They’ve got their own security people coming in on Monday.” Bryant studied the placards pinned to the steel barriers. BAN THIS PAGAN SHOW NOW. THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER GOD BUT ME. And more peculiarly, LESS LUST THROUGH LESS MEAT AND SITTING. This makeshift placard was displayed by a soaked young man in a corduroy cap who looked as though he would rather be somewhere else, preferably in a pub.
A mobile anti-aircraft gun had been placed on the opposite corner for the last two days, but now this reminder of danger from the skies had been moved away to higher ground. The theatre had been banned from spotlighting its exterior, and was forced to content itself with displaying a large OPENING TONIGHT! banner.
“They’re all out this evening,” sighed Bryant. “I’m surprised we haven’t got any Band of Hope ladies.” Temperance women were known to turn up at any public event to extol the evils of alcoholism.
“There were a couple chucking eggs here earlier, sir,” said Atherton. “One lady punched Mr Woolf on the nose and called him a dirty darkie. None of ‘em has gone in to the show, they just heard that saucy bit about it on the wireless. You’d think they’d have something better to do with their time.”
Bryant strolled over to the box office, where Elspeth was closing up for the night.
“Have you heard from Miss Petrovic yet?” she asked anxiously, hauling a bagful of leeks from behind her counter. She had permed her hair into an unflattering helmet of Medusan curls for the occasion.
“Not a word.”
“I do hope she’s all right. There’s been talk about sea mines being dropped by parachute down the Old Kent Road. Sea mines! Apparently they blow up sideways and take out all the houses. I feel sorry for anyone over there tonight.”
“It seems quiet in town,” said Bryant, “what with the rain.”
“I’m worried they’ll shut the production down. The Archbishop of Canterbury says we’re all going to go to Hell, and that the only practical solution is to pray.”
“Oh, he always says that,” said Bryant. “The moment he finds something people enjoy, he’s on the wireless faster than a cat up a Belgian, telling us all to stop doing it at once. Is everyone accounted for from your side of the house?”
“It would appear so, although I can only check the ushers and FOH staff. You’d have to go back to the stage door and see Stan about the sign-in book, but I think they’ve got a full complement.”
“No unfamiliar faces, then?”
“No, we know everyone. Mr Mack had to locate two more stagehands because a lot of the scenery has to be shifted manually. They’re a father and son team who know the understage area well. He bribed them away from the Duke of York’s.” She locked the box office and pocketed the keys. “We’re having drinks up in the balcony green room after the performance. You’re welcome to join us.”
“I thought everybody had to be out quickly.”
“Yes, but it’s traditional on opening night.”
“You know, I’ve walked around this place for a week now,” said Bryant, “and the running of it is still a mystery to me.”
“Some people never get used to it. I’ve been at the Palace most of my life and I still get lost. I never venture down to the lower levels because the lights are scattered all over. You have to keep trying different switches as you make your way across, but half of them don’t work, and you need to know where they are in the first place. Then of course there’s the well. Everyone knows it’s hazardous so they just stay away from the area.”
“Are there any parts of the building you haven’t visited?”
“I’ve never been to the upper gantry levels, and certainly not to the grid. You can only access that via a drop-ladder, and I’ve no head for heights. Hardly anyone has been up there in years, but a couple of the stagehands had to get up there to refurbish the blockand-tackle system. You forget how big the Palace is. It’s hemmed by three roads and a circus, all exactly as it was when Mr Sullivan was here.” A bell sounded above them. “That’s my signal. I’m not keeping the box office open once the second act starts, no matter what Mr Renalda says.”
“He wanted you to keep it open?”
“Until the end of the performance and for twenty minutes beyond. I told him absolutely not. We never have in the past, and he has no authority to change my hours because we work for different companies.”
“Of course, you’re with the theatre management, not the company production,” remembered Bryant. “Tell me about the pass doors again. You said there are two of them.”
“Yes, but as I explained, we lost the keys to the left-hand one. The right side still works, but not many people use it. There’s no need, when you can go around to the stage door and access the backstage area that way.”
“But you’d have to pass at least one permanently posted member of staff to do so,” said Bryant thoughtfully. “Who has a key to the pass door?”
“There are two, but they have to be signed out by Geoffrey Whittaker. He keeps hold of both of them.”
“Are you aware of him signing them out at all?”
“Not to my knowledge, but you’d better check with him. Are you going to watch the rest of the show?”
“Thank you, I saw it earlier in the week.”
“Ye
s,” Elspeth agreed, “but you haven’t seen it with the applause in.”
“My partner’s prowling around the building with his henchmen, so I suppose I could spend a little time in the devil’s company after seeing Mr Whittaker.”
“You can slip into the rear stalls box,” she said, leading the way. “It used to be a cigar booth before it was converted to hold chairs. The sightlines are pretty poor because the ceiling of the dress circle cuts so low. We didn’t open it tonight because Geoffrey’s storing stuff from dressing room two in it. We’ll have to, though, if Orpheus proves popular.”
“I think that’s a pretty safe bet, don’t you?”
“It’s bad luck to discuss it before the reviews appear, but yes, I have a feeling we’re in for a very long run indeed. Mr Renalda will be able to make good on his promise.”
“What promise is that?”
“Why, to run on right through the war.” Elspeth looked at him oddly. “I thought you knew. He came round to tell us that he’s done a deal with someone in the Home Office, not to let the bombs close us down. It’s going to be good for public morale. ‘Britain Can Take It’ and all that. That’s why the Lord Chamberlain won’t touch us. Apparently, Miss Parole will cover up a couple of the girls, take out some of the ruder lines, but we’ll stay open right through to the bitter end, barring a direct hit.” She smiled nervously. “You could say it’s the first time theatre folk have ever prayed not to have a hit.”
∨ Full Dark House ∧
46
FALSE IDOL
“As you can imagine, I’m rather busy,” said Geoffrey Whittaker, unsnagging his cardigan from a nail and racing ahead. “Can’t Madeline help you?”
“It’s you I need to talk to,” said May, ducking beneath a low pipe as they passed along the narrow corridor at the head of the orchestra pit.
“It’s the assistant stage manager’s job to know everything I know,” Whittaker called over his shoulder. “Mind out.” They passed a set of ten vicious-looking steel costume hooks, part of a quickchange area that had not been altered since the theatre’s construction.
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