by Linda Regan
‘Fire away.’
Alison managed a small smile. ‘You told DC Crowther that Stephen Coombs hadn’t changed his costume after the ultra-violet scene last night.’
‘Correct.’
Alison hadn’t been in the best of moods to start with, but this girl’s clipped and patronising tone was irritating her.
‘OK. We need you to come to the station and make an official statement about that.’ The girl opened her mouth to object. ‘But it can wait until after the afternoon show. DC Crowther will drive you there and get you back in good time for the evening performance.’
Sophie swallowed hard and her mouth began to tremble. Good, Alison thought; the hard edge is crumbling. ‘Oh, and we’re a bit confused,’ she added casually. ‘Does everyone pick up the same fish in that routine every night?’
Sophie hesitated.
‘You should know; you choreographed that scene,’ Alison pressed her.
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Sophie pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear with her forefinger. Diamante studs were stuck to the edge of each nail. ‘The truth is, sometimes it goes a bit awry. I know I told the other detective it works fine, but, well, I turn a blind eye, because it don’t really matter what fish go on when, as long as the audience enjoys the scene.’ The nervous finger wound around another tendril and slid it behind her ear. She gave a tiny false laugh. ‘The actors aren’t good with steps. I may as well be talking to a brick wall.’ She paused. ‘But I’m there, hands on, so we get through, even when Alan doesn’t turn up.’
‘So the order of the line varies from show to show?’
She shrugged and curled her lip. ‘Yeah, it can. Not by much, though.’
‘It couldn’t, not with only four in the row.’
Sophie fixed Alison with her unusual eyes. ‘It doesn’t make no odds. As I say, as long as ultraviolet fish move across the stage and the audience get to see them all, it doesn’t matter to me.’
‘It matters to our enquiry,’ Alison said briskly. ‘Did you know who was where in the line last night, and who was holding which fish?’
Sophie shook her head and dropped her gaze for a fraction of a second, then lifted it again. ‘No, I’ve said, it went a bit awry last night,’ She shook her head again. ‘I don’t know who was holding what.’
‘Could anyone have been holding a stage weight?’
Sophie took her time before replying, ‘Only if they could lift it.’
‘I can lift it,’ Alison said. ‘And doesn’t dance training build up your muscles?’
‘I suppose.’
Neither spoke for a few seconds. Sophie’s hands gripped the shelf behind her. The girl’s discomfort was almost tangible.
‘Is that it? Only I’m needed downstairs.’
‘No, not quite,’ Alison said. She let another few seconds pass, then asked casually, ‘Are you and Michael Hogan lovers?’
Sophie straightened up and folded her arms. ‘I don’t have to answer that question,’ she said. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’ Alison kept her tone friendly.
Sophie didn’t take the bait. ‘Up to you. I’m not answering the question. Look, I need to …’
Alison cut in, ‘Just before the UV scene last night, were you and Michael discussing sacking Vincent Mann?
Sophie lowered her gaze again. Alison could practically see her razor-sharp mind working. She looked up. ‘Did Michael tell you that?’
‘No, Sophie, you don’t ask the questions.’ Time to get tough, Alison decided. ‘This is a suspected murder case. I ask, you answer. Now – were you and Michael discussing sacking Vincent Mann before the UV scene last night?’
Sophie’s gaze pierced Alison again. ‘Yeah, we were discussing it.’ She started to make for the door.
‘I haven’t finished yet.’ Sophie stopped and stood still, her back to Alison. ‘First I need to take a DNA swab from you.’ Alison opened her bag and took out a pack.
Sophie turned to face her, panic spreading across her features. ‘What for?’
‘For elimination, that’s all.’
‘But Lucinda wasn’t murdered; it was an accident.’
‘We’re still waiting on the results of the post-mortem. I just need to brush the inside of your cheek with this.’ She held up the little tooth-sized brush. ‘It doesn’t hurt.’
Sophie opened her mouth. Alison took the sample and sealed the swab in its pack. She started to feel sorry for the girl. It hadn’t taken much. Those hard eyes now looked like a terrified little bird’s.
‘I’ll make a deal with you,’ she said to the choreographer. ‘I said I was happy to wait until after the show for you to come to the station and make an official statement. My boss is less happy about that. But if you tell me about your relationship with Michael Hogan, I’ll talk to DI Banham and make sure we don’t interfere with your lunchtime performance.’
Before Sophie had time to protest, Alison continued. ‘I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it had anything to do with our enquiry.’
Sophie stared at the floor. ‘He’s my stepfather.’
Banham was looking around the little sound booth at the back of the stalls. The electrics were turned on and Michael’s voice was coming through the speakers.
‘It was a tragic accident,’ Michael told the cast. ‘Tragic, and I still can’t believe it’s happened. He paused and gave a painful sigh. ‘The police will be around backstage today. There’s no need to let them bother us; we’ll do our jobs and they’ll do theirs. There will be a plain clothes policeman in the wings …’
‘We’d rather have the blond bloke from The Bill,’ one of the dancers quipped.
‘I’m glad you find it such a huge joke, Tanya,’ Vincent Mann shouted angrily across the auditorium. ‘I don’t agree that it was an accident, nor that we should carry on. I’m very glad that the police are here, and if you had any sense you’d take it very seriously indeed.’
There was a long silence, eventually broken by Stephen Coombs. ‘Don’t fret, Tanya. You meant no harm, pet.’
Banham watched through the glass as Stephen looked across the auditorium at Vincent Mann. ‘God knows we’re short of jokes around here,’ he said bitterly.
Michael quickly raised his hands. ‘OK, let’s keep it together. We are all edgy, and that’s understandable. But let’s not fight. One accident was enough.’ He looked directly at Vincent. ‘And of course it was an accident.’
‘Please!’ Barbara Denis’s voice boomed out. ‘Can we just do our jobs and keep personal feelings to ourselves?’
Everyone mumbled their agreement.
‘Alan has faithfully promised that he’ll be at the side of the stage every moment that he isn’t actually on it today,’ Michael said.
Alan pulled up the collar of his overcoat and shuffled uncomfortably.
Michael’s voice started to crack with emotion. ‘No one need feel threatened or frightened,’ he said. ‘It won’t be easy, but we’re professionals and we’ll get through.’
He walked off, through the pass door into the backstage area, towards the steps that led to his office.
He hadn’t got further than the foot of the stairs when he heard the clacking of high heels behind him. He turned to face Sonia, the tallest of the three dancers. ‘I’m sorry if you’re disappointed not to be playing principal girl,’ he said flatly. ‘But I’ve had to do what’s best for the show. I really need you to dance today.’
‘You said I was her understudy. I learned it all.’ She was angry. ‘You promised …’
‘Keep your voice down,’ he urged her, looking around to make sure no one was close by. ‘Please, Sonia, don’t do this. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
She made no reply.
‘Sonia, I can’t give you that part. Wait another year, get some voice lessons, learn to project. Then I’ll keep my promise and cast you next year.’
‘Lucinda hadn’t any experience,’ she spat. ‘She hadn’t had voi
ce lessons, and you couldn’t even bloody hear her. What did she do for you that I haven’t?’
Michael froze for a second then turned away towards the stairs. ‘I’m sorry you feel like that. I will keep my promise – next year.’
Sophie Flint was on the landing. She had heard every word. When she heard Michael approach, she quickly slipped behind the door of the toilet along the corridor. Michael went straight into their shared office; Sophie watched Sonia follow, and stand hesitantly outside the door for a few seconds before retracing her steps.
Sophie checked the cubicles to make sure she was alone, and she settled herself in the one farthest from the door. She pulled out her phone and stabbed in some numbers. The call was answered on the second ring.
‘I’m not going to play games with you, I know what you did to Lucinda. And I know it was you.’
There was no response.
‘You must have known I’d work it out,’ Sophie said.
Still no response.
‘Oh, you don’t have to worry,’ she said sweetly. ‘I’m not the type to tell tales.’ She waited a beat. ‘But I need to be rewarded.’
The voice at the other end raged for a few moments.
‘No, it’s not blackmail,’ Sophie replied, her voice still sweet as sugar. ‘Let’s call it a late Christmas gift …’
Banham was feeding coins into the vending machine in the Green Room. Alison leaned against the side of the machine, reading the paper. She was dressed in heavy brown corduroy trousers, a beige polo neck jumper and a grey wool tunic which reached her thighs, if you included the twelve inches of tassels that hung from the hem. The arm-holes seemed to go halfway down to her ribcage and did precious little to keep out the cold. A russet-coloured ribbon and tortoiseshell slide held her long, crinkly hair in a ponytail.
‘Coffee,’ he said, holding out the plastic cup.
She wore very little make-up, but he noticed she had put on fresh lipstick in a soft brownish shade. He thought she looked beautiful. He turned back to the machine and fed more coins in. Some man was going to very lucky, he thought with a smile, despite that terrible temper.
He was still smiling as he took his own sugared, white coffee from the machine.
‘Is something funny?’ she asked.
‘Is smiling a crime, Sergeant?’
‘You don’t do it very often, that’s all.’
He wished he was brave enough to tell her what had made him smile.
‘How can you drink that stuff without sugar?’ he said. ‘It’s disgusting enough with it!’
‘Can we talk about the case?’
She was definitely still angry with him.
‘Sophie has confirmed that the fish don’t run in the same order every night. So if a fish was missing last night, it wouldn’t help – we wouldn’t know who should have been holding it.’
Alison had a rim of coffee froth around her mouth, making her look clownish. He fought to keep a straight face, glad when his phone rang to distract him.
‘That was the mortuary,’ he told her after ending the call. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Take a look at your face in the mirror.’
She glanced in the mirror and quickly wiped her mouth. ‘I didn’t tell you that you had chocolate on your teeth this morning,’ she said defensively.
‘You should have.’
‘What did the pathologist say?’
‘Lucinda wasn’t pregnant, but she’d had sex within a few hours. And they need forty-eight hours for the results of the brain trauma. So we’ll have to play for more time.’
‘She must have had sex between the shows,’ Alison said. ‘I suppose that proves she and Vincent hadn’t been rowing.’
‘There are marks on her face,’ Banham said. ‘She’s been slapped around quite a bit, and there’s heavy bruising to the tops of her arms, a few days old.’
‘Perhaps he likes rough sex,’ Alison said.
Banham looked shocked. ‘Or perhaps someone else hurt her,’ he offered. ‘You finish the buccal swabs and get Isabelle to drive them over to the lab. I’ll go and have a good look around the building, and check all the nooks and crannies in the so-called haunted passage. Crowther can stay on duty in the wings.’
‘That’ll make him a very happy bunny,’ Alison said. ‘Watching the dancers doing their quick changes.’
‘He’s a bloke,’ Banham shrugged.
‘He certainly is.’
‘We’ll all gather there for the second act,’ Banham said. ‘That’s when the UV scene is.’
‘They’re still doing it, then?’
‘Oh yes. Hogan has managed to get more costumes.’
She swallowed the last of her machine coffee and nodded. ‘I’m going to track down Stephen Coombs. He never seems to be in his dressing room – I don’t know if he’s avoiding me or Vincent Mann.’ She tossed her cup into the bin and headed for the door.
Just as she reached the door he called to her. She turned back. There was still some froth on the side of her mouth but he decided against mentioning it. ‘What’s your instinct on this?’
‘I haven’t got one yet, guv. You’re the one with the reputation for instinct; what’s yours?’
‘We need to find a motive,’ he said. ‘That’s what bothers me most. Lucinda had only known these people about a month. Who would be driven to kill someone they have only known for a few weeks?’ Alison didn’t reply. ‘I’ve got a full team on this, because of my instinct. But it’s not even confirmed as murder until the brain trauma report comes through.’
‘Go with your gut, guv,’ Alison said. ‘I agree with you, this wasn’t an accident. The light-source test should come back from Penny tomorrow – that might turn something up. And have you noticed, this company is unusually incestuous? They’re all involved with each other or have been. Only Stephen Coombs seems to have no romantic link with any of them. Yet at the moment he is our main suspect. So, “why?” is a good question.’
Banham rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. ‘And how?’
Chapter Seven
Stephen Coombs walked purposefully into the Feathers and looked around, craning his head to peer into each alcove. After a few moments he spotted the stage manager. As Alan McCormack lifted his first pint of the day with a shaking hand, Stephen slid quickly into the bench beside him.
‘That sergeant who looks as if she’s got a carrot stuck up her arse is after me for a DNA sample,’ Stephen said careful to keep his voice low.
Alan licked spilt beer from his dirty hands. ‘Damn you, you nearly gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that,’
Stephen ignored him. ‘They’re checking everyone out. They’ll want yours too.’
‘I’ll take what’s coming.’ Alan held his palm up defensively. ‘I killed her.’
‘Don’t give me the fucking theatricals,’ Stephen shouted. He looked around to check no one was in hearing distance before continuing, ‘You didn’t kill her. There are witnesses who saw you in here.’
‘Oh, I killed her all right, and won’t I feel the guilt of it now until they lay my bones in the brown earth,’ Alan said. His head bobbed up and down like a nodding dog, and Stephen grabbed his scrawny arm.
‘Get a grip, man. And listen up. I’ve had to put my thinking cap on. A DNA test might bring a few things to light, right?’
Alan nodded nervously.
‘And we can’t afford any complications. Am I making myself quite clear?’
‘Whatever you say, boy, whatever you say.’ Alan dipped his mouth over the rim of his glass and gulped greedily. The scattered broken veins over his reddened complexion made him look a lot older than his fifty-five years.
A few feet away, Sophie Flint pressed her slim body tightly against the large beam that ran from ceiling to the floor behind the alcove.
‘Come in.’
Vincent Mann hesitated before walking in and pushing the door shut behind him. He watched Barbara gaze into the mirror to see who had ent
ered her dressing room; confusion mingled with fear when she saw it was him. A flowery bandeau held her hair off her face, and dots of dark make-up spotted her face. She held a small triangular sponge in one hand and a stick of old-fashioned pancake in the other.
‘What do you want?’
‘Just a chat.’ He leaned back against the door and folded his arms across his chest. She turned back to the mirror and dropped the sponge on the dresser, then quickly rubbed the spots of make-up into her face before tapping a small black cigar out of her tortoiseshell cigarette case. Their eyes met in the mirror as she took the holder between her teeth and flicked her lighter. Then she turned back to face him.
‘I am devastated about Lucinda,’ he said quietly.
‘We all are.’
He nodded, and a beat passed. ‘You didn’t exactly get on.’
She inhaled on her cigar. ‘We had strong professional differences, but nothing personal. I’m sorry she’s dead.’ She inhaled again and blew smoke out of the side of her mouth.
‘Michael won’t release me from this contract,’ he said quietly. ‘He said I have to finish the run.’
‘That’s only right.’
‘Maybe.’ He paused. ‘It’s tough having to work under these circumstances.’ Her face seemed to soften, and he continued. ‘So … I’d like to try to work together. Can we bury the hatchet?’
‘Unfortunate choice of words,’ she said with a flicker of a smile. ‘But yes. Let’s try.’ She lowered her eyes and blew out more smoke. ‘I understand how bad you must feel. I knew about the deal you made with Michael to get Lucinda a job.’
‘I’d prefer that wasn’t made public,’ he said quickly.
She gazed at him squarely. ‘Vincent, I’m a perfectionist and a career woman, so I get short-tempered when the show isn’t good. But I’m not a gossipmonger, and your affair with Lucinda is nobody’s business but your own.’
He pulled his mouth into a small smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘Nor will I say anything about the row you had with her after the first night. Unless it turns out not to have been an accident, of course.’
The smile dropped from his face immediately. ‘That was just a tiff.’