by Linda Regan
Banham was edgy. He knew there was nothing he could do until he got some results back from forensics, or the brain trauma test results from the pathologist. That might mean another day or two. The way he felt now he wanted to close the show and arrest the whole cast. There was a killer among them, and he had a hunch who it was – but he was only too aware hunches couldn’t put people in prison. And if he was wrong, he’d have lost the opportunity to get evidence to trap the real killer. He wasn’t a patient man, but he had to bide his time.
A chord crashed from the piano, and suddenly everything was in full swing: music was playing, Alan and Michael were hauling the curtain, the girls on stage had started to sing and dance.
Maggie McCormack put the cat’s head over her own, rushed on stage, leapt in the air and turned a cartwheel. Alison stared open-mouthed. ‘I’m ten years younger than her, and I couldn’t begin to do that,’ she said.
‘You’ve got other talents,’ Banham whispered.
‘Oh, right, like you’d know,’ she snapped. She turned away and he immediately regretted speaking.
Banham was confused. He wished he understood women.
The opening number finished and the audience applauded, then Vincent Mann made his first entrance and they went wild, clapping and cheering and whooping. Banham glanced at Barbara Denis, standing in the wings with a face like thunder.
‘She’s not a happy bunny,’ he whispered to Alison.
‘It’s called professional jealousy,’ she replied.
The dancers ran off and started changing at the side of the stage. The embarrassment of standing so close to half-dressed women was too much for Banham. ‘I’m sure Crowther can manage here,’ he said to Alison. ‘Let’s go and check out the security backstage. We’ll have a look around the dressing rooms. If anyone says anything, we’re checking the windows.’
The first door they came to was the chorus room. Banham knocked and put his head in. The room smelt strongly of muscle spray and deodorant. No one was around so they walked in. ‘None of these could possibly be suspects, could they?’ he asked Alison. ‘Not if they were in the line in front of Lucinda?’
Alison shook her head. ‘What about Maggie and Fay? They’re changing in here too.’
‘Fay was in the same line as the children, and Maggie was watching from out front. We’d be better off using the time to look round Stephen Coombs’s room.’
The dressing room Stephen shared with Vincent Mann and Alan McCormack was directly next to the chorus room. The room smelled of stale sweat. Banham swiftly searched Stephen’s pockets and the cheap canvas bag on the back of his chair. He found a tatty diary and flicked through it. ‘Looks like he gets five hundred pounds a week salary,’ he said.
‘That’s about right,’ Alison answered. ‘A little on the low side, but then he isn’t very good.’
Vincent’s mobile phone was on the dresser next to a photo of his children. Banham scrolled through the numbers. ‘Texts from Lucinda on here, from yesterday. “I love yous” mostly. So they were on good terms.’ He carried on scrolling. ‘He phoned his wife five times yesterday as well.’
‘Sweet,’ Alison said sarcastically.
‘She’s phoned him this morning twice already. Sophie’s called him once, and so has Michael Hogan.’
‘And he went home last night. He was the only one, remember, guv.’
‘Yes, I do. He said he missed his wife.’ Banham stared at a pair of enormous black cardboard eyelashes in an old rusty tin next to Stephen Coombs’s tissues. They reminded him of spider’s legs. ‘I can’t see a mobile for Stephen.’
‘Perhaps he hasn’t got one. I can’t imagine him having many friends.’
‘Pity. OK, let’s have a quick look next door.’
The next room smelled of expensive perfume. There was a fridge with a kettle and a bottle of gin on the top of it, and a vase of fresh winter flowers stood by the window. Banham read the attached card. ‘Good luck, darling, with love from Michael.’
He picked up a mobile from the dresser and turned it on. ‘Just a couple of recent calls – Michael and Sophie,’ he said. ‘Barbara Denis strikes me as quite a lonely woman. Does she live alone, do we know?’
‘Just because a woman lives alone, it doesn’t make her lonely, guv. Some of us prefer it that way.’
‘And some don’t,’ he said frostily. ‘Alison, can you cut the snide remarks? We’ve got a killer to find. Let’s just concentrate on the job.’
She nodded, looking a little embarrassed. ‘Yes, guv. I’m sorry.’
They closed the door behind them and retraced their steps up the corridor to the stairs. On the first floor, Banham knocked on the company office door and pushed it open. Michael Hogan was perched on the side of the dresser, talking on the phone. He looked surprised to see them and cut the call short.
‘We’re checking the whole of the backstage area,’ Banham said. ‘Sorry to interrupt your phone call. Business, was it?’
‘Personal, actually.’
‘Mind if we sit down?’ Banham asked, pulling out the only two chairs in the room. Alison sat on one and took out her notebook; he settled in the other. ‘Something I wanted to clear up,’ he said.
‘That looks official.’ Michael indicated the notebook.
‘Just routine. You said you and Sophie were in here last night discussing giving Vincent Mann the sack.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Another member of your cast has told us it was Lucinda Benson you wanted rid of.’
‘Who told you that?’ Michael replied indignantly.
‘Just answer the question,’ Banham said crisply.
‘It could only have been Sophie; no one else knew.’
‘So which of them did you want to sack?’ Alison asked.
‘Vincent Mann,’ Michael said, looking her in the eyes. ‘Sophie said he was the cause of all the trouble. But I said it wasn’t financially viable.’ An uncomfortable few seconds passed, then he continued, ‘It isn’t a crime to sack an actor who is making trouble. Although I still feel responsible.’
Banham stared at him. ‘Meaning?’
Michael dragged his hand down his face. ‘I had a thing with Lucinda. Well, more a fling, really, but if someone found out …’
‘When?’
‘When did I have sex with her?’
‘Was it just the once?’ Alison asked.
He nodded. ‘She came on to me and I couldn’t resist. Please don’t write this down,’ he asked Alison. She put her pen down, and he looked at Banham. ‘I’m sure you’d agree know how hard it is to turn down sex when it’s handed to you on a plate.’
Banham took a deep breath but said nothing. Michael turned back to Alison. ‘I know at forty-eight years of age I’m old enough to know better, but I’m afraid I can’t resist a pretty woman,’ he said.
Banham suddenly wanted to hit him. ‘When did you have sex with Lucinda Benson?’ he demanded.
Hogan sighed heavily. ‘Yesterday. Between shows.’
‘Does Vincent Mann know?’
‘No, and I hope there’s no need for him to find out.’
‘What about Sophie?’
Panic filled Michael’s eyes. ‘No, and she must never find out.’
‘Why?’ Alison asked.
‘Because she’s my adopted daughter. I couldn’t bear it.’
‘Could anyone else know?’ Banham asked.
‘I doubt it. Everyone was out having tea. She came up here and told me Barbara was picking on her and asked me to talk to her. I said I couldn’t intervene.’ He scratched the back of his neck and looked pleadingly at Banham. ‘She took every stitch of clothing off, right here in front of me. I’m a man, for God’s sake. I’m sure you would have done the same.’
Alison turned away in disgust.
Michael’s forehead furrowed. ‘God, I hope it had no bearing on what happened to her.’
‘Did you notice any bruising on her body?’ Alison asked.
‘Yes,
as a matter of fact I did. But all dancers collect bruises.’
‘Surely not on their faces?’
‘I didn’t notice that. But then I wasn’t looking at her face.’
The show was being relayed at low volume through the tannoy system; it suddenly caught Michael’s attention. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go,’ he said. ‘Alan is about to go on as Alderman Fitzwarren and I have to run the corner until he comes off stage at the interval.’ He looked from Banham to Alison and back again. ‘I hope what we’ve said will remain confidential.’
They followed him back down the stairs and into the wings, where Crowther was still standing. Michael helped the two young stagehands shift scenery, then sat on Alan’s high stool in the corner, put on the head-cans and spoke to the sound and lighting engineer at the back of the stalls.
‘Do you believe they only did it once?’ Alison said.
‘I think so,’ Banham said. ‘Otherwise why tell us at all?’
‘So we won’t think he wanted to get rid of her. We already know from the post-mortem that she had sex yesterday. The DNA samples will tell us who with.’
The dancers came flying towards the stage for their next cue. ‘We’re in the way,’ Alison said. ‘Shall I nip down and check the basement, and see if the fire escape is locked?’
‘I’ll do that,’ Banham said quickly. ‘I’m not used to all these half-dressed women. I don’t want them to think I’m watching them.’
‘I’m sure they’d think you were quite normal if you did,’ Alison said. ‘I’ll check the other side of the stage, then, and meet you back here in five.’
If Alison was honest with herself, she was glad of a break from Banham. She knew what a difficult time Christmas was for him, but he hadn’t made it easy to show sympathy and understanding. She was angry with herself for letting him know she was up for a relationship with him, but angrier with him for turning her down.
That was all history now. Embarrassing though it was, she’d get over it. He was far too complicated for a relationship, anyway. But he was a great detective and a good boss, and she didn’t want to jeopardise their working partnership. He had put his head on the block and called out the murder team on a hunch, so the least she could do was back him up. If they did have a murderer to catch, they had to get on with it.
She made her way along the narrow passageway at the back of the stage and checked that none of the stage weights were loose, or where someone could trip over them in the dark. When she was satisfied she returned to the left side of the stage, where the three girl dancers were in the process of another quick change, wriggling into skimpy white leotards. Crowther was watching as they discarded their flimsy peasant dresses, threw them on the floor and stood naked apart from the tiniest of white G-strings. His testosterone level must be at a record high, Alison thought, registering the eye contact between him and Sonia, the tallest dancer.
Banham came up the iron staircase. ‘It’s pitch black down there,’ he said. ‘I had to use a torch.’
Did you check the fire exit?’ she asked.
‘Locked from the inside,’ he said. Though the dancers who were now fully clothed in leotards and tights, he averted his gaze. Crowther was grinning; if Banham had come up those stairs one minute earlier, he would have passed out from embarrassment.
The lights on stage dimmed, and bells started ringing loudly. ‘What’s happening now?’ Banham asked.
‘This is the ballet on Highgate Hill,’ Alison told him. ‘It means the interval is only a few minutes away.’
‘Good.’ He set off for the corridor and the first floor dressing rooms. ‘Come on. Barbara Denis will be free at the interval, and I want to talk to her about her ex-husband.’
When he got to her dressing room, Barbara was clearly on edge, nervously smoking a small cigar and sipping a glass of gin. ‘I don’t normally drink when I’m working,’ she said, ‘but the UV scene is twenty minutes away, and I can’t remember ever feeling this afraid.’
Banham indicated the sofa. ‘May we?’ he asked her.
She shrugged. ‘Sure. Would you like a drink?’
They both declined. ‘I wanted a little chat, off the record,’ Banham said. ‘If nothing else, it’ll keep your mind occupied for a few minutes.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘You’ve worked for Michael for a long time, and you must know all the cast. Tell me about them.’
She inhaled heavily on the thin cigar. ‘Michael and I were married many years ago,’ she said, a sad note creeping into her voice. ‘I know them all, except Vincent Mann and poor Lucinda. I only met them this year.’ She sipped on her gin and her teeth chattered against the side of the glass.
‘Do they always argue a lot?’ Alison asked. ‘Or is it just today, because everyone’s nerves are frayed?’
She placed the glass on the dresser in front of her and frowned thoughtfully. ‘They do argue a lot,’ she said. ‘Especially Stephen and Sophie. Stephen is Alan’s brother, Fay is Alan’s daughter, Sophie picks on Fay, so Stephen stands up to her. I just try and keep to myself unless I think something isn’t right for the show. I’m unpopular because I fight for high standards of work.’
No one spoke for a few minutes. Barbara picked up a large, sable make-up brush and dipped it in a tin of dark powder, carefully powdered the skin between her lips and nose and squeezed her lips together to check the result. Facing the two detectives again, she said softly, ‘I gave Lucinda a hard time. We had a terrible row yesterday. She got the harmonies all wrong and I lost my temper with her.’
‘I heard,’ Banham said. ‘She went to Michael to complain about you, didn’t she?’
Barbara lifted her eyebrows. ‘Did she? Well, that wouldn’t have done her any good. Michael and I may have divorced twenty-odd years ago, but he still has enormous professional respect for me.’ She turned back to the mirror, untied and retied the bow holding her tiny ponytail in place, then checked the clips either side of it.
‘Michael gives me the best dressing room, the best salary and the best billing. That proves what he thinks of my work.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And he relies on me to keep the show together.’
‘How does that go down with Sophie Flint?’ Alison asked her.
Barbara laughed nervously and reached for her glass. ‘Not well. Sophie is Michael’s current favourite.’ She took a sip of gin. ‘Blondes. You must have noticed – every female in the show is blonde, except the McCormack girl. It’s Michael’s little weakness. He can’t help himself, but he doesn’t respect any of them.’
‘Them?’
‘He’s highly sexed. He can’t help it.’ She turned back to the mirror and picked up a dark lipstick. ‘He had a fling with Alan’s wife, Maggie, a long time ago.’ She painted her lips and rubbed them together. ‘It’s always blondes. He can’t stop himself.’ She picked up the sable brush and powdered again over the same spot, stretching her mouth downwards as she did so.
‘So are you saying Sophie is his mistress, as well as his daughter?’ Alison asked.
‘Adopted daughter. Yes. But it won’t last; none of them ever do.’
‘Who is Fay’s father?’ Banham asked quickly.
‘Alan, of course. Oh … I see what you mean.’ She shook her head. ‘No, no, definitely not Michael.’
There was another silence as she sipped her drink, and her teeth chattered against the glass again. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said to Banham.
‘Did you see Stephen Coombs after the UV scene last night?’ Alison asked her.
‘Yes, he came on stage just after the accident to see what was happening. He isn’t in the scene.’
‘Did you notice what he was wearing?’
‘Has someone else told you that he wasn’t wearing the right costume?’
‘Was he?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘He has a criminal record for GBH. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, but I expect you’d have found out.’
This was news to Banham, but he replied noncommittally, ‘Yes, I expect we would. What happened?’
‘He attacked someone with a kitchen knife and I believe he got a suspended sentence. He’s hot-headed and acts before he thinks. That’s not to say I believe he hit Lucinda. I still think it was an accident. But for the record, he threatened and bullied her all through rehearsals and he has threatened me many times.’
‘In what way?’ Alison asked.
‘Threatened to punch me, nothing more, but that in itself is scary. My face is my fortune, and I need to keep working.’
‘And you’re not sure whether he changed his costume during the UV scene?’ Banham asked.
‘I can’t be sure,’ she said. ‘I was on stage doing the scene. Alan wasn’t there and Maggie was giving out the wrong fish in the dark. It was total bedlam …’
‘Maggie was in the wings?’ Banham interrupted.
‘Only briefly, at the beginning of the routine, just before Michael.’
‘Michael? You saw Michael in the wings as well?’
‘Yes, but as I said, only at the beginning of the UV. It goes on for eleven minutes. I saw Stephen at the end of it, after the accident. Sophie said he hadn’t changed, but I can’t for the life of me remember what he was wearing. Something dark I think, but I’m really not sure.’
Alan’s voice sounded over the tannoy. ‘All artists to the stage, please, to rehearse the UV scene before the start of act two.’
Barbara downed the last of her gin and started to undo her dressing gown. Banham jumped up. ‘We’ll leave you to it,’ he said quickly.
She opened her mouth then closed it again.
‘Is there something else?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, actually, Inspector, there is.’
She let the dressing gown fall, revealing a lacy black teddy. ‘I wondered if you were married,’ she said, lowering her eyelashes, ‘because I find you very attractive.’
A few minutes later all the cast were on the stage, working in tense silence. Alison, Banham and Crowther stood in the wings with a fidgety Stephen Coombs.
Sophie was first to speak. ‘It’ll be all right. There are four detectives in the wings, so nothing can go wrong.’