by Linda Regan
‘Was anyone else in the loo?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, Barbara was in there.’
‘How long were you there?’
‘Just long enough to fix the cat’s head. I took it off and Fay showed me how to tighten the back so it fitted me and wouldn’t slip.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, then I went after my old man. When I came back everyone was looking for Sophie.’
‘Did anyone see you go into the pub?’
She looked a little surprised. ‘A lot of people would have noticed a woman with a large cat’s head under her arm,’ she said.
‘You went via the stage door?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was anyone nearby?’
She thought for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Banham folded his arms. ‘How well do you know Michael Hogan?’ he asked her.
Maggie became still. ‘I work for him,’ she said, turning her hard eyes on Banham. ‘We all do, all our family, and have done for many years. He’s a …’ She paused, and Banham’s eyes held hers. She was first to look away, and the finger pushed her hair behind her ears again. ‘He’s a good friend too.’
Banham’s mouth curved in a tiny questioning smile. ‘A good friend?’
‘Yeah.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I do the wardrobe, and I help out with stage management when my husband finds it all a bit much. And I look after the children in the show. General duties, really – anything Michael needs.’
‘How much does he pay you?’
‘Gosh! One thousand pounds a week, that’s for all of us, including Fay. Hardly a fortune.’
‘Sounds pretty good to me,’ Banham said. Then, holding her gaze, he asked, ‘Who is Fay’s father?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
He turned to the mirror and adjusted his collar. ‘Fay’s father,’ he repeated. ‘Who is he?’
She looked at Alison. ‘Do I have to tell him that?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Alison said bluntly.
‘I don’t think I do,’ she said looking back at Banham.
‘Answer the question, please,’ Banham said in a tone that brooked no argument.
‘It isn’t relevant,’ she said, tilting her chin. ‘I refuse.’
‘A young woman has been murdered in cold blood,’ Banham said coldly, ‘and someone in this building murdered her. I’ll decide what’s relevant.’
She shrugged. ‘All right. The truth is I don’t know.’ She began to massage the skin behind her ears. ‘I really don’t.’
‘But Michael Hogan thinks he’s her father – so he keeps your husband in a job, and he gives you money.’
Maggie was staring at the ground.
‘Doesn’t he?’ Banham shouted.
‘Yes.’ Her hard front was starting to crumble.
‘And I bet you didn’t like it that he thought more of Sophie than your daughter …’
Her head shot up. ‘No, he didn’t.’
Alison opened her mouth to speak, but Banham got in first. ‘Michael’s heavily in debt, but he still keeps you and your family.’
‘We work for him.’
‘And you get very well paid for it. Did Sophie know that? Did you argue with her over it?’
‘Is that an accusation?’ Maggie’s voice was full of panic. ‘Are you accusing me of …’
‘Guv!’
Banham ignored Alison’s plea. ‘Where is the red and white bathing costume that Stephen changed out of after his last scene?’ he asked Maggie.
‘I don’t know. Ask Stephen.’ She was one frightened lady now.
‘He told me to ask you.’
She opened her mouth and closed it, shook her head, fidgeted with her hair again. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, clearly more agitated than she sounded.
Banham took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘You are responsible for the wardrobe?’
‘Well, yes, but …’ The fingers raked her hair again.
‘But what?’ He raised his voice again. ‘If it’s your responsibility, why don’t you know?’
She lowered her eyes. ‘I was playing the cat today. I wasn’t doing wardrobe duties.’
‘So who was?’
She shrugged. ‘No one.’
Banham took a deep breath. ‘OK. So where should it be?’
‘In Stephen’s dressing room. Or if he wanted it washed he’d have put it in the laundry basket in the corridor.’ She raised her eyes and looked him in the face. ‘That’s common knowledge,’ she said quietly. ‘Costumes are either in the dressing rooms, ready for the next performance, or in the laundry basket waiting to be washed.’
Banham rubbed his mouth. ‘Do you know anything about the spare black leotard and tights that are kept in the company office? In one of the filing cabinet drawers?’
‘Yeah.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘It was originally made for Stephen, but Sophie wouldn’t have him in the ultraviolet routine.’ She paused again. ‘She said some of the mothers had complained that he smelled.’
Alison caught Banham’s eye. ‘That must have created bad feeling,’ he said.
‘No more than there was already,’ Maggie said dismissively. ‘He and Sophie hated each other. We all knew that.’ The corners of her mouth turned down. ‘She gave him a costume change during the UV scene, so he couldn’t be in it.’ She hesitated again, looking from Banham to Alison.
‘Go on,’ Alison said.
‘Go on where?’ she said contemptuously. ‘There’s no more to tell. The leotard and tights were made specially for Stephen ’cause the others wouldn’t go anywhere near fitting him, but after he was kicked out of the routine it got kept as a spare. That’s all.’
‘And everyone knew where it was?’ Banham asked.
She shrugged again. ‘I suppose.’
Banham closed his eyes. Why did it have to be so hard? It was a constant struggle to keep his mind on the job when unwelcome images kept invading his thoughts.
He stood up and walked to the door. ‘I’ll be back in five,’ he said to Alison, aware of the concern on her face. ‘I think we’ve finished with Mrs McCormack.Can you ask one of the uniforms to fetch her daughter?’
As he closed the door behind him he registered that Maggie was looking pretty worried too.
Banham walked down the corridor a little way, then stopped and put both hands flat against the wall. He breathed deeply, fighting to clear his mind of the image of his eleven-month-old Elizabeth, her tiny, chubby fingers bludgeoned and one blue eye staring up in terror.
DC Crowther appeared at his side. ‘Are you all right, guv?’
He looked at the young detective. ‘Four officers in the building and another mother’s lost her daughter – and you ask if I’m all right?’
‘It’s happened,’ Crowther said. ‘You’re not responsible.’
Banham looked at Crowther, his eyes burning with anger. ‘We were on surveillance and a young woman has been murdered right under our noses. How am I not responsible?’
‘I’m very sorry, guv,’ Crowther said, with more sincerity than Banham had ever seen from him.
‘You will be if I find you were more interested in three half-naked girls than in being a good detective. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Crystal.’ Crowther hung his head like a scolded school boy. ‘Um, guv … Penny has just phoned through some lab results from the buccal swabs.’
‘And?’
‘She tested Vincent Mann and Michael Hogan against the semen found inside Lucinda. At first neither matched, then she tested again, and realised the first came up negative because there were two matches. Lucinda had sex with both of them within three hours of her death. She said chances are high Michael Hogan was the last.’
Banham made an effort to calm himself. ‘So Hogan’s telling the truth. Anything yet on the large, black costume I sent separately?’
‘It’s in hand, guv,’ Crowther said, his confidence returning.
Angry though Banham was, he couldn’t dislike this lad who dressed as if he bought h
is clothes at the local market and didn’t know what size to buy. Crowther made a lot of mistakes, but he was consistently enthusiastic, hardworking and honest.
‘Get Isabelle to check the CCTV in the pub next door,’ Banham told him. ‘We need the exact time that Alan went in there, and the exact time his wife went to fetch him.’
‘Will do, guv. Anything else?’
‘Yes.’ Banham began to walk away. ‘Find that red and white bathing costume. It has to be here somewhere.’
Beside the cordon by the spiral staircase, Banham slipped a forensic overall over his clothes and pulled on the matching shoe covers before going down to the basement.
The forensic team, all covered from head to toe in identical bluebell-coloured overalls, were still busy. He focused on a pair of hands covered in colourless gloves so fine that they could have been made of skin. They scraped at the fresh bloodstains beginning to coagulate on the rail just behind the dead girl. Sophie’s lifeless blue eyes were wide and terrified. He wondered what she was thinking as the blood pumped from her neck. Just a few hours earlier he had promised her and the rest of the cast that his team would protect them during the show. Was she still alive, he wondered, as the knife carved into the thin, white skin, nudging through the carotid artery and up into her jawbone?
Another forensic officer, careful not to touch the blood, delicately lifted particles and the odd hair from the floor with a pair of tweezers, and skilfully enclosed each minute piece of evidence in a see-through bag.
Max Pettifer, the elastic of the blue forensic cap clinging tightly to his receding hairline, was brushing at the blood pattern around the body. He looked up at Banham.
‘I’m not surprised you’re not a happy bunny,’ he said. ‘The building swarming with cops, and another murder right under your noses.’ His mouth widened into a sarcastic smirk. ‘Best not let the press in on this one.’
Banham ached to take a swing at him. ‘Anything helpful you can tell me?’ he asked flatly.
‘Apart from watch where you’re walking, in case there’s another footprint?’
‘You’ve got a print?’
‘A faint one, and it isn’t hers.’ Another condescending smirk. ‘Don’t worry, we’re on the ball. We’ve collected all the suspects’ shoes, so it’s just a matter of time. Another bit of luck for you: there’s particles of food in the print. Find out who had what for lunch and you’re home and dry.’
‘Unless someone walked in someone else’s lunch.’ Banham couldn’t resist a touch of one-upmanship. He nodded towards the children’s dressing room at the other side of the basement. ‘Have you been in the passageway beyond that dressing room yet?’
‘We’re working our way across.’
‘There’s a door in the wall – it leads to a passageway to the ground floor dressing rooms. It isn’t used much, though it has been recently, and not just by my team.’ He paused. ‘It’s rumoured to be haunted.’
Max chuckled. ‘Oh, no worries there then, pal. We’ve no fear of ghosts – they pay our wages.’
Banham gritted his teeth. Why did this man have to be so irritating? He walked back across the basement and up the stairway on the stage left side. Behind the scenery flap he peeled off his overall and shoe covers. The actors were all sitting in silence, immersed in their own worlds. Sonia, the tallest dancer, was in the wings on the far side, giving her statement to Crowther. The other two girls and Trevor sat on the stage huddled together for comfort. They were hardly more than kids themselves, he thought; hardly the stuff murderers were made of. Once he’d read their statements he would let them go.
The four actors were a different matter.
Barbara Denis’s face was strong and hard, but sad as well. It was becoming plain that this was a dog-eat-dog profession; she probably had to be tough to survive in it.
Stephen Coombs still looked nervous and uncomfortable. He was sitting on a cheap canvas chair that wasn’t big enough for his bulk, picking at the skin around his fingernails.
Michael Hogan’s face looked vacant, and Vincent Mann’s was worried. He was having trouble keeping still; he sat on the floor tapping his fingers on his buttercup-yellow jeans.
Which one of them had just committed murder? He needed evidence. Why did forensics always take so long? Too much of the budget was given to other less important police work.
Michael Hogan could have had time, but he loved Sophie, so what motive did he have? Maggie wouldn’t have had time if she went to the pub to get Alan – and there was CCTV to prove where Alan was. Barbara was still in the loo when Maggie went to the pub, and changed her costume as well. Vincent and Stephen both had time to commit the murder, and Stephen was sweating badly when he came to the office.
If Penny Starr could identify that footprint in the next few hours, he had the bastard. And if he did, he owed Crowther a thank-you, not a dressing down. If the young DC hadn’t charmed Penny, she wouldn’t have offered to give up her leave, and he would have been waiting two weeks for the evidence he needed.
Fay was crying when he went back to the chorus room. Alison was sitting patiently beside her, and Maggie was sitting on the floor cleaning the make-up from her own tearstained face.
Banham sat down beside Fay.
‘Daddy left the stage in the middle of the scene,’ Fay said, then started crying again.
Maggie pulled a handful of tissues and brought them to her. ‘And when the scene finished we went to the loo to fix my head,’ she prompted, kneeling beside her and dabbing at her face.
‘I’d like Fay to tell us in her own words,’ Alison said firmly.
Fay wiped her face with the back of her hands and blew her nose.
‘Take your time,’ Banham said gently.
‘Which loo did you go to, to fix the cat’s head? Alison asked Fay.
‘The one next door to here,’ Fay answered. ‘Barbara was in there, in the cubicle. Mummy took the cat’s head off, and I tightened the elastic at the back.’
‘And then what did you do?’
‘I ran to the pub to get Daddy. Everyone was looking at me, because I was in my stage costume and carrying a cat’s head.’
Crowther was sitting on the floor by the stage, taking statements from the chorus dancers. The barking of one of the sniffer dogs distracted him, and he stood up and followed the agitated sound into the corridor.
The dog had picked up a scent and stood barking frantically on the step leading to the haunted passage, its back arched and paw scraping. The animal had been given another of Stephen’s costumes to pick up the scent, and clearly he had done his job.
A second dog was now barking too, but neither of the two handlers could find what had caught their attention. They opened the door to the passage, but the dogs pulled back and scraped insistently at the wooden step again. A couple more uniformed police crouched on the floor, prodding at the area around the step.
A tall probationary officer, his uniform jacket too short for his arms, reached over and stroked the side of the step. The dog became even more agitated.
Michael Hogan was standing behind DC Crowther. ‘There’s a lip at the side of the step,’ he told them. ‘Put your hand under that and the step will lift up like a trinket box. Shall I show you?’
Crowther hadn’t realised Michael had followed him. ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘We’ll sort it. Go back to the stage. Please.’
The young constable’s hand moved down the side of the step and located the lip. It opened, as Michael had said, like the lid of a box.
Inside was Stephen Coombs’s red and white bathing costume.
Chapter Thirteen
The first thing Banham saw when he and Alison came out to find out what was going on was Michael Hogan disappearing through the door to the stage. Crowther and a small crowd of uniformed and blue-clad forensic officers now surrounded the entrance to the passage. Max Pettifer had been in the secret passage; he was standing by the step with a see-through evidence bag. He carefully lifted the bloodstained c
ostume in his gloved hands, and was about to drop it into the evidence bag when something slipped from inside it. Max managed to catch it before it hit the floor: a large, sharp knife, smeared with blood. He looked round for another evidence bag, which another forensic officer handed him.
‘Looks like the ghosts have been busy,’ Pettifer said. ‘You’re in luck; that should save you a bit of face with the national newspapers.’
Crowther held out his hand for the bag. ‘I’ll take that,’ he said cockily. ‘I’ll drive over to the lab so Penny can work on it straight away.’
Banham opened his mouth to remind Crowther that it wasn’t his call, but Max Pettifer hadn’t finished. The SOCO officer twisted his mouth into an insincere smile and said, ‘DCI Cartwright is still on that cruise until the day after tomorrow. With all that overtime from Penny Starr, you’ll have the case sewn up by the time he gets back. It’ll do young Crowther’s promotion prospects the world of good. You should ask the DI here to put in a good word for you.’
Banham’s eyes flared but he didn’t answer. Instead, he spoke to Crowther, ‘Isabelle can drive the evidence to the lab,’ he said. ‘I want you to arrest Stephen Coombs, and take him to the station.’
‘Aw, guv …’ Crowther protested.
Banham’s eyes hardened, but he kept his voice low. ‘Don’t push it, Crowther; you’re already in trouble. I want Penny’s mind kept on the job. Go and arrest that bastard.’
Alison was frowning at him; another dissenter. ‘Arrange for uniform to drive the rest of the cast to the station,’ he told her crisply. ‘But keep Maggie and Fay apart until we’ve checked the pub’s CCTV.’ Alison didn’t move. ‘What now?’ he asked irritably.
‘Far be it for me to contest my DI’s orders,’ she said quietly. ‘But remember the only reason that Penny is working over her Christmas holiday is because she’s madly in love with Crowther.’
‘Work is what I want her to do! This is a murder investigation, in case you’d forgotten!’
Crowther and Alison exchanged chastened glances.
Banham was in his stride now. ‘I want to talk to Barbara Denis before you take her to the station. She was in the ground floor toilet at the same time as Maggie and Fay McCormack.’