by Linda Regan
Alison set off and he let her go on ahead. ‘Have you noticed Grainger is dressed up today?’ he said to Isabelle.
The young DC put a hand over her mouth. ‘Is she?’ she said.
‘Any idea why?’
Isabelle sucked in her cheeks. ‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘Perhaps she’s in love.’
Stephen Coombs looked exhausted, and it was hardly surprising; they had been holding him for nearly twenty-four hours. He smelt rancid and there were bags under his eyes. He had refused a solicitor and had spent all night arguing his innocence. It was time to get heavy.
Banham settled in the chair beside Crowther, and Alison sat in the corner behind them. Crowther turned on the tape and gave the identifying information.
Banham leaned back in his chair and stared at Stephen. ‘You know, it would be very much in your interests to co-operate with us,’ he said firmly.
Stephen lowered his eyes and said nothing.
‘You’re going to be charged with the murder of Sophie Flint,’ Banham continued.
‘I didn’t do it.’
‘Do you go fishing?’ Banham asked him.
‘What? Yes, I do, as a matter of fact.’
‘I hear you gut your own fish.’
Stephen stared back at Banham then lowered his eyes again.
‘What happened to the knife that you had in the boot of your car?’ Banham asked.
Stephen shook his head. ‘I’ve been set up.’
‘Really?’ Crowther drawled. ‘So who else has a key to your car?’
‘I don’t know!’ He wiped sweat from his temple with his hand. ‘The keys are always in my coat pocket.’
‘That’s handy,’ Banham said dismissively. ‘Go through your movements for me again, after you came off stage from the Only Man on the Island scene.’
Stephen kept his eyes focused on the table and said nothing. His big hands were curled into tight fists, making the dimples in the fat more prominent.
‘You were wearing your red and white bathing costume,’ Banham prompted. ‘The one we later found wrapped around the knife that killed Sophie.’
Stephen slowly looked up. ‘I didn’t kill her,’ he said again. ‘How many more fucking times?’
Banham moved forward and put his elbow on the table. He ignored the suspect’s strong body odour and rested his chin in his hand. Coombs wasn’t comfortable, Banham thought, and that could only help his push for a confession.
Banham put his other elbow on the table and linked his fingers. He held Stephen’s gaze for a few seconds. ‘Do you want legal representation?’ he asked.
‘What for?’
‘You’re looking at being put away for a very long time, Stephen.’
‘You’ve got nothing on me. Anyone could have wrapped that knife in my costume.’
‘And stolen it from your car first?’ Crowther said.
Stephen looked from Banham to Crowther and then back to Banham, but said nothing.
‘Did you kill Sophie because she knew you’d killed Lucinda? Is that what happened?’ Banham pushed him.
‘No!’
‘Oh, so you didn’t kill her because she found out?’ He left a beat before adding, ‘So why did you kill her?’
Stephen just shook his head.
‘We know you did kill her. And we can prove it. But tell us why you killed Lucinda. Was it a mistake? Did you kill her by mistake? Did you mean to kill someone else?’ Banham kept firing the questions.
Stephen sniffed and wiped his hand across his nose, then rubbed his forehead and temples with the arm of his grubby polyester shirt. Droplets of perspiration showed on the top of his head. Banham knew he was getting to him.
‘It must have been hard,’ he goaded. ‘To get the right person in the pitch black. Let me tell you how I think it happened. You changed quickly into your black costume, the one that’s kept in the company office, then you snuck down to the stage. No one was looking, so you crossed the stage, picked up the stage weight and waited for your opportunity. Is that how it was?’
Stephen didn’t answer.
‘How did you cross the stage, Stephen? Did you squeeze around the back, or did you cross behind the others? Dressed in that black costume, no one would have seen you. Is that what you did, Stephen?’
Stephen let out a large sigh.
‘It should have been so easy, shouldn’t it?’ Banham carried on. ‘But it wasn’t, was it? You got the wrong person.’ He edged his face nearer to Stephen’s. The man lowered his gaze.
Banham’s voice grew louder. ‘That’s what happened, isn’t it, Stephen? You got the wrong person, didn’t you? And Sophie found out, and you had to kill her too.’
‘No!’ Stephen shouted, flinging his head up and facing Banham. ‘No, I didn’t! I didn’t kill anyone!’
‘We can prove that you did,’ Crowther butted in. ‘We’ve got your DNA on the knife that killed Sophie, and it was hidden with your bloodstained costume.’
‘I told you, anyone could have hidden it.’ Stephen’s voice rose half an octave. ‘I put the fucker in the laundry basket.’
‘We found your footprint by Sophie’s body,’ Banham said softly.
For the first time, Stephen looked very afraid.
‘No one but you could have put that there,’ Banham continued. ‘Yet you say you weren’t in the basement. Now, that’s a lie, isn’t it, Stephen?’
Stephen opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mouth and looked down at the table.
‘And your saliva is on her face. Did you spit at her when you cut her throat?’ Crowther asked with quiet disgust.
‘No, I bloody didn’t,’ Stephen said through gritted teeth. ‘But I’d like to spit at you lot.’
Banham leaned towards him. ‘We think you did, Stephen.’
‘All right, all right,’ he shouted. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper, and Banham heard the crack in his voice. ‘I’ll tell you the truth.’
Both detectives became very quiet.
Stephen spoke slowly. ‘I’ve got a cold, see, and I sneezed on stage.’ He raised his voice again. ‘I bloody well sneezed during one of Vincent Mann’s unfunny jokes. The only thing I killed was one of the comic’s laughs. Comic indeed. That’s a joke in itself. That’s what started the row with that bastard.’
‘Go on,’ Banham said.
‘Go on what?’ The man’s voice was cracking with emotion as it increased in volume. He squeezed his fat, white hand into a fist on the table. ‘That’s how my spit got on her face, see. I went to her in the wings, to complain about Vincent’s attitude, and get her to sort it.’ His shoulders began to shake, and Banham realised he was near breaking point. ‘I was angry, see. I must have spat then.’ He turned back to face Banham and repeated softly, ‘I must have spat then.’
‘So you admit that you left the stage on the opposite side to the one you claimed in your statement?’ Banham said.
‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Louder, please, for the tape,’ Banham almost shouted. ‘You left the stage by the stage right exit. You admit that?’
‘Yes.’ Stephen snarled.
‘So if you didn’t kill her, and you’re innocent as you protest, then why did you lie?’ Crowther butted in.
Stephen wiped his face with his sleeve again. ‘Because I was afraid,’ he said without emotion.
‘Of what?’ Crowther asked impatiently.
Stephen looked up. ‘Of this. Afraid you’d blame me. And I was right, because you bloody have.’
‘Because you are to blame, Stephen,’ Banham told him coldly. ‘And what about the basement. Was that another lie? That is your footprint down there, isn’t it? So you were there, weren’t you?’
Stephen covered the top of his head with his hands.
Banham raised his voice. ‘You were in the basement, weren’t you, Stephen?’
Stephen looked up. ‘Yes!’ he shouted.
‘Yes.’ Banham leaned back in his chair. The truth was finally on tape.
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sp; ‘Yes, I was there.’ Stephen was still shouting. ‘I told Sophie she had to do something about Vincent Mann, and she ignored me – just walked away, down the stairs and into the basement to cross the stage. She told me to grow up.’ His voice began to crack. ‘I decided to complain to the boss, but I had to change first, so I squeezed around the back of the set.’ He looked at Crowther. ‘You never saw me. You were watching those dancing girls.’
Crowther folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. Banham recognised bravado when he saw it.
‘I did my change, mega-quick-like, and headed for Michael’s room. You were in there, with that young woman of yours.’
‘Go on,’ Banham said wearily.
‘I didn’t kill her,’ Stephen pleaded. ‘I wanted to find Michael before Vincent did, see. Get my side in first. When he wasn’t in his room I thought he’d be in the basement. I took the quick route down the haunted passage and through the kiddies’ room. I expected to meet her, Sophie, coming up, but I didn’t.’ His voice developed a quaver. ‘I walked into the basement, turned on the light, and I saw her dead body. Well, I panicked, didn’t I, and ran back upstairs.’
Banham stared at him. How much longer was this … this pantomime going to go on?
‘I’ve been set up,’ Stephen pleaded.
‘How could you have been set up?’
‘My costume was in the wardrobe basket, in the corridor. Someone must have took it, wiped the knife on it, then hid it in the step in the passageway.’ His eyes flicked from Banham to Crowther like a frightened rabbit caught in a headlight. Beads of sweat had broken out again, and again he wiped them with his forearm of his shirt. ‘I’m telling you, I didn’t do it. Someone has set me up.’
Banham put his elbows back on the table. ‘OK, let’s think about this. Who knows you put your costume in the laundry basket?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t always put it out to be washed.’ Desperation was clear in his voice. ‘Sometimes I make it last two or three performances, if Maggie is busy. You don’t notice from out front if it’s a bit grubby, see.’
‘Who knows about the haunted passage?’
‘Everyone says there’s a ghost backstage. The theatre’s famous for it. I don’t really believe in that sort of stuff. But everyone knows there’s a haunted passage.’
‘Vincent Mann doesn’t. You just said yourself that you used the passage to get to Michael before he did.’
Stephen pushed his dirty thumbnail against his mouth and chewed on the dry skin. ‘I suppose.’
Banham banged his hand on the table. ‘Two young women have been murdered,’ he shouted. ‘And you are facing two life imprisonment charges. If you want to help yourself, “I suppose” isn’t good enough. My patience is wearing very thin. You’ve just admitted to being in the basement, something you lied about in your statement …’
There was a knock on the door. Banham went to answer it and Crowther informed the tape they were taking a break. Outside stood Isabelle Walsh. Banham closed the door behind him and she handed him some papers.
‘Just in from forensics,’ she said, a broad smile lighting up her face. ‘We’ve got a match, guv. Residue from the stage weight that killed Lucinda has been found on the black gloves. The ones from the company office.’
A smile spread across his face. ‘That’s great news,’ he said.
‘That’s not the best part,’ Isabelle went on. ‘The footprint in the basement matches Stephen’s, and the crumbs with it are from a salami pizza. Guv, we’ve got him. For both murders!’
Chapter Fifteen
It took Michael Hogan less than twenty-four hours to get a replacement actor to take over as dame. Alison Grainger arrived at the theatre accompanied by two uniformed constables to find the cast gathered on stage and waiting for the producer to arrive. She told them she would be backstage during the show for their added protection, then settled herself on the high stool in the wings to observe the rehearsal.
Hardly a word passed between the actors as they waited. Only the chorus dancers, huddled together in the corner as usual, were talking to each other.
A few minutes later, the stage door banged. Michael came into the wings followed by a tall, middle-aged man who reminded Alison of a tree; he was tall and willowy, and wore a sage green poncho over a brown shirt. His arms waved as he fired questions at Michael Hogan, but the producer wasn’t giving much back.
‘Sorry to keep you all waiting,’ Michael said to the cast. ‘This is Rory Harrison. He has kindly agreed to take over as dame. We’ve less than two hours to curtain up, so I’ll save the introductions until later; let’s just all give him a welcome, then Alan will top and tail the show, cutting to cue, and rehearsing the important scenes and the dialogue Rory is involved in. He’s learned the lines.’
There was a spatter of half-hearted applause, then Barbara stepped forward offering Rory her outstretched hand.
‘I’m Barbara Denis,’ she said. ‘You’re welcome to call me Barbara.’
‘I’ve just said introductions later,’ Michael snapped. ‘Places, please, for Rory’s opening scene. And if there’s anything Alan is unsure of, Fay is the one to ask.’ He pulled his mouth into a plastic smile for Rory’s benefit, and glared angrily at Vincent Mann, who glowered back.
‘Actually, it’s mainly the changes.’ Rory’s voice was light and breathy, and his head bobbed like a nodding dog. ‘I could do with a bit of help with the really quick changes. And if someone could help me decide which outfit to wear for which scene?’
Maggie had been keeping very quiet. She was dressed in a different cat costume, one with even less fur than the previous one. Her own suntanned face and gold-streaked hair jutted from the neck, reminding Alison of a spring daffodil that had just emerged from the earth. She held a large, ugly and extremely dusty cat’s head under her arm, its large green and black flecked eyes staring out, and the red plastic half-moon mouth grinning.
‘Normally I’d be there to help you,’ she said, ‘but as you see I’m having to play the cat.’ She looked across at Alan. ‘So perhaps …’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll be there to help,’ Alan answered, catching on for once in his life. ‘I’ll be in the wings most of the time.’
‘And when he’s on stage playing Alderman Fitz, I’ll be in the wings,’ Michael said with another of his plastic smiles. ‘In fact, I’m in the wings at all times, for the rest of the run.’
Rory nodded politely. ‘If we’ve time, I’d like to go through the changes after the rehearsal …’
Michael was hardly listening. His eyes moved from one cast member to the next. ‘I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you all for sticking with it,’ he said. ‘Sophie …’ His voice stuck in his throat. ‘Sophie would want the show to go on …’ None of the cast looked him in the eye; they were all clearly uncomfortable.
Michael’s eyes now rested on Sonia. Instead of the villager’s costume the other two girl dancers wore, she was wearing a sugar pink tutu with layers of different coloured netting. A tiara glittered in her blonde hair, and she held a sparkling fairy wand.
‘I … I’m grateful for the costumes you’ve all managed to get together,’ Michael said, unable to take his eyes off Sonia. ‘As you all know, Stephen has been charged with Sophie’s murder …’ He paused to collect himself. ‘The police have said the original costumes will be released in the next few days.’
Sonia grew uncomfortable as Michael’s gaze lasered into her; she let out a long breath when he turned away and started to walk off the stage.
‘I’ll be upstairs in my office if anyone needs me,’ he said.
‘He’s being very brave,’ said Trevor. ‘I mean, it was bad enough that Lucinda was killed. But Sophie! She was his daughter! And he’s picking the pieces up and carrying on the show.’ He inhaled on a Marlboro Light and he shook his head. ‘I tell you, man, I couldn’t do it.’
‘He has to,’ Barbara said quickly. ‘He’s about to be made bankrupt; he doesn’t have a choice.
Her eyes burned into Maggie. ‘Someone is bleeding him dry.’
Fay clapped her hands. ‘OK, let’s get going,’ she said with the authority of a forty-year-old. As an impersonation of Sophie, it was spot on.
She instructed them all to spread out and take their positions while she talked Rory through his first entrance. Barbara glared at her, and Maggie smiled like the doting mother she was. Vincent walked about like an over-wound clockwork toy, his face saying nothing. The dancers just got on with it.
‘Daddy has the script in the wings if you forget anything,’ Fay said to the nervous Rory.
‘If I forget something,’ Rory said with a nervous laugh, ‘I’ll just make it up. It is panto, after all.’
‘We’d like you to keep …’ Barbara began. Her voice was drowned by Vincent’s.
‘We’ll keep to the script as much as we can,’ he said. ‘If you forget anything, I’ll cover for you. I’m a comic, and I’m used it.’
‘I’m a comic too,’ Rory said. ‘I’m sure I’ll manage to cover for myself.’
‘Right, let’s move on.’ Fay clapped her hands again. ‘That scene will be fine. Places for the next one, please.’
They rehearsed more scenes, then Fay said, ‘We’ll skip the ultraviolet scene; you’re not in that. We’ll do the Palace of the Sultan of Morocco.’
‘We should walk through the whole of this scene,’ Barbara said. ‘It leads into the big sword fight between me and the King Rat, and we should all be absolutely certain that Rory knows where he is standing. We don’t want to risk an accident.’
Everyone agreed and Fay clapped her hands again. ‘OK, everyone to your places for the fight between Dick Whittington and the King Rat. Quickly, please.’
‘Can you stop doing that?’ Barbara through clenched teeth.