by Simon Brett
‘Yes, of course it is.’
‘Did they believe you?’
‘Why shouldn’t they believe me?’ He was starting to sound a bit paranoid.
Charles shrugged. ‘I don’t know. So now they’re looking for the bloke who attacked you?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Possibly thinking that he was also the one who attacked Liddy?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know how their minds work, do I?’
‘No, you don’t.’ Charles looked straight at the fat man in front of him. ‘And that’s what worries you, isn’t it?’
‘Howdya mean?’ The response was defensive.
‘I was thinking about that text you sent me, Gideon …’
‘What about it?’
‘Why did you want me to tell the police that I hadn’t been into the theatre last night?’ No reply, just a shiftier look. ‘Was it because you were afraid I might be a witness to what you were doing last night?’
‘I told you, I wasn’t doing nothing. Just sitting in my cubby-hole, maybe dozing a bit.’
‘Until you were attacked?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘So you weren’t pushing Liddy down the dressing room stairs?’
‘No, I bloody wasn’t!’
Charles spread his arms wide. ‘I didn’t think you were, but I had to ask. I wonder what else might you have been doing which you didn’t want anyone to witness?’
‘Charles, it’s not important. Since you weren’t in the theatre last night, it doesn’t matter where I was, does it?’
‘Where you were? Oh, Gideon, I think I get it.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I think if I had come to the theatre last night, I would have found your cubby-hole empty.’ Which of course Charles knew to be true. He had been there, and he had found it empty. But there was no need for him to tell the stage doorman that.
Gideon’s body language showed he was on the right track. ‘So, where were you?’ Charles asked gently.
Too weary to come up with more lies, Gideon replied, ‘There’s a place some of us go, little cellar round the back of one of the theatres. We drink there. Call it the “Techie’s Drinking Club”. And I thought last night, there’d be nobody around, just the stage crew, nobody’d notice whether I was on duty or not. God, I’m so bloody stupid!’ he burst out. ‘I’ve been off the booze for years, then suddenly I’m back on it. At the classes they keep saying, “Stop mixing with the kind of people who you used to drink with! Keep out of pubs! Keep away from temptation!” And what do I go and bloody do? God, I’m full of shit!’
Charles Paris, looking at the dregs of the morning’s second large Bell’s, did not feel in any position to comment. ‘So, Gideon, you told the police that you were on duty in your cubby-hole all evening?’ The fat man nodded miserably. ‘And the person who attacked you …?’
‘No one attacked me,’ Gideon confirmed. He gestured to his forehead. ‘I did this to myself.’
Kell looked different. At work she always wore black, black jeans or leggings, black T-shirt or jumper, black trainers. Charles did not associate her with colour. And here she was, on a day when she couldn’t go to work, dressed in a shiny turquoise zip-top, scarlet jeans and silver lace-up boots.
‘I see you’ve moved away from monochrome,’ he said as he approached her.
‘Girl’s got to be a girl sometimes,’ she said, with one of her broad grins.
She had a half-full glass of red wine in front of her.
‘Am I late?’
‘No, I got here early.’
‘More of that?’ he gestured to her glass.
‘In time.’
Charles really felt like continuing on the Scotch – it was making him feel so much better – but he decided he ought to slow down. ‘I’ll get a bottle,’ he said, feeling speciously virtuous. ‘What is that?’
‘Malbec.’
‘OK.’
This pub was fuller than the previous one. Nearer lunchtime. He had to wait to be served. When he returned to the table, he got another of the grins.
‘You’ll get yourself a reputation, Charles.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Being seen coming from the bar with a full bottle and a single glass. People will talk.’
‘No more than they do already.’ He unscrewed the top, filled up her glass, then his own, and raised it. ‘Cheers!’
‘Cheers!’ They both took long, grateful swallows, then Kell said, ‘Do you want to get the subject of Liddy Max out of the way?’
‘I’m in no rush. Be interested to know more about you first.’ He put on a slight accent to mitigate the cheesiness of the line. Her smile acknowledged that she knew exactly what he was doing.
‘I’m stage manager for The Habit of Faith,’ she stated without intonation. ‘In case you hadn’t pieced that together.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
He shrugged with hands held open. ‘Where do you live? Et cetera?’
‘I live in what is described as a studio flat in Crouch End. And, as for the et cetera, I am currently “between relationships”. Though the gap since the last one has been so long, “between” may imperceptibly have become “beyond”. And you?’
‘Oh, technically married, but again it’s been a long time since …’ How readily the lies slipped out. He moved the subject on. ‘So, Kell, how did you get into this business?’
‘Stage management? Not the usual route. Wasn’t a stage-struck teenager. Didn’t hope to make it as an actress until I realized the sad truth that I had no talent. No, I went through university, studying computer science. Got roped in to do the lights on some show, through the boyfriend of the moment, who fancied himself as an actor – fancied himself full stop, actually. Anyway, he’s long gone.’
‘Oh, I am sorry.’
‘No, not long gone in that sense. God knows whether he’s alive or dead. But he’s long gone from my life. Anyway, I found I had an aptitude for the techie side of theatre, so when I’d got my degree, I was faced with a choice. A lifetime behind a computer keyboard, surrounded by other geeks. Or a lifetime dealing with the egos, freaks and loonies who inhabit “the business that is show”.’ She shrugged. ‘As you see, I chose the significantly less lucrative route. Got in on the technical side, lighting, but found that less interesting once it all became computerized … so, ended up in the hole where you now find me – being blamed for everything by everyone in the company.’
But she spoke with affection. Clearly, like Charles, though recognizing all the idiocies of the world in which she worked, she was still bound to it with hoops of iron. Kell took another long pull from her glass. It would need filling up again soon. ‘Incidentally, Charles, were you planning to eat? It’s just … I’m ravenous. And I work on the stage managers’ principle of “always eat when you can, because you never know when the next opportunity will arise”.’
Now that the subject of food had been mentioned, he too felt suddenly starving. Which, considering his reaction when he contemplated the contents of Frances’s fridge only a couple of hours earlier, was amazing. From swearing he would never touch another drop, he now felt close to eulogizing the beneficial effects of alcohol. It was with great pleasure that he ordered sausage and mash for both of them.
‘So,’ he said when he was back at the table, ‘Liddy …’
‘Yes. Liddy …’
‘The police came to talk to me at my place, which – like yours – is a studio flat.’
‘Was it the Little and Large of the Met?’
‘Mm.’
‘They seem to be in charge of the investigation. Detective Inspector Tricker and Detective Sergeant Bowles.’
‘I didn’t take in their names. I mean, they introduced themselves, but … Bowles is the short one?’ Kell nodded. ‘When did you last speak to them?’
‘This morning, actually. They regard me as the person to contact for any liaison they require wi
th members of the company. Which is, I suppose, a reasonable definition of the stage manager’s role.’
‘So, when did Tricker and Bowles first contact you?’
‘Small hours of yesterday morning. They told me that Liddy’s body had been found.’
‘But you already knew that, didn’t you?’ She gave him a sharp interrogative look. ‘Gideon told me he’d rung you before contacting the police.’
Kell nodded. ‘You have been doing your research, haven’t you?’
‘Just come from having a drink with Gideon.’
‘Right. I thought he was meant to be on the wagon.’
‘Well, he’s fallen off it. When you talked to the cops this morning, did you get any idea of what they were thinking?’
‘About Liddy? Whether it was an accident or murder – is that what you mean?’
‘I suppose it is, yes.’
Kell grimaced. ‘I’m afraid the real police aren’t as accommodating as the ones in stage thrillers. They tend not to provide amateur sleuths with regular updates on their investigations.’
‘I’ve heard that.’ Charles recalled how helpful and biddable he had been as Detective Inspector Scott in a rather dire play called Death in the Cocktail Hour. (‘If I ever get murdered, heaven preserve me from having my case investigated by Charles Paris as the Inspector.’ Coventry Observer.) ‘So, you’ve no idea what they’re thinking?’
‘Well, from the questions they were asking me, they’re still trying to get more information on the intruder who broke into the Duke of Kent’s on Monday evening.’
‘Suspecting him – or her – of having murdered Liddy?’
She shrugged again. ‘Surprise, surprise, they didn’t actually volunteer that. But it could be a logical thing to think, couldn’t it? I don’t know. They’ll soon have more information, though. Apparently, they’re collecting CCTV footage from the cameras around the stage door area.’
Charles felt a little swoop of despair. That was not what he had wanted to hear. From Gideon’s testimony, he now knew the police would find no evidence of any intruder breaking into the theatre. Whereas they would almost definitely find recordings of his own arrival and departure. Realizing he hadn’t been telling the truth, they might logically therefore identify him with the intruder. He started to feel paranoid … no, that was the wrong word. Paranoia is the fear of non-existent threats. The threat which faced Charles Paris at that moment was very real. Why the hell had he chosen to lie to the police and hope to get away with it?
Anyway, the deed was done. He couldn’t retract the statement; could only wait till his duplicity caught up with him. And, in the meanwhile, he was sitting in a pub, nearing the end of a bottle of wine in the company of a woman whom he was finding increasingly attractive. He kept hearing people saying one should live in the minute, and this was a nice minute to be living in. Particularly since their sausage and mash had just arrived.
‘Suppose, Kell,’ said Charles, ‘that she wasn’t killed by an intruder …?’
‘What, you mean suppose it was an accident?’
‘No, let’s stay with murder for the time being. Come on, you’ve sat through endless rehearsals of The Habit of Faith. You are the eyes and ears of the production. You see everything that goes on. If you were told that Liddy had been killed by one of the company, in which direction would your suspicions turn?’
‘Ooh, accusing company members of murder isn’t covered in the stage managers’ manual.’
‘Just idle speculation …?’
‘Of the kind that every other person involved with The Habit of Faith is currently indulging in?’
‘I would say almost definitely yes, Kell.’
‘A parlour game?’
‘If you like. You must have heard Liddy having a set-to with someone.’
The stage manager wrinkled her lips dubiously. ‘Well, if this were a traditional theatrical whodunit …’
‘Yes?’
‘The person we’d be looking for would be Liddy’s understudy.’
‘Imogen.’
‘Right.’
‘So, have you witnessed any conflict between the two of them?’
‘Not conflict, that would be overstating it, but let’s say they weren’t bosom buddies.’
‘Even though they both came to lunch with us at the sandwich bar on Monday.’
‘I think that was just convenience. Leaving the theatre at the same time. Anyway, I haven’t actually seen any overt antagonism between the two of them, just no real bonding. But there’s no doubt that Imogen’s very ambitious. Thinks she’s destined to become a star. Any chance of going on for Liddy in a performance, she’d have grabbed it with open arms. In fact, I’ll bet she’s pretty pleased with the way things have turned out now … from her own point of view.’
‘Hmm. Thinking back to that coffee bar lunch …’
‘I can tell you didn’t enjoy it, Charles.’ Kell chuckled. ‘Not only from the way you looked while you were eating, but from the way you just said the words.’
He looked around. ‘I think somewhere like this is more my natural environment.’
‘Mine too, I’m afraid.’
‘There’s nothing about it to apologize for, Kell.’
‘Well, I …’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The fact is, Charles, I have had problems with the booze in the past.’
‘Tell me about it,’ he said cynically.
‘Have been times when it’s got out of hand. Now I’m trying to control it. You know, drink properly when I do drink, like today, but have a few days off during the week.’
‘And is it working?’
She screwed her face up ruefully. ‘To an extent. I think the best I could ever hope to be is a “dry drunk”.’
‘“Dry drunk”? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that expression.’
‘A “dry drunk” is someone who gives up the booze, but doesn’t change their mind-set about it.’
‘Sorry, that sounds a bit like psychobabble to me.’
‘A “dry drunk” still wants to drink. He or she hasn’t changed their basic attitude to drinking.’
‘Ah. Well, I think I must be one of those. Or probably more of a “wet drunk”,’ he added facetiously.
‘I’m still trying to have my cake and eat it,’ said Kell. ‘Just cut down on the booze, rather than going for total abstinence.’
‘But you suggest that it’s working.’
Another wry look. ‘I don’t know. I backslide a lot. The people at the meetings I go to say I’ll have eventually to give it up completely.’
‘Meetings? Do you mean AA?’
‘No. I have tried that. Didn’t work for me.’ Charles curbed his instinct to say ‘Join the club’, as she went on, ‘I’m talking about an addiction clinic someone recommended to me. Run by a charity. Called “TAUT”.’
‘“TAUT” as in teaching?’
‘No. “TAUT” as in “T – A – U – T”. It stands for something. I can’t remember what. Anyway, I don’t want to think about that.’ She drained her glass ‘Today I’m drinking. Today is a drinking day. I will enjoy that while it lasts. When we finally are allowed back into the theatre, I’ll be so busy I won’t have time to drink.’
‘If today’s a drinking day,’ said Charles, ‘then I’d better get the second bottle.’ Kell made no demur as he did just that.
‘Anyway,’ he picked up when their glasses were again full, ‘when we had that lunch in the coffee shop, Liddy said she was looking forward to a hot date that evening. I don’t suppose you …?’
Kell shook her head. ‘Don’t know anything about her private life … beyond the fact that she had a husband with whom she didn’t seem to be getting on very well.’
‘Derek, yes. You didn’t see anyone in the company coming on to her …?’
‘No more than certain male actors come on to any woman, no.’ Charles knew she was referring to their current situation. But she said the words with one
of her broad smiles, which took the curse off them.
He grinned in response. ‘And Liddy got on all right with Justin, did she?’
‘I never witnessed any conflict between them. He seemed happy with the way she was playing The Girl – in other words, exactly as he wanted her to play it.’
This was the first time Charles had heard the stage manager voice anything that might be interpreted as criticism of their star. He responded, ‘You mean she was tiptoeing around, not doing anything to upset his performance, like the rest of us?’
‘Exactly.’
‘You don’t know how she came to be cast in Habit, do you?’
Kell shook her head. ‘Presumably Justin okayed her?’
‘I would imagine so. Just wondered if you’d ever heard her mention Bridport?’
‘Bridport?’
‘As in the town in Dorset, yes.’
Kell looked totally bewildered. ‘No, never heard Liddy mention the name. Why do you ask?’
‘Doesn’t matter. So, anyway, you never saw any conflict between Liddy and any other member of the company?’
‘Well, remarkably, she did once have a major set-to with Seamus Milligan.’
‘Really? What was it about?’
‘It was strange. You know The Girl has that long speech when she describes how she was raped?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, she was rehearsing that a couple of weeks ago when—’ Kell was interrupted by a ping from her mobile. She found the text and read it quickly. ‘Oh God.’
‘What is it?’
‘Nita. The police have vacated the theatre. We can go back in. There’s a planning meeting at three. I must go!’
‘But you haven’t finished your sausage and mash.’
‘Unfinished meals are one of the features of a stage manager’s life. Another one is the ability to sober up extremely quickly.’
‘And we haven’t finished the second bottle of wine.’
‘Nita’s text says the cast still won’t be called till tomorrow morning, so I’ll have to leave the second bottle in your capable hands, won’t I, Charles?’ said Kell, as she rushed out of the pub.
‘Well,’ he replied to no one. ‘If you insist.’