Crane took a photograph out of his pocket, and slid it across the desk to Elaine.
‘Is that the woman who was waiting by the lift shaft?’ he asked.
‘Yes, that’s her,’ Elaine confirmed.
So the boss had been right in her suspicions, and Mark Cotton and Lucy Cavendish had reignited their affair.
‘I don’t know if it’s important, but there was another woman, as well,’ Elaine said.
Crane felt the hairs on his neck tingle.
‘Who was she?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I’d never seen her before. I don’t even know exactly when she came into the lobby, except that it must have been after he did. All I can say with any certainty was that I first noticed her when the lift doors closed.’
‘And what was she doing?’
‘She was standing there, absolutely rigid, and staring at the lift. She looked so angry that I was half-surprised her gaze didn’t melt it.’
Crane took two more photographs out of his pocket, and passed them to Elaine.
‘It wasn’t, by any chance, either of these women that you saw, was it?’ he asked.
Elaine studied the photographs for no more than a couple of seconds. Then she said, ‘It was her.’
‘Are you sure?’ Crane asked. ‘They are quite alike, because they happen to be sisters.’
‘It was her,’ Elaine said, even more definitely.
Well, well, well, Crane thought, and wondered if Mark Cotton had known he was being followed by Sarah Audley.
He rather suspected that Cotton hadn’t.
‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you the same question as I’ve asked all the others,’ Paniatowski said, when the usual opening inquiries had drawn what had become the usual negative responses. ‘Why did you decide to come back to Whitebridge, Mr McCann?’
‘Nostalgia,’ Phil McCann replied.
‘But you’re a bank manager.’
‘An assistant bank manager – but hopefully, only for the moment,’ McCann said, with a smile. ‘And surely, even assistant bank managers are allowed to revel in their pasts now and again.’
‘The thing is, you seem to have gone to a great deal of trouble over the whole deal,’ Paniatowski said.
‘You’re quite wrong about that. In fact, it was very little trouble at all. My manager was more than happy to give me two weeks’ leave, my wife and children assured me they could manage perfectly well without me for a fortnight – all I had to do was buy the ticket and get on the train.’
‘No, I’m talking about the time before that.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘How often have you seen the rest of the Whitebridge Theatre Company over the last twenty years?’
‘I haven’t seen them all. After I left here in ’fifty-seven, the first thing I did was to enrol in a technical college so I’d have a few more qualifications behind me. And after I’d got those qualifications, I joined the bank.’
‘So you haven’t seen any of them between the time you left Whitebridge and the time you came back?’
It was a trap, but Phil McCann was too wily to fall into it.
‘As it happens, I have seen several of the company within the last month or so,’ he said.
‘In fact, you’ve seen all of them, with the exception of Mark Cotton and Ruth Audley,’ Meadows said.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘And you saw them on their territory, rather than your own.’
‘I’ve never thought of it that way, but I suppose you’re right about that, too.’
‘Specifically, from your base in Hereford, you travelled down to London to see Jerry Talbot, across to Lincolnshire to talk to Tony Brown, down to London a second time to see Lucy Cavendish …’
‘Yes, yes, I agree that I went to see them, rather than them coming to see me,’ McCann conceded.
‘The reason for your visits was to try and persuade the rest of the original cast to come to Whitebridge, and some of them – like Jerry Talbot and Tony Brown – needed quite a lot of persuading. So what was that all about?’
‘What are you suggesting?’ McCann demanded.
‘I could be suggesting all kinds of things,’ Paniatowski said. ‘I could be suggesting that you’d decided to kill Mark Cotton, and, for some reason of your own, you wanted all the cast there to see it. I could be suggesting that you had something else – something entirely different – planned, but Cotton’s death got in the way of it. But, in fact, I’m not suggesting anything, because I’m hoping that you’ll explain to me what was motivating you.’
McCann folded his arms. ‘I enjoy setting things up and negotiating deals – that’s why I’m so good at my job,’ he said. ‘You probably wouldn’t understand this, but I got almost as much pleasure from persuading people to come as I did from seeing them here.’
It all sounded very plausible, Paniatowski thought, but she was convinced he was lying through his teeth.
‘Did you get on with Mark Cotton?’ she asked.
‘I get on with everybody,’ McCann replied. ‘And if you don’t believe me, just ask the rest of the cast.’
‘Sergeant Parry?’ Beresford asked.
‘I used to be,’ the man on the end of the line said, his voice heavy with regret. ‘Now I’m just plain Jim.’
‘I’m DI Beresford, from the Mid Lancs Police. I’ve been told by a Sergeant Lloyd that you might have some information relevant to the murder we’re currently investigating.’
‘I have,’ Parry confirmed. ‘I most definitely have. But if you want it, you’ll have to come here, and meet me face-to-face.’
‘That would take a great deal of time, and when you’re conducting a murder inquiry—’ Beresford began.
‘Don’t try to tell me what a murder inquiry is like, lad, because I’ve been part of more murder inquiries than you’ve had hot dinners,’ Parry interrupted him. ‘Look, I can see it’s a problem for you, Inspector,’ he continued in a much softer voice. ‘I really can. But I’ve had my fingers badly burned once before – and I’m not going to let it happen again.’
‘What do you mean when you say you’ve had your fingers badly burned?’ Beresford asked.
‘And to be quite frank with you, lad,’ Parry continued, ignoring the question, ‘if I told you what I know over the phone, you’d probably end up thinking I was a bit of a nutter. That’s why you need to be down here – looking into my eyes – when I tell you.’
‘If you could give me some idea of what kind of information you have …’ Beresford cajoled.
‘Sorry, son, that’s as far as I’m prepared to go for now,’ Parry said. ‘My address is thirteen Elm Drive, Hinton. I’ll give up the idea of golf tomorrow, and wait in for you. If you come, I’ll tell you what I know. If you don’t come – well, it will be you that’s missing out, not me.’
SEVENTEEN
There were things which would have amazed the regular drinkers in the public bar of the Drum and Monkey more – Noah’s Ark, floating sedately down the Whitebridge canal, while a dozen trombone-playing chimpanzees stood on the deck giving their rendition of the show-stoppers of the 1940s, would be just one example – but the emptiness of the corner table was certainly well worth raising a quizzical eyebrow over.
There’d been a murder – right? they asked each other, as they took thoughtful sips from their pints of best bitter.
Right.
And DCI Paniatowski was heading the inquiry – right?
Right.
So where was her team?
And what was Terry the waiter supposed to do with the time that was normally employed in ferrying two pints of best bitter, a glass of vodka, and a bottle of tonic water over to the corner table at regular intervals?
Then, looking around them, the locals began to notice several strangers who were wearing expensive suits and seemed very uncomfortable in the spit-and-sawdust atmosphere of the public bar – and they understood.
The big clock on the wall clic
ked off the minutes, the men in the smart suits grew more and more restless, and eventually one of them crossed the room and sat down at a table occupied by two men from the carpet warehouse.
‘I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I’d like to buy you both a drink,’ he said.
The two warehousemen looked at each other, and nodded.
‘Fair enough,’ the older one said. ‘We’re on pints of best bitter and Irish whiskey chasers.’
The journalist could find no evidence of whiskey chasers on the table, but thought it best not to argue, and signalled to the waiter.
‘I was told DCI Paniatowski always puts in an appearance in this bar when she’s working on a case,’ he said, once the drinks had arrived.
‘She usually puts in an appearance,’ the older warehouseman agreed, ‘but then once in a while – for the sake of a bit of variety like – she takes her team out of town.’
‘Do you know where they go, when they do that?’
‘They go to the Flying Fox in Accrington, don’t they, Sid?’ the older warehouseman asked his companion.
‘That’s right, Albert, they do,’ the other man agreed.
The journalist stood up.
‘Thanks for the information,’ he said, and moved hurriedly to the door.
His place at the table was soon taken by a second journalist.
‘Do you want to know where to find DCI Paniatowski?’ Albert asked, ‘because if you do, it’ll cost you the same as it cost your mate.’
The drinks were duly ordered.
‘Tell him, Sid,’ Albert said.
‘They’ll be at the Bull’s Head in Preston,’ Sid said.
It took ten minutes to clear the bar of reporters, and as the last one left, the warehousemen looked down at the table weighed down by pints and chasers. It was going to be heavy work clearing that lot, they thought, but they were confident they were up to the job.
There was no draft beer pump in the theatre, so Beresford and Crane were forced to lower their standards by not only settling for bottled beer, but also – to their great discomfort – drinking it out of half pint glasses.
‘And ale – any ale – just doesn’t taste right out of a half pint glass,’ Beresford complained.
‘Count yourself lucky that you can drink at all,’ Paniatowski said waspishly, gently rubbing her stomach. ‘Do you think it would be alright with the two of you if we did a bit of police work now?’
Beresford and Crane agreed that it would be alright and that, indeed, that was what they were there for.
‘Let’s start with motive,’ Paniatowski suggested. ‘Assuming, for the moment, that Mark Cotton was the intended victim, rather than Jerry Talbot, who would have wanted him dead?’
‘The most obvious candidate is Jerry Talbot himself,’ Beresford said. ‘If he knew in advance that Cotton was planning to snatch the starring role off him on Monday night, he might well have been angry enough to decide to kill him. And since he’s been understudying the part, he’d know more about the rope and harness than the rest of the cast.’
‘Who else?’
‘Sarah Audley,’ Meadows said. ‘She was in love with Mark Cotton twenty years ago, and he rejected her. She thought she’d got over it, but then she saw him again and realized she hadn’t.’
‘And what made matters worse was that she saw Cotton going into the Royal Victoria with Lucy Cavendish,’ Crane said.
‘But surely she realized that if she killed him, she’d also be killing off her part in DCI Prince,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Love is blind, and so is hate,’ Meadows said. ‘Besides, remember what Sarah’s sister Ruth said. It went something along the lines of, “Actors are self-confident. They have to be to survive – so some of them will automatically assume that, with a massive talent like theirs, they’ll overcome any obstacle.” In other words, losing the series might be a setback for her career, but it wouldn’t necessarily destroy it.’
Beresford had been unsure what to do about Sergeant Parry, but now he reached a decision.
‘I may have more on Sarah tomorrow, because – with your permission, boss – I’m going down to Sussex to interview an ex-police officer about her.’
‘Is that really necessary?’ Paniatowski asked.
Beresford told her about his conversation with Parry.
‘It could be nothing,’ he said in conclusion. ‘It probably is nothing. But Parry truly believes he’s on to something, and it’s too risky to overlook the possibility that he might be right.’
‘Do you intend to contact the Sussex Constabulary while you’re down there?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘I don’t think so – at least, not until after I’ve talked to Sergeant Parry,’ Beresford replied. ‘I get the feeling that there’s no love lost between Parry and the local force, and I don’t want to do anything to piss him off until I’ve heard what he has to say.’
‘Fair enough,’ Paniatowski agreed. She turned to the rest of the team. ‘What other possibilities do we have?’
‘Ruth Audley,’ Meadows said.
‘You’d pretty much dismissed her as a suspect this afternoon,’ Paniatowski reminded her. ‘What’s made you drag her back into the frame?’
‘Talking to her sister helped give me a more rounded picture of her. She’s very protective of Sarah. She got her into the company when she was only seventeen, she took the burden of looking after their mother on her own shoulders, so Sarah could be free to pursue her career, and the only reason she’s in Whitebridge at all is because Sarah asked her to come. I think it’s perfectly possible that she saw how Cotton was making her little sister suffer, and decided to punish him for it.’
‘Who else?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘Geoff Turnbull,’ Crane said. ‘He was bitterly disappointed that he was not allowed to direct, and may have decided to take his revenge in the appropriate theatrical manner. The same also applies to his wife, Joan.’
‘Lucy Cavendish,’ Meadows said. ‘She’s desperate to be back into the theatre, so there’s a good chance she only slept with Cotton because he’d promised her the leading role if she’d spread her legs for him. But then he reneged on his promise. Besides, if she’d nothing to worry about, why did she bring her solicitor up from London?’
‘True,’ Paniatowski agreed.
‘And then there’s Tony Brown and Phil McCann,’ Meadows said. ‘There’s no motive I can ascribe to either of them, but they both acted suspiciously. Brown clearly didn’t want to be here, but he came – even though it cost him money. And McCann went to considerable effort to make sure everyone turned up, possibly because – as Jack suggested – he wanted the right audience for the murder.’
Beresford smiled. ‘You’ve left out Bradley Quirk,’ he said.
‘Quirk is the only member of the cast who’s pointed the finger at one of the others,’ Meadows said. ‘We were ready to eliminate Talbot as a suspect when Quirk told us about the play they’d once been in together, and how that might have given Talbot the idea of making it look like it was an attempt on his life. Besides, Quirk is far more relaxed about the investigation than anyone should be, which means – in my opinion – that what he’s really doing is playing a part, and the question we have to ask ourselves is why he’s playing that part.’
‘I’ve suddenly realized this is just like Murder on the Orient Express,’ Crane said, out of the blue.
The others looked at him blankly.
‘Murder on the Orient Express!’ he repeated. ‘Written by Agatha Christie! You must have read it.’
None of them had.
‘And I’m a little surprised that an intellectual giant like you has bothered to read it, Jack,’ Meadows said.
‘When I was up at Oxford, I once gave a paper on the way in which the detective genre can manipulate plausibility,’ Crane explained. ‘It was one of the books I used as an example.’
‘So are you going to tell us why this is like Murder on the Orient Express?’ Meadows asked.
‘A man is killed on the Orient Express between stations, which means that the murderer still has to be on the train, just as our murderer still had to be in the theatre. There are twelve suspects and they all have a strong motive – just as our suspects have strong motives – and the victim died of twelve stab wounds.’
‘They all did it together,’ Beresford said.
‘Exactly!’ Crane said.
‘You do know that’s a completely made-up story, don’t you, Jack?’ Paniatowski asked.
Crane grinned. ‘Of course, boss.’
‘And you don’t really think that all the actors conspired together to kill Mark Cotton, do you?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Crane said, more serious now. ‘From what I’ve seen of the Whitebridge Players on the documentary film, there was so much disagreement and backbiting going on that it’s a miracle they managed to put on the play at all. So the idea that they’d ever be able to cooperate with each other long enough to stage a murder is laughable.’
Paniatowski smiled. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now I’d like to move on. What you’ve all said about motive has been very sound, but I think there’s one suspect we can at least move towards eliminating from the inquiry.’
‘Who’s that, boss?’ Beresford asked.
‘Jerry Talbot.’
‘And you think you can eliminate him because …?’
‘I think I can eliminate him because there was greasepaint on the metal steps that lead up to the platform.’
Paniatowski laid out her theory, the seeds of which had been planted by something Ruth Audley had said during her interview, and which had been slowly developing in her head for most of the afternoon.
When she’d finished, Meadows said, ‘That makes complete sense to me, boss. I never was very keen on the idea that the killer had put the greasepaint on the step so that Cotton wouldn’t have time to examine the harness properly.’
‘But you’ll need to get that confirmed by Talbot himself before you can be absolutely sure,’ Beresford pointed out.
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