Pittstock fell from the balloon, and the audience gasped. He hit the padding on the stage, and was perfectly still. Lady Wilton held the knife high again, and once more its blade was glinting for all to see.
Beside him, Patterson whistled softly. ‘How does she do that?’ the sergeant asked, in awe.
‘She’s a true professional,’ Blackstone replied. ‘You should know that by now. Let’s go and have a drink.’
‘But the performance isn’t over yet,’ Patterson pointed out. ‘It is for me,’ Blackstone told him. ‘I’ve had about as much as I can take of the theatre — and of theatre folk — for one day.’
* * *
The small yellow frogs sat placidly in a glass tank on one laboratory bench, a dozen large rats squeaked and squirmed in cages on another.
‘Ideally, I’d like to see how the poison works on human beings, but since there seems to be a marked shortage of volunteers for the job, the rats will have to do,’ Ellie Carr said.
‘Are you going to poison all of them?’ Jed Trent asked.
‘Of course,’ Ellie replied. ‘But not all at once. I need to use different doses, under different conditions, to get a really clear picture.’
‘I must admit, it all seems rather cold-blooded to me,’ Jed Trent said dubiously.
‘They’re rats,’ Ellie reminded him.
‘I know that, but —’
‘They carry diseases. The Black Death was one of their major successes. And they show no consideration for us humans, you know. There’ve been cases of them eating the faces off sleeping infants.’
‘Even so’
‘Have you ever used a rat-trap, or laid down poison for rats, Jed?’ Ellie asked.
‘Well, of course.’
‘Have you ever used a dog for hunting rats?’
‘Once or twice.’
‘So what’s the difference?’
‘Like I said, it just seems a bit cold-blooded, the way that you’re going to do it.’
‘It’s not cold-blooded at all — it’s called science, Jed,’ Ellie said exasperatedly. ‘And you’d better get used to it, because the further we advance into this new century of ours, the more of it there’ll be about.’
‘Maybe so, but —’
‘It’s because of people like me “cold-bloodedly” killing rats instead of having dogs tear them apart, that great advances will be made — advances that will be to the benefit of all humanity.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if, by the start of the next century, for example, we can even transplant organs from one person to another.’
‘Now you are talking stupid, even by your standards,’ Jed Trent said dismissively.
* * *
Patterson came back from the bar of the King’s Head Tavern with two pints of bitter held firmly in his beefy hands.
‘What happened to the soda water?’ Blackstone wondered.
‘Soda water’s very gaseous stuff,’ Patterson said.
‘Is it now?’ Blackstone asked.
‘That’s why it’s got all those bubbles. And the bubbles create pockets of air inside the stomach, which make you look even fatter than if you’d been drinking best bitter.’
‘You don’t say,’ Blackstone said, a smile creeping slowly to his lips.
‘I do say,’ Patterson retorted. ‘I read it.’
‘In a book?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what was this book called?’
‘All right, so I didn’t read it at all,’ Patterson admitted, sitting down and taking a more-than-healthy swig of his beer.
‘But it makes sense, when you think about it.’
‘Which is more than this case does,’ Blackstone said.
‘Was there one murder or two’? If there were two, were they both committed by the same person? And who the bloody hell is the little old man working for?’
‘That last one’s easy to answer,’ Patterson told him. ‘The little old man is working for the murderer.’
‘And the name of the murderer is… ?’
‘Ah, that’s a bit more difficult,’ Patterson admitted.
‘Meaning, we have no bloody idea?’
‘It has to be someone who’s part of the company — or connected to the theatre in some other way,’ Patterson suggested helpfully. ‘We’ve already pretty much agreed on that.’
‘Well, that certainly narrows it down,’ Blackstone replied sarcastically. ‘The problem, as I see it, Sergeant, is that there’s dozens of people with the means and opportunity.’
‘Then maybe we should concentrate on the motive,’ Patterson suggested. ‘Who have we got so far’?’
‘Three possible suspects,’ Blackstone said, beginning to count them off on his fingers. ‘One, Sebastian George — because he’s been making a fortune from increased ticket sales since the murder. Two, Lord Bixendale — because he might have thought, mistakenly, that the shock would make Charlotte Devaraux give up acting forever. And three, Richmond Clay — because now he’s the leading actor instead of William Kirkpatrick.’
‘We had those three yesterday,’ Patterson said. ‘We haven’t advanced much since then, have we?’
‘We haven’t advanced at bloody all,’ Blackstone said.
The street door swung open, and Tamara Simmons stepped through it. She paused on the threshold, and glanced around the bar.
‘She’s looking for somebody,’ Patterson said.
Then Tamara Simmons began to walk towards their table, and it became obvious who that ‘somebody’ was.
* * *
Sebastian George turned the handle on the door of Charlotte Devaraux’s dressing room and stepped inside.
Charlotte was sitting at her dressing table, removing her make-up. ‘Don’t you ever knock?’ she asked.
‘Why should I knock?’ Sebastian George asked. ‘When all’s said and done, it is my theatre.’
‘It’s your father’s theatre,’ Charlotte corrected him.
‘Technically, perhaps, but it won’t be even that for very much longer. My lawyer is already working on transferring the deeds over to my name.’ George strode across the room and sat down. ‘Tamara Simmons came to see me yesterday.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘She doesn’t think she’s getting big enough roles in the plays we’re putting on. She suggested that she share the Lady Wilton part with you.’ George paused. ‘The reason she believed she could get away with making an outrageous demand like that is that she thinks she holds all the cards.’ He paused again. ‘You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘I sent her away with a flea in her ear. I don’t think she’ll be bothering either of us again.’
‘Good,’ Charlotte said.
‘Is that it?’ Sebastian George demanded. ‘Is that all you have to say to me? “Good”?’
‘What else is there that you would like me to say?’ Charlotte Devaraux wondered.
‘You could have said “thank you”. You could perhaps have shown just a little gratitude.’
Charlotte spun round on her stool to look at him. Her face was ablaze with anger.
‘I will not be lectured to on the subject of gratitude by a man like you,’ she exploded.
‘A man like me?’
‘Is it true that your father is not insane at all? Is it true that you had him locked away merely so you could take charge of the theatre?’
‘Who told you that’? Was it Blackstone?’
‘It doesn’t matter who told me! Is it true?’
‘I am not the only one who has benefited from my father’s incarceration,’ George pointed out reasonably. ‘You yourself haven’t exactly done too badly out of it, now have you?’
‘I have talent! In time, I would have risen to eminence anyway,’ Charlotte said. ‘But not you! Without your dirty tricks, you would still be nothing more than a glorified props boy.’
‘We’ll gain nothing by fightin
g amongst ourselves,’ George said in a conciliatory manner.
‘I’m not intending to fight you,’ Charlotte told him. ‘I intend to go to Lord Bixendale and persuade him that the wrong you two have committed together must be put right.’
‘That would not be a wise move,’ George warned. ‘You are no more than his concubine — his “bit of fun”. I, on the other hand, am his business partner. When I speak, I have his ear.’
Charlotte laughed. ‘Do you really believe that?’
‘He took me shooting on his estate in Scotland. He said that for a man who had never shot before, I did outstandingly well. He said I was a natural. And I have bought my own gun now, and I have been practising. The next time he invites me, he will be even more impressed.’
‘There will not be a next time,’ Charlotte said.
‘Of course there will. You know how to please a man in bed, but you have no understanding of the kind of hearty — but deep — relationship that one man can have with another.’
Charlotte looked amused. ‘And that is what you have with him, is it’? A hearty — but deep — relationship?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘You poor fool,’ Charlotte said, almost pityingly. ‘The only reason you were ever asked to join the shooting party is because I requested it.’
‘You?’
‘I wanted to find some way of paying you back for giving me the leading role. But Robert wasn’t keen on the idea at all. He said it would be almost like taking a tradesman out shooting with him. He said his ghillies would laugh at you behind your back. I had to use all my wiles to get him to finally agree.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Sebastian George said, his lip quivering like that of a small, disappointed child.
‘I don’t care whether you believe me or not,’ Charlotte said. ‘But please believe this: if you try to interfere, in any way, with my plans to get your father released from the lunatic asylum, then I will tell Robbie Bixendale why an inexperienced actress like Tamara Simmons has suddenly been given the opportunity to stand centre-stage. And if I once do that, you’ll be ruined.’
‘And what about you?’ Sebastian George demanded. ‘Do you think you’ll escape Bixendale’s wrath yourself? Because I can assure you, you will not! You’ll be ruined, too!’
‘I am more than willing to run that risk,’ Charlotte said coldly. ‘And now, Mr George, I would like you to leave my dressing room.’
* * *
‘I was hoping to find you here alone, Archie,’ Tamara Simmons said disappointedly, looking down at the seated Patterson.
‘Does this have something to do with the investigation, Miss Simmons?’ Blackstone asked.
Tamara Simmons appeared confused, both by the question and by the fact that it was Blackstone who had put it.
‘Yes, it does,’ she said. ‘Well, no, I suppose it doesn’t really.’ She paused for a second, in an attempt to re-order her thoughts. ‘I just wanted to talk to Sergeant Patterson about… about things in general, if you know what I mean. But if you’re too busy to talk me now, Archie, then I suppose we could leave it until another time.’
‘Well, as you can see for yourself, I am somewhat occupied in having a discussion with my superior, Inspector Blackstone,’ Patterson said, almost as confused as the woman was.
‘That’s no real problem, because I was on the point of leaving for home anyway,’ Blackstone said.
‘You were?’ Patterson gasped, giving him a look which accused him of the blackest kind of betrayal.
‘I was,’ Blackstone confirmed, ignoring the look. He turned back to the woman. ‘Can you just give us a couple of minutes to finish off our business, Miss Simmons?’
‘All right,’ Tamara Simmons agreed, though she showed no signs of moving away.
‘I meant, in private,’ Blackstone said gently.
Tamara Simmons blushed. ‘Oh, of course,’ she said, backing away towards the bar.
‘What’s going on?’ Patterson asked, as soon as Tamara Simmons was out of earshot.
‘What’s going on is that a woman who very well might turn out to be a very important witness in this case has come to talk to you of her own free will,’ Blackstone explained. ‘And — think about it, Archie — just how often does that happen?’
‘But she doesn’t want to talk about the case at all,’ Patterson said, sounding increasingly panicked. ‘You heard her! She said that she wanted to talk about things in general.’
‘And you don’t think that will possibly include the murder — the most dramatic event she’s ever witnessed in her entire life?’
‘Maybe it will,’ Patterson agreed reluctantly. ‘But I still don’t like the idea at all, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know how to handle women on my own.’
‘Don’t know how to handle women on your own? You’re engaged to be married, for God’s sake!’
‘Yes, I am — and I’m no longer certain how much that was actually my own idea,’ Patterson said. ‘The bloody dieting part of it wasn’t — that much I do know for sure!’
‘I’m not asking you to sleep with her,’ Blackstone said. ‘Good!’
‘In fact, since I like Rose so much, I’d much rather you didn ‘t take Tamara to bed. But I can’t see any harm in you just talking to her, for half an hour or so. After all, if you start to feel uncomfortable —’
‘I’m uncomfortable now!’
‘— if you start to feel excessively uncomfortable, you can always make your excuses and leave.’
‘Are you asking me to stay, sir, or is it more in the nature of an order?’ Patterson asked miserably.
‘It’s an order — if that’s what it takes.’
‘And you wouldn’t rather stay yourself?’
‘What would be the point of that? She doesn’t want to talk to me, she wants to talk to you.’
‘I’d rather face a gang of heavily-armed toughs down at the East India docks than stay here and talk to her,’ Patterson said.
Blackstone grinned. ‘So would I,’ he said. ‘So would anybody. But life can’t be all fun and games, you know.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Blackstone noticed the woman the second he had left the pub and stepped out on to the street. She was standing on the corner, her head bowed. For a moment, he suspected she was intoxicated. But drunks have a tendency to sway from side to side, and the only part of this woman that was moving was her shoulders, which rose and fell in an almost rhythmical manner.
He set off up the street towards her. The large, wide-brimmed hat she was wearing prevented him from seeing her face, but from her build and stance, he guessed that she was a youngish woman.
As he got closer, he could hear that she was crying. They were not, his policeman’s brain told him immediately, the tears of the victim of a crime — loud, disbelieving, verging on the hysterical. No, these were softer, yet deeper — the expression of some inner unhappiness. And since he was a bobby, rather than a priest, they had absolutely nothing to do with him.
He was almost level with her now. He could come to a stop, or walk on.
He stopped.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ he asked.
The woman lifted her head, and he saw the face below the wide-brimmed hat for the first time. ‘Hello, Inspector Blackstone,’ she said.
‘Miss Devaraux!’ Blackstone replied. ‘What’s the matter?’
Charlotte Devaraux forced a smile to her lips. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Nothing at all.’ She paused. ‘Well, not quite nothing, if I’m to be entirely honest. Two nights ago, I accidentally killed another actor in front of an audience of over two thousand people, you know.’
Blackstone smiled back. ‘I remember. I was there.’
‘Then, just today, I learned that in order for me to become the leading lady of the George Theatre Company, a perfectly sweet old gentleman has been unfairly locked up in a dreadful lunatic asylum.’
‘That wasn’t your fault.
’
‘And finally, as the bloody cherry on top of the bloody cake, I’ve had a blazing row with Sebastian George, as a result of which he will now feel he has no choice but to try to drive a wedge between Lord Bixendale and myself. So, as you can imagine, I feel as if my cup runneth over. The problem is that the sodding cup runneth over with bloody bitter liquid.’
‘You need a drink,’ Blackstone said. ‘Come with me to the King’s Head, and I’ll buy you one.’
‘I need several drinks,’ Charlotte Devaraux corrected him. ‘But, if you don’t mind, I’d rather have them somewhere I’m less well-known.’
* * *
Tamara Simmons and Sergeant Patterson sat opposite each other at the small round table in the saloon bar of the King’s Head. Though the actress had indicated that she desperately needed to talk, she hadn’t shown much inclination to say anything at all since Blackstone had left.
Patterson shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘I’ve only had the one pint,’ he thought miserably, ‘and already my arse seems to have gained a couple of pounds in weight.’
‘Do you think that I’m a wicked person, Archie?’ Tamara Simmons asked suddenly.
‘Wicked’? No!’
‘Thank you for that, at least. But I can tell from your tone that you don’t think I’m a very nice one, either.’
Patterson felt himself starting to sweat. Maybe that would melt a little of the fat which the single pint of best bitter had added to his frame.
The woman was clearly expecting him to say something. ‘I don’t really know you, Miss Simmons,’ he began, ‘but —’
‘Please call me Tamara.’
‘— but I can’t see that there’s anything about you that I would have to call not nice.’
‘It’s so difficult to know anything for sure when the only people you ever get to talk to are theatre people,’ Tamara Simmons continued, ‘because, you see, theatre people aren’t real people at all.’
‘Is that so?’ Patterson asked, wondering how soon he dared leave without incurring Blackstone’s ire.
‘It is so,’ Tamara Simmons said. ‘They only care about themselves, and they’re so used to acting all the time that even when they’re not supposed to be, they just can’t help themselves.’
Blackstone and the Stage of Death (The Blackstone Detective series Book 5) Page 18