Past Reason Hated

by Peter Robinson

  ‘Were you going to cause damage?’

  ‘Just a bit of fun.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What do you mean, why?’

  ‘Why would you want to do such a thing?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Morley squirmed in his chair and grasped his arm again. ‘Fucking hurts, that.’

  ‘Will you please not use language like that in front of me, William,’ Susan said. ‘I find it offensive. Answer my question. Why did you do it?’

  ‘No reason. Do you have to have a fucking reason for everything? I told you, it was just fun, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ve told you once,’ Susan said, mustering as much quiet authority as she could. ‘I don’t like that kind of language. Learn some manners.’

  Morley tried hard to glare at her, but he looked more ashamed and defeated than defiant.

  ‘Was it the same kind of fun you had in those other places?’ Susan asked.

  ‘What other places?’

  ‘Come on, William. You know what I mean. This isn’t the first time, is it?’

  Morley remained silent for a while, then said quietly, still rubbing his arm. ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Suppose?’

  ‘All right. No, it’s not. But we never hurt anyone or anything.’

  Susan could taste success. Her first real case. She was only assisting on the Hartley murder, but this one was all hers. If she could wrap up a four-month problem of vandalism with a neat confession, it would look very good on her record. As she listed the dates and places vandalized over the past few months – mostly youth clubs and recreation centres – Morley nodded glumly at each one, until she mentioned the community centre.

  ‘Come again?’ he said.

  ‘Eastvale Community Centre, night of December the twenty-second.’

  Morley shook his head. ‘You can’t do us for that one.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying we didn’t do it, that’s what.’

  ‘Come on, William. What’s the point in denying it? It’ll all be taken into account. You’re doing yourself no good.’

  He leaned forward. Spittle collected at the corners of his mouth. ‘Because we didn’t f— Because we didn’t do it, that’s why. I wasn’t even in Eastvale that night. I spent Christmas with my mother down in Coventry. I can prove it. Call her. Go on.’

  Susan took the number. ‘What about Robert?’

  ‘How should I know. But I didn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it by himself, would he? Stands to reason. Rob – now, wait a minute, wait a minute! He was out of town, too. He was down in Bristol with his brother over Christmas. We didn’t do it, I’m telling you.’

  Susan tapped her pen on the desk and sighed. True, it didn’t make sense for the lad to lie at this point, when he had confessed to everything else. Damn! Just when she thought she had got it all wrapped up. That meant there must be two sets of vandals. One down, one to go. She stood up. ‘Take his statement, will you, John? I’ll go and make out a report for the chief inspector. We’ll check the alibis for the community centre job tomorrow morning.’ As she passed the room where Robert Chalmers was being held, she almost went in for another try. But there was nothing more to learn. Instead, she carried on down the corridor to her office.

  THREE

  ‘Of all the times to come pestering me! It’s opening night tonight. Don’t you know that? How did you even know I’d be here? Normally I’d be at school at this time.’

  ‘I know,’ Banks said. ‘I phoned. They told me you’d taken the day off.’

  ‘You did what?’ Faith Green was really pacing now, arms folded under her breasts. She wore purple tights and a baggy, hip-length sweater with red and blue hoops around it. Her silver hair and matching hoop earrings flashed in the morning sunlight that shone through her large picture window.

  ‘How dare you?’ she went on. ‘Do you realize what damage that could do my career? It doesn’t matter that I’m guilty of nothing. Just a hint of police around that place and the smell sticks.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Banks perched at the edge of his armchair, faintly amused by Faith’s performance. It certainly differed from his last visit. His amusement, however, was overshadowed by irritation.

  She stopped and glared at him. ‘Am I making you nervous? Good.’

  Banks leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. ‘Remember last time I called, I asked if you’d noticed anything odd about the rehearsal on December the twenty-second?’

  Faith resumed pacing again, stopped in front of the Greta Garbo poster, as if seeking inspiration, and said, with her back to Banks, ‘So?’

  ‘Were you telling me the truth?’

  ‘I’m not in the habit of lying.’

  ‘It’d be easier if you sat down,’ Banks said.

  ‘Oh, all right, damn you!’ Faith flounced towards the sofa and flung herself on to it. ‘There,’ she said with a pout. ‘Does that suit you?’

  ‘Fine. I must say you’re not quite as welcoming as you were last time.’

  Faith looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge his meaning. ‘That was different,’ she said finally. ‘I didn’t see why we had to have such a boring time just because you were asking silly questions.’

  ‘And this time?’

  ‘I should be rehearsing, going through my lines. I’m tense enough as it is. You’re upsetting me.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Asking questions again.’

  Banks sighed. ‘All right. How about if I stop asking and start telling?’ And he relayed what Teresa had told him about the argument between Faith and James Conran. The further he got, the paler Faith’s face turned and the more angry her eyes became.

  ‘Who told you this?’ she demanded when he’d finished.

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does to me. It couldn’t have been James, surely. The last thing he’d do is make himself look bad.’ She paused, then slapped the arm of the sofa. ‘Of course! How stupid of me. It was Teresa, wasn’t it? She must have stayed behind and eavesdropped. I thought she’d been behaving oddly towards me lately. Did you tell her what I told you?’

  ‘Look, it really doesn’t—’

  ‘The snooping bitch! She’s no right, no right at all. And neither had—’

  ‘Is it true?’ Banks asked.

  ‘It’s none of her—’

  ‘But is it true?’

  ‘—business to listen to my private—’

  ‘So it is true?’

  Faith hesitated, looked over to Garbo again and sighed deeply. ‘All right, so we had a row. I’ve got nothing to hide. It’s nothing new. Happens all the time in the theatre.’

  ‘It’s the timing that interests me most,’ Banks said. ‘You could conceivably have been angry enough at Caroline Hartley to stew over it for a couple of drinks, then go pay her a visit. You didn’t know she lived with anyone.’

  Faith’s jaw dropped. When she finally spoke, it was in a squeaky, uncontrolled voice, far different from her stage speech.

  ‘Are you suggesting that I killed the damn woman over some stupid argument with the director of a small-town play?’

  ‘You did call her a “little slut”. I think that suggests a bit more than a tiff over a part in an amateur production, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s just a figure of speech, a . . .’

  ‘Why did you call her a slut, Faith? Was it because Conran fancied her but he didn’t fancy you? Is that why you told me about him and Teresa, too? Out of jealous spite?’

  For the first time, Faith seemed speechless. But it didn’t last long. Finally, red-faced, she stretched out her arm dramatically and pointed at the door.

  ‘Out!’ she yelled. ‘Out, you wretched, insulting little man! Out!’

  ‘Calm down, Faith,’ Banks said. ‘I need answers. Is that why?’

  Faith let her arm fall slowly and sat in silence for a few moments contemplating the upholstery of the sofa. ‘What if I did call her a slut?’ she said
finally. ‘Heat of the moment, that’s all. And I’ll tell you something, the way I felt at the time, if I’d killed anybody it would have been our bloody philandering director. It’s unprofessional, letting your prick rule your judgment like that. It happened with Teresa, it was happening with Caroline . . .’

  ‘But it didn’t happen with you?’

  ‘Huh! Do you think I really cared about that? I’ve no trouble finding a man when I want one. A real man, too, not some artsy-fartsy wimp like James Conran.’

  ‘But maybe he hurt your pride? Some people don’t handle rejection well. Or perhaps it wasn’t Conran that really bothered you. Was it Caroline herself?’

  Faith stared at him, then spoke slowly. ‘Look, you asked me about that the last time you were here. I told you I’m not a lesbian. I told you I could prove it to you. Do you want me to prove it now?’

  She sat up, crossed her arms and reached for the bottom of her sweater.

  Banks held his hand up. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m not asking you to prove it. And quite honestly, it’s not really the kind of thing you can prove, is it?’

  Faith let her hands drop but remained sitting cross-legged on the sofa. ‘You mean you think I’m bi?’

  Banks shrugged.

  ‘Well, you can’t prove that either, can you?’

  ‘We might be able to, if we talk to the right people.’

  Faith laughed. ‘My ex-lovers? Well, good luck to you, darling. You’ll need it.’

  ‘What did you do after the argument?’ Banks asked.

  ‘Came home, like I said.’ She put her hand to her brow. ‘Quite honestly, I was shagged out, dear.’

  Faith seemed to have regained her composure since her outburst, or at least her poise. She pushed her fringe back from her eyes and managed a brief smile as she went on. ‘Look, Chief Inspector, I know you have to catch your criminal and all that, but it’s not me. And I’ve got a lot of work to do before curtain tonight. Besides, I need to be calm, relaxed. You’re making me all flustered. I’ll blow my lines. Be a darling and bugger off. You can come back some other time, if you want.’

  Banks smiled. ‘I shouldn’t worry about being nervous. I’ve heard a bit of anxiety adds an edge to a performance.

  Faith narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, as if wondering whether she was being had. ‘Well . . .’ she went on, ‘if that’s all . . .?’

  ‘Far from it. You argued with James Conran in the auditorium, am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I left, of course. I don’t put up with that kind of treatment – not from anyone.’

  ‘And you went straight home?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Was anyone else in the centre at the time?’

  ‘Well, obviously Teresa bloody Pedmore was, but I didn’t see her.’

  ‘Anyone else?’

  Faith shook her head.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t see anyone. But then I didn’t see them all leave, either. There are plenty of cubby-holes behind the stage, as you know quite well. The whole bloody cast could have been hiding there and listening, for all I know.’

  ‘But as far as you know, the only person there was James Conran, and you left him in the auditorium.’

  Faith nodded, a puzzled expression on her face. ‘And Teresa, I suppose, if she saw me leave.’

  ‘Yes,’ Banks said. ‘And Teresa. What were you wearing that evening?’

  ‘To rehearsal?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Faith shrugged. ‘Same as I usually wear, I suppose, when I come from school.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘They’re very conservative, you know. Blouse, skirt and cardigan is required uniform.’

  ‘How long was the skirt?’

  She arched her eyebrows. ‘Why, Chief Inspector, I didn’t know you cared.’ She stood up with exaggerated slowness and put the edge of her hand just below her knee. ‘About that long,’ she said, then she shifted her weight to her left leg, dropping her right hip in a halfcomic, half-seductive pose. ‘As I said, they’re very conservative.’

  ‘What about your overcoat?’

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘Can you tell me?’

  ‘I can do better if it’ll get you out of here quicker.’ She walked to the hall cupboard and pulled out a long, heavily lined garbardine. ‘It’s not quite warm enough for this weather we’ve been having lately,’ she said, ‘but it’ll do until someone buys me a mink.’

  ‘What about footwear?’

  She raised one eyebrow. ‘You are getting intimate, aren’t you? Whatever will it be next, I wonder?’

  ‘Footwear?’

  ‘Boots, of course. What do you think I’d be wearing in that weather? Bloody high heels?’ She laughed. ‘Tell me, have you a shoe fetish or something?’

  Banks smiled and got to his feet. ‘No. Sorry to disappoint you. Thank you very much for your time. I’ll see myself out.’

  But Faith followed him to the door and leaned against the frame, arms loosely folded. ‘You know, Chief Inspector,’ she said, ‘I am very disappointed in you. I might be persuaded to change my mind, but it would take a lot of doing. I’ve never been so insulted and abused by a man as I’ve been by you. But the funny thing is, I still like you.’ She took him by the elbow and steered him out the open door. ‘And now you really must go.’

  Banks headed down the corridor and turned when he heard Faith calling after him.

  ‘Chief Inspector! Will you be there tonight? Will you be watching the play?’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Banks said. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for anything.’ And he went on his way.

  14

  ONE

  The community hall was surprisingly full for the first night of an amateur production, Banks thought. There they all sat, chattering and coughing nervously before the play started: a party of fourth-formers from Eastvale Comprehensive, present under sufferance; friends and relatives of the cast; a group of pensioners; members of the local literary institute. The old boiler groaned away in the cellar, but it didn’t seem to be doing much good. There was a chill in the hall and most people kept their scarves on and their coats draped over their shoulders.

  Banks sat beside Sandra. Their seats, compliments of James Conran, were front and centre, about ten rows back. Further ahead, Banks could make out Susan’s blonde curls. The director himself sat beside her, occasionally leaning over to whisper in her ear. He could also see Marcia talking animatedly to a grey-haired man beside her.

  It was almost seven thirty. Banks eyed the moth-eaten curtain for signs of movement. Much as he enjoyed Shakespeare, he hoped the performance would not last too long. He remembered an actor telling him once in London that he didn’t like doing Hamlet because the pubs had always closed by the time it was over. Banks didn’t think Twelfth Night was that long, but a bad performance could make it seem so.

  Finally, the lights went off abruptly, there being no dimmer switch in the Eastvale Community Centre, and the curtains began to jerk open. Rusted rings creaked on the rail. The audience clapped, then made themselves as comfortable as they could in the moulded-plastic chairs.

  If music be the food of love, play on,

  Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,

  The appetite may sicken, and so die . . .

  So spoke the Duke, and the play was underway. The set was simple, Banks noticed. A few well-placed columns, drapes and portraits gave the impression of a palace. Banks recognized the music, played on a lute, as a Dowland melody, fitting enough for the period.

  Though he was no Shakespeare expert, Banks had seen two other performances of Twelfth Night, one at school and one in Stratford. He remembered the general plot but not the fine details. This time, he noticed, too many cast members shouted or rushed their lines and mauled the poetry of Shakespeare’s language in the process. On the other hand, the groupings and movements on stage constantly held the attention.
The way people faced one another or paced about as they talked kept everything in motion. From what little he knew of directing, Banks assumed that Conran himself was responsible for this. Occasionally, a member of the audience would shift in his or her seat, and there were quite a few present suffering from coughs and colds, but on the whole most people were attentive. When an actor or actress hesitated over lines, waiting for a prompt, nobody laughed or walked out.

  Faith and Teresa were good. They had the poise and the skill to bring off their roles, even if it was difficult to believe in Faith’s masquerade as a man. In their scenes together, though, there was an obvious tension, perhaps because Faith knew who had told Banks about her row with Conran, and Teresa knew who had told him about her jealousy over Caroline Hartley. Ironically, this seemed to give an edge to the performances, especially to Viola’s initial rudeness on their first meeting. The ambiguity of their relationship – Viola, dressed as a man, courting Olivia on her brother’s behalf – soon absorbed Banks. To hear Faith complimenting Teresa’s beauty was an odd thing indeed, but to watch their love blossom was even stranger.

  For Banks, this had a dark side, too. He couldn’t help but think of Caroline and Veronica, knowing, as the characters themselves did not, that both Viola and Olivia were female. Maria, the role that Caroline would have played, was an added reminder of the recent tragedy.

  During the intermission, Banks felt distracted. He left Sandra chatting with some acquaintances and nipped out on to North Market Street for a cigarette in the icy cold The dim gaslights glinted on the snow and ice, and even as he stood, a gentle snowfall began, flakes drifting down like feathers. He shuddered, flicked his half-smoked cigarette end into a grate and went back inside.

  The vague connection between the play and reality was beginning to make Banks feel very uneasy. By the fourth act, his attention began to wander – to thoughts of his recent interviews with Faith and Teresa and the pile of unread paperwork in his in-tray, including a report on the arrest of the vandals that Susan had stayed up half the night to prepare. Then his attention would return to the play in time to hear the Clown and Malvolio chatting about Pythagoras’s opinion of wild fowl, or Sebastian in raptures about the pearl Olivia had given him. He couldn’t maintain lasting concentration. There was something in his mind, a glimmer of an idea, disparate facts coming together, but he couldn’t grasp it, couldn’t see the complete picture yet. There was an element still missing.