Death in the Spotlight

by Robin Stevens

  ‘I hated her, of course,’ said Martita. ‘I don’t need to lie. I wanted to play Juliet, and Frances – Miss Crompton – told me I would, until Rose auditioned. She’s more famous than I am after Happy Families was a success and so she’ll bring in better publicity, and Frances needs that. Measure for Measure closed after two weeks. But Rose never missed an opportunity to rub it in, as slyly as she could, that she was the star and I was not. She might have been charming on the surface, but she was a witch of a woman and I’m glad she’s dead. But, as I said, I didn’t murder her. If I had, I would have done much worse to her than tip her down a well. Although it’s … poetic justice, isn’t it? To really throw her down a well, after those posters?’

  ‘Which posters do you mean?’ asked Inspector Priestley, a cat that sees a mouse. My heart thumped at the memory.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ asked Martita, raising her eyebrows. ‘I thought you were in charge of this case. Someone had been sending Rose threats. First roses, with horrid notes; then peacock feathers – that’s a theatre superstition, Inspector: they’re supposed to be bad luck – and finally they ordered obscene posters that bragged about Rose being thrown down a well. And now she has been!’

  ‘Well, now I know,’ said the Inspector. ‘Thank you, Miss Torrera, you may go.’

  As Martita stood up to leave, I thought she looked rather uncomfortable, despite her bold bluster. I found myself feeling nervous. I was willing Martita to … to stop being so much like herself. She was such a forceful person, all teeth and claws, in spite of her hidden kindness – and I knew the Inspector well enough to realize that he was not impressed by her rudeness.

  ‘I must ask that you have your fingerprints taken by my colleague,’ said Inspector Priestley, ‘and hand over the costume you were wearing last night. Off you go – and remember, you may not leave this theatre.’

  ‘I promise,’ said Martita, and her light, quick steps passed me.

  ‘Ahem,’ said Daisy’s voice, very loud behind me. She was still acting the part of Efficient Police Secretary. ‘Inspector, I have Mr Carver to see you.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Wells,’ said Inspector Priestley, and I could see him trying not to smile.

  Simon came forward into the room. His tread was heavier than Martita’s, solid and steady, and he took his seat with a reassuring thump, stretching out easily.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said cheerfully. ‘How can I be of service?’ He was so very cheerful that I was instantly suspicious. Why was he not more upset?

  ‘You can begin by telling me what happened last night, Mr Carver,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘Of course, sir. I play the part of Mercutio, so I was here until – well, until the rehearsal ended, I guess. I’m on in Scene One, and then Scene Four.’

  ‘How long was rehearsal to continue?’

  ‘Until the end of Act Two, sir,’ said Simon. ‘But Scene Four was my final appearance.’

  ‘Then why did you stay?’ It was a clever question and I was impressed.

  ‘Oh, well – because Mr Leontes is on again in Scene Six. I love watching him. He’s incredible, a real inspiration to me. I’m here because of him. I – I wouldn’t be an actor without him. He brought me into this company, sponsored me when I first came over from the States. I can show you my papers if you want, by the way. They’re all in order.

  ‘Anyway, I went to see Jim at the stage door after my part in Scene One was over so I could have a smoke. Then I came back into the stalls to watch Mr Leontes in Scene Three, before I went on again for Scene Four. Mr Leontes and I spoke together in the stalls during our break. That’s where we were when the break ended and Rose got upset. She marched off the stage and later we heard …’ He paused.

  ‘Heard what?’ asked Inspector Priestley. ‘And when was this?’

  ‘It must have been just after nine. And, well, we heard Rose yelling at Martita,’ said Simon reluctantly. ‘So loud we heard her from onstage. She was saying something about Martita hurting her, but I know that’s just Rose exaggerating.’

  My skin prickled.

  ‘Hurting her?’ asked the Inspector.

  ‘Look – I don’t – I don’t think it meant anything. Rose was always saying mean stuff, to me and to everyone else. She was a nasty, angry person. Mr Leontes and I went backstage to check up on her, and saw Martita running out of Rose’s dressing room, really upset. Martita’s a great girl. We got to be friends during Measure for Measure. Man, it’s a pity how she’s been—’

  Simon stopped speaking again.

  ‘How she’s been what?’ asked Inspector Priestley.

  ‘It’s nothing, sir,’ said Simon. He still sounded so cheerful, I thought, though I knew he must be nervous. Simon was a friendly person, but hearing him now I suddenly wondered if there was a hollow space behind that cheerfulness. Was it real, or was it just a panicked show?

  ‘She wanted to be given Juliet, I know, though Rose won the part. I get it – I would’ve liked to be Romeo, but things don’t work out sometimes.’

  ‘But instead you were cast as Mercutio?’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’d have to ask Frances about that, sir,’ said Simon. ‘Since you can’t ask Rose.’

  There was something in his tone that made me grip my pencil tighter.

  ‘Why would Rose have had anything to do with you being cast as Mercutio, Mr Carver?’ asked the Inspector. ‘Surely that isn’t the decision of another actor or actress.’

  ‘If you’d known Rose, you wouldn’t ask that,’ Simon told him. ‘I won’t say anything more about it.’

  It was as though an iron curtain had come down. He would only say that he had gone back to his own dressing room after seeing Martita, and that’s where he was when he heard the hunt for Rose begin, just after nine thirty. So, I thought, looking back at my notes from Martita’s interview, he had been alone during those twenty minutes.

  ‘I think that’s everything, Mr Carver,’ the Inspector said at last. ‘One final question: did you like Rose Tree?’

  ‘With all due respect, that’s not the right question, sir,’ said Simon.

  ‘And what might the right question be, Mr Carver?’

  Simon got up. ‘Did Rose Tree like me?’ he said. ‘Or to be more accurate – did Rose Tree like the colour of my skin?’

  And he strode to the doorway.

  ‘See my officer to have your fingerprints taken and your costume examined!’ the Inspector called after him.

  ‘Well,’ he said into the silence. I peeped through the gap in the wardrobe doors and saw him staring into space, looking very thoughtful. I was thoughtful too. Simon did not have an alibi. And, from what he had said, it seemed as though he might have had a real reason to resent Rose Tree.

  4

  Daisy was back, a minute later, with Inigo Leontes, and his presence made the office space feel suddenly very small and very dingy.

  ‘Inspector!’ he bellowed, striding through the door as though he was the general in a battle scene. ‘I am here to answer your questions!’

  ‘Very good, Mr Leontes,’ said the Inspector. ‘Please do take a seat.’

  ‘I prefer,’ said Inigo, throwing out his arm and billowing his cloak, ‘to stand.’

  ‘By all means,’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘If you could begin with an account of your movements yesterday evening.’

  But it took Inigo a while to get to the murder. He could not stop talking about the Rue and its successes. In a way, I thought, that was rather like a magician doing a trick, making you watch the bright thing in his right hand so you will not see the truly important thing in his left.

  ‘This theatre is a wonderful place!’ he cried. ‘Frances – Miss Crompton – has nurtured it to become the only place to see Shakespeare. She raised me up as a younger actor when other theatres would only use me to shock audiences with the colour of my skin, and now I repay her by directing her wonderful productions. We collaborated on Measure for Measure only this spring
, in which I introduced London to my protégé, Simon Carver—’

  ‘But Measure for Measure closed after only a few weeks, did it not?’ asked the Inspector.

  Inigo opened his mouth silently, as though he had been given the wrong cue and couldn’t think what line he should say in response.

  The Inspector continued. ‘Of course, the Rue is important to you and Miss Crompton. But I gather that you may not be in easy financial circumstances currently. Now that a woman has been killed, will you not have to close this production too?’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Inigo, his tone almost sulky. ‘You will have to speak to Miss Crompton about that.’

  ‘Mr Leontes, things do not look well for your cast members,’ the Inspector went on. ‘As far as I can make out, the only suspects seem to be the people I have gathered in the bar area. The Rue operates a strict signing in and out policy, so we can be certain of who was in the theatre at the time of Rose Tree’s disappearance.’

  ‘Such a dreadful thought!’ cried Inigo. He put his palm to his forehead, and I saw that he once again knew his part. ‘But it is true. Doorman Jim is ever-watchful. I must assure you, though, good sir, that although I was present, I myself am in no way involved. As I play Friar Lawrence in this production, as well as directing, I was onstage for Act Two, Scene Three. After the end of my scene, I went back into the stalls. Young Simon came to sit near me during our break, after his part in Scene Four was over, and we spoke for several minutes about his performance, and how it might be improved.

  ‘Rose then came onstage for Scene Five, still in her balcony-scene nightdress, announced that she wouldn’t perform any more that evening and flounced away again. Martita was sent after her. We – that is, Miss Crompton, Simon and myself – all heard the beginning of their altercation, and Miss Tree’s scream, and hurried backstage just in time to see Martita running away from the room in some distress. She told us all that it was best to leave Rose alone for the present. I felt it was prudent to follow her advice. Simon and Lysander – who had also come back down from his dressing room to listen in to the argument – returned upstairs, and I went back onto the stage with Frances.’

  The Inspector’s pencil was shooting across his notebook, and so was mine.

  ‘And what happened next?’ he asked.

  ‘Next? Frances and I discussed some ideas we had for set design,’ said Inigo. ‘Then I went to stand at the stage door and speak to Jim, and Frances went to the ladies’ room, I believe. So, you see, the last I heard from her, Rose Tree was alive and screaming.’

  ‘And what was she screaming?’ asked the Inspector.

  ‘Oh, something theatrical – what was it? Yes, I have it. You will murder me, I believe. Misspoken, of course; the true line is: they will murder thee.’

  My heart jumped. Why had Martita and Simon not said this? And was it just a line from Romeo and Juliet or something more sinister?

  ‘Did you like Rose Tree?’ asked Inspector Priestley.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Inigo. ‘My vision was for her to play Juliet opposite Simon as Romeo, but she put an end to that. Said she wouldn’t kiss him because – well, because of the colour of his skin. Said we couldn’t make her. Since that was true, and since she is already the talk of London while he’s still finding his feet, we had no choice. Simon became Mercutio and Rose got a fair Romeo, not a black one. The West End must wait a little longer to fall in love with a black man, it seems, although I am proof that they will pay to watch one act out a tragedy. But that is a minor disappointment, Inspector!’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘Now, if you could speak to my colleague about having your fingerprints taken and your costume looked at, I think that will be all. I can hear Miss Wells at the door with my next subject.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector,’ said Inigo magnificently. ‘I trust you will find me innocent as soon as possible.’

  But I saw that his hands trembled a little as he said it.

  5

  Next was Lysander, and he was in a dreadful funk.

  ‘I don’t see why this is necessary,’ he muttered, shuffling down in his seat and crossing his arms.

  ‘Mr Tollington, a woman is dead,’ said the Inspector. ‘Does that not matter to you?’

  ‘Millions die every day from government neglect,’ said Lysander, beginning his favourite topic. ‘Do you see anyone caring about them?’

  ‘I see a great many people caring about them, and I also see that you are trying to change the subject. Now, you are the son of Admiral Manfred Tollington, are you not?’

  ‘No!’ said Lysander. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Inspector Priestley mildly. ‘Raised at Parkview Hall near Rochester, schooled at Eton and RADA.’

  ‘So?’ muttered Lysander, sinking even lower down in his chair. I almost laughed. Lysander spent so much time railing against the wealthy and entitled, pretending he had to scrimp and save, but all the time he was really just like Daisy.

  ‘I am simply trying to understand you. Now, what were your movements last night?’

  ‘I don’t remember,’ muttered Lysander. ‘I was onstage! I’m Romeo – I’m on for all the scenes we were rehearsing.’

  ‘But I heard you left the stage after Scene Four, during the break.’

  ‘No!’ said Lysander. ‘I tell you – I was onstage until Martita came to tell us that Rose wasn’t in her dressing room.’

  ‘Were you?’ murmured Inspector Priestley. ‘Mr Leontes tells me that he saw you come down from your dressing room during the altercation between Martita and Rose Tree, and that you followed Simon Carver back upstairs to the dressing rooms after it was over. So you must have gone upstairs after the end of Scene Four. Mr Leontes remained onstage with Miss Crompton, but you were not there.’

  ‘All right, I suppose I was. I needed some time on my own,’ said Lysander, getting crosser and crosser. ‘I went back upstairs after the row too, but I was at the stage door smoking when Martita began to shout that Rose had disappeared. Really, this play is cursed. You’ve heard about those threats against Rose? Whoever was behind them sent her absolutely mad. She was behaving like a nightmare, and she made sure we were all as unhappy as possible as well.’

  ‘So, you didn’t like Rose Tree?’ asked Inspector Priestley.

  ‘Wait! I – look, Rose annoyed me. But – we were very close. Artistic temperaments, you understand? We argued, but it spurred on our acting. Romeo and Juliet have a fiery relationship and life imitated art. Rose was … well, she was a beauty.’

  I thought back to the arguments I’d seen between Rose and Lysander, how cruel he had been to her, and how furious she had seemed. And I was sure that Lysander was not telling the whole truth.

  ‘See here, I didn’t kill her!’ he cried. ‘I wouldn’t! I have no reason to. I loved her, I tell you. You can – you can put that in your pipe and smoke it!’

  ‘I’m more of a cigarettes man, I’m afraid,’ said the Inspector. ‘What do you smoke, Mr Tollington?’

  ‘Roll-ups,’ said Lysander. ‘That’s what we all smoke here. Anything else would be bourgeois. Can I go?’

  ‘You may,’ said the Inspector.

  Lysander leaped up and dashed out of the office as though he was being chased.

  Inspector Priestley leaned back in his chair and stared upwards. ‘What is that quote?’ he said, seemingly to himself. ‘Oh yes … the gentleman doth protest too much, methinks. Not quite the right play, but it will do.’

  6

  There was a knock on the door, and Jellicoe, the police officer who had arrived at the Rue first, stepped into the room. As I looked at his blue-coated back from my hiding place, he appeared very tall indeed, and almost imposing.

  ‘Coroner’s here, sir,’ he said. ‘Wants to have a word. Do you have a moment?’

  ‘Yes, all right, Jellicoe,’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘Tell the other witnesses that they’ll have to wait a little longer. I think it’ll be good for them.’

&nb
sp; ‘Yes, sir,’ said Jellicoe, sounding rather pleased. ‘They’re all stewing, sir. I keep on stepping out, just as you suggested, and every time I come back I hear another little titbit.’

  ‘Excellent, Jellicoe. Well, lead on.’

  They left the room together, and the door closed with a thump.

  Only a breath later it opened again.

  ‘Hazel!’ hissed Daisy’s voice into the silence. ‘Hazel, where are you— Oh! Hello.’

  I had unfolded myself with difficulty from the wardrobe and was crawling out of it. I did not do it in a particularly ladylike manner, and I thumped onto the carpet, red-faced and panting.

  ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a fearful lot of information, Daisy!’

  ‘Oh, so have I!’ cried Daisy. ‘Inspector Priestley is a genius. He’s got them all crammed together in the bar, and they keep on accusing each other. Martita’s blaming Lysander for all the horrid threats, Simon thinks it’s Miss Crompton’s fault, Miss Crompton and Inigo have been whispering together furiously about alibis and Annie is sitting in the corner, talking everyone’s ear off about all the murders she’s ever read about in the newspapers. But they’re all quite clear about timings. Rose and Martita had their argument at about five past nine, and then Martita looked in on Rose’s dressing room just before half past, and found that she’d gone. We know the murder must have happened sometime in between!’

  ‘I know!’ I said. ‘And no one has an alibi for that time yet. Lysander and Simon were both alone in their dressing rooms, Martita was running around the Rue, and, even though Miss Crompton and Inigo were onstage together for a while, they left before Martita raised the alarm. Inigo says he went to visit Jim at the stage door, and I think Miss Crompton was in the loo – but they were alone! Any of them might have done it!’

  ‘Timings are going to be exceedingly important in this case,’ said Daisy, nodding. ‘We must recreate the crime at the earliest opportunity. And I wonder what the— Oh, quick! I can hear them coming back! Those clodhopping shoes … back in the wardrobe, Watson!’