Dead on Cue (21 page)

‘Why did you?' asked Potter, curious.

Mike gave a deep sigh and Meg answered for him.

‘Change of job, alas. The company Mike was working for moved their headquarters to Milton Keynes and we didn't think that was quite . . .' She gave a little smile. ‘Anyway, we decided to come to Sussex and we ended up in Oakbridge. But quite frankly, Inspector, the Odds are not to our liking. We are thinking of leaving and forming our own company, aren't we, darling?'

She leaned over and squeezed his hand and he gazed at her with apparent adoration.

‘We want to play
Heloise and Abelard
, a two-hander,' she continued. ‘Do you know it?'

‘Yes,' Tennant answered shortly. His ex-wife and her lover had performed it and though he had not gone to see it, other friends had and told him it was glutinously cloying.

Tennant cleared his throat. ‘As I was saying, we are here to enquire about the death of Emma Simms. So if you don't mind awfully I would like to ask you some questions.'

Mike joined Meg on the sofa where they sat closely side by side with identical expressions of avid interest. Tennant felt a wild desire to giggle, which he fought back manfully.

‘I'm going to talk about the one and only night she was there. Now, just to fill me in completely can you tell me what scenes you were in and what you were doing when you were off stage, as it were.'

They both spoke together then Mike gave a deprecating little laugh and said, ‘Ladies first.'

‘I wasn't in the first scene, of course, that was Paul Silas, solo.' Her mouth tightened as she said this and Mike muttered, ‘Naturally!'

Meg continued. ‘The second scene was the building of the castle and I wafted on in medieval gear as the first Lady Beau De Grave, accompanied by Paul and most of the men as the builders.'

‘Had you seen Miss Simms by this time?'

‘Yes, she was in the dressing room when I arrived.'

‘Yes, she was,' echoed Mike.

‘And what happened after that?'

‘Well, I had a long pause during the trouble with the See of Canterbury scene. I wandered about a bit in my Elizabethan costume and it was then that I saw Emma . . .'

Meg stopped short and her face flushed a dusky unbecoming red.

‘Oh yes,' asked Tennant, ‘and where would that have been?'

‘I can't really remember.'

‘I think you can, Mrs Alexander.'

‘I believe it was going up the stairs leading to the battlements.'

‘I see,' answered the inspector – and he did, a great deal. He felt rather than saw Potter stiffen beside him and he let his sergeant ask the next question.

‘Was it you, Mrs Alexander, who climbed the spiral stairs and poked Robin Green in the back of the legs, causing him to fall down? And I warn you that to lie at this juncture could do a lot more harm than good. You have made it perfectly clear that you hated the Odds and wanted to form a separate company. Either that or to take them over completely. Wouldn't it have suited your purpose to make them look like a load of amateur halfwits? Which, no doubt, was in your mind when you gave Robin a hearty shove.'

Meg battled with herself, wondering what to do for the best, ignoring Mike's signals to keep quiet. Eventually she spoke with such patent dislike that Tennant was vividly reminded of Lady Macbeth and wondered if he was in the presence of a killer.

‘Yes I did – and why not? I really resented Green being given that part. Mike should have done it. He's very fit – plays golf, squash, goes to the gym – he was ideal for the role. But no! It was Robin's turn to get a good part and so the little runt was given it. So I thought I would spoil his big moment for him. I went up the stairs and saw the bear standing on the battlements. The poor little soul must have wanted a better view or something. Anyway, I knocked Robin down and retreated fast.'

‘Did you then go up the other stairs and push Gerry Harlington from behind?' asked Tennant in a calmly quiet voice.

‘No, I didn't. I didn't know that he was there or I might have been tempted. You find the person who knew about the substitution and you will have got your murderer, Inspector.'

Even though he didn't want to, Tennant found himself both believing and agreeing with her. Nevertheless, she had committed an act of assault on Robin Green and would be charged accordingly.

‘Potter, charge Mrs Alexander with assault will you.'

Meg snarled and it struck Tennant yet again what a dangerous woman she could be.

‘I did nothing more than tap the man on the legs. It was his own lack of control that made him fall down.'

‘That still amounts to an assault in the eyes of the law, madam,' Tennant said grimly. ‘If I were you I would try and keep my deepest feelings under control in future.' He stood up. ‘I shall expect you at Lewes Police Headquarters at eight o'clock tomorrow morning sharp.'

Meg rolled a fearful eye. ‘But we live in Oakbridge. We shall have to get up at six.'

‘Be sure to set your alarm,' said Tennant. ‘Good evening to you.'

J
onquil eventually left the vicarage at ten, her tears, temporarily at least, dried up and a shadow of a smile on her face. Nick would in other circumstances have asked her to stay the night, regardless of the many Lakehurst eyebrows that would have shot up, but frankly he was afraid that William might get up to his tricks. During the evening Nick had gone to the upstairs lavatory and had received two loud knocks on the door.

‘William, stop it,' he had ordered loudly, only to be rewarded with a third – but very gentle tap – before the ghost had retreated.

Nick had had the feeling that the loyal old entity was in a good mood because later that evening, after Jonquil had gone, Nick could hear the strangest shuffling on the landing. Going to the door of the living room he had listened carefully and had concluded that this blithest of spirits – to quote Noel Coward – was dancing Gathering Peascods or Big Breasted Susan or something of that ilk. He had thought then that the resident ghost somehow enhanced the house with its presence, a view not shared by Radetsky who arched his back and hissed at the noise. Nick had added his voice.

‘Now, William, I want you to be quiet tonight because I feel in urgent need of sleep. Miss Charmwood has quite worn me out.'

He laughed at the double entendre but did not hear another sound until he was awoken by something pressing on his pillow. Slightly panicky, he switched on the light, but it was only the cat who had sneaked up in the night and crept on to the bed with him. Nick turned off the alarm and had another hour's sleep.

Ekaterina was having a horrible nightmare. She dreamed that her late husband had opened the door of her bedroom and was advancing slowly towards her bed. He looked terrible, his black skin peeling away from his bones and his baseball cap, worn sideways, pulled down over one decomposing ear. She tried to scream but as is the way with those in the grip of a bad dream no sound came out. Eventually she managed to make a noise and woke to find the bedroom empty but the door open, which gave her something of a shock. Getting out of bed she went down the silent, dark corridor until she came to the staircase. There was a child sitting on the stairs, she saw it quite distinctly before it faded into the shadows. Going down to the kitchen Ekaterina poured herself a brandy and sat there sipping until the first streaks of dawn shafted like anemones across the sky. Then she went upstairs and packed enough clothes for a few days' absence.

Her decision had been reached. In a few minutes' time she would get into her car and drive to London to put the house on the market with a top-flight estate agent. It was not that she did not like the place – she had loved it on first sight – but since Gerry's murder it had somehow become sinister. It needed a family in it to laugh and make a lot of noise. It was enclosing her and she would become immured if she did not make an escape. And since it was hers in her own right, paid for by her and with her own name on the deeds, she was free to sell it whenever she so wished. But where to go in the meantime? That was the puzzle.

Ekaterina suddenly sat down on her dressing table stool and cried her eyes out. Not for Gerry, though she had loved him once in an immature, girlish way. But because now something new had happened to her. For the first time she had got proper grown-up feelings for a man and – unbelievably – his daughters.

It was not the attraction of the castle. She could have purchased one of those without turning a hair, well a small curl anyway. No, it was Rufus Beaudegrave that she wanted, longed for him to take her in his arms and hold her tightly until the nightmare of Gerry's death and that poor girl who had been drowned in the moat was far behind her.

Ekaterina suddenly went cold all over. In the mirror, staring round the door and into the room, she could see the small child that had been sitting on the stairs. Terrified, Ekaterina looked straight into its eyes. The little boy smiled and waved his childish hand before vanishing from her sight. Scared nonetheless, Ekaterina grabbed her suitcase and ran down the stairs and into her car, then set off in the direction of London.

It was still early in the morning when Tennant knocked on Oswald's door. Today the inspector was wearing a lavender suit and purple tie as he had an evening appointment to appear on
Crimetime
– a regular monthly television programme that frightened yet fascinated the nation – and would have no time to change. So he was feeling fractionally overdressed as the front door opened to reveal a large man with a bald head and glasses who stared at him as if he had come from another planet.

‘Good morning,' said Tennant pleasantly. ‘I am Inspector Dominic Tennant from Sussex Police. I wonder if I could have a brief word with Oswald Souter please.'

‘He's having his breakfast,' the bald man answered. ‘But come in if you like.'

Tennant followed him through a narrow passageway to a room at the back where a television set was playing an early morning chat show. Oswald was gazing at it while shovelling in massive spoonfuls of muesli and spilling drops of milk on the plastic tablecloth. He looked up in some surprise as the inspector walked into the room.

‘Oh hello,' he said offhandedly.

‘Good morning, Oswald,' Tennant replied in ringing tones. ‘Please carry on eating. I've only just popped in briefly.'

‘What for?'

‘For the reason that I am making enquiries into the death of Emma Simms, who, if you remember, was the girl found floating in the moat. Well, the post-mortem has revealed that she was knocked unconscious, then heaved into the water while still alive. That's a horrible way to go, don't you think?'

Oswald nodded, his mouth too full of cereal to utter anything.

‘Shame,' he said monosyllabically, after swallowing.

‘Did you know Miss Simms at all? Outside the Odds I mean?'

Oswald put down his spoon and regarded Tennant with a suspicious eye.

‘No. I didn't even know the bear was her, if you see what I mean. I thought it was Jonquil. It wasn't until she squeaked at me that I realized. Then I sent her on her route.'

‘Why? What was she doing?'

‘Oh, just wandering around where she shouldn't have been.'

‘Could you be more specific?'

Oswald attacked the last of his muesli. ‘Not really,' he managed in between gulps. ‘She was just ambling round the place and I had to tell her to get out of the way. Her big scene was coming.'

‘You mean the Elizabethan Fair?'

‘Yep. That was no time for her to try and see the rest of the show.'

‘Was that what she was doing?'

‘I guess so. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

The bald-headed man stuck his head round the door.

‘Sorry, Inspector, but Oswald's got to run if he is going to catch his train.'

‘All right, Dad, I'm going.' The young man stood up. ‘Have you finished with me?'

‘Yes, thank you. For the time being anyway.'

Oswald picked up a battered-looking backpack from the chair beside him and ran a protruding comb through his brownish hair.

‘Well, see you later.'

‘Goodbye.' And Tennant rose politely to his feet. The bald-headed man took a seat at the table and poured himself a mug of tea.

‘Would you like a cup?'

‘No, thanks very much. You're Oswald's father I take it.'

‘Yes, that's right. It's just me and him. I lost his mother ten years ago.'

Tennant made the right noises, wishing that people would use another phrase when referring to death.

‘I'm Norman, by the way.' The man stretched across the table and pumped Tennant's hand heartily. ‘Pleased to meet you.'

‘How do you do? It must have been quite a struggle for you bringing up the boy on your own.'

‘It was. But fortunately Oswald has always had an interest in drama. I sent him to Kids Got Talent when he was only five and he wiped the floor with the rest of the bunch. Took the lead in everything. But lately he's been more concerned with the directing side. It was a boon to him when he joined the Odds. He's gone from strength to strength with them.'

‘What did he make of Gerry Harlington?'

‘Well, to be perfectly honest . . .' Norman leant across the table. ‘Oswald didn't take to him one little bit. He came home and said “Dad, I don't reckon that fellow. I think he's going to muck the show right up.” And wasn't he right? I went to the dress rehearsal and I saw that terrible dance Gerry did. It was diabolical.'

‘Well, it seems everyone agreed on that point. And somebody murdered him as a result.'

‘Yes, that was going too far, I must admit.'

Tennant didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He changed the direction of the conversation.

‘Tell me about the stagehand who moved the dummy. Did you know him?'