Behind You! Page 5

  ‘Well, not me it don’t,’ he said. ‘No skin off my nose. Pantomime dame is all-consuming, see. If I’m not on stage, I’m changing. I have ten full changes, tights, knickers, eyelashes, all that sort of thing. So I don’t have a minute’s peace from curtain up till curtain down.’

  ‘And you were in your dressing room, changing, during the ultraviolet scene tonight?’

  Stephen nodded.

  Banham scribbled in his notebook. ‘Could anyone vouch for that? Was anyone with you?’

  ‘Well, no, as I explained, he’s a penny-pinching bastard. He won’t even pay for me to have a dresser, and I really need it. I mean, I have to change tights, and …’

  ‘Yes, understood,’ Banham broke in quickly. The last thing he needed at midnight was this petty whinging.

  ‘So no one to confirm your alibi then?’

  ‘Such as who?’ He seemed to be getting worked up. ‘There was no one. They were all in the scene.’

  ‘Apart from the stagehands?’

  ‘The stage crew was very thin tonight. It was just two work experience boys, and they were busy changing the set.’

  ‘How long does it take you to change?’

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ Stephen blurted.

  Banham looked up from his notes. ‘I didn’t say you did,’ he said mildly. ‘I asked how long it takes you to change.’

  ‘About three minutes for that change into the Island costume. I’m supposed to be shipwrecked, so it’s a minimal change, you see.’

  Banham didn’t. ‘And no one else was around.’

  Stephen shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. He brought a fat hand to his mouth and chewed on a nail like a hungry squirrel who had found a nut. Banham noticed how dirty his hands and nails were.

  ‘How well did you know Lucinda Benson?’

  ‘Not well. I only met her this year. She was new to the business, like. She was very young.’

  ‘Did you get on with her?’

  ‘Actually, I thought she was a bit naïve and too inexperienced for the job. She had a nice voice, but you couldn’t hear it past the footlights. What bloody good’s that? She bored the arses off of the kids ’cos they couldn’t bloody hear her. Then the likes of me then has to go on and work bloody hard to get them back, see. That’s why he books me every year, ’cos I know how to get the audience going.’ He moved in closer to Banham. ‘She only got the job because she was the producer’s bit on the side, if you really want to know. So no one dared to say much to her. But she got right on everyone’s nerves, I can tell you.’

  Banham studied his notes again. ‘You’ve worked for Michael Hogan for the last thirteen pantomimes?’

  ‘That’s right. I do dame for him every year.’

  ‘So you know him very well?’

  Stephen nodded. ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘Not now. He was, though – twice. The last one’s the mother of the girl what plays the fairy and choreographs the show. The marriage only lasted for a few years.’ He curled his mouth. ‘She wouldn’t put up with his infidelities, so she threw him out.’

  ‘What about his first wife?’

  Stephen removed a bit of fingernail from his mouth. ‘His first wife was Barbara Denis. She’s our star – plays the title role, Dick Whittington, the principal boy. It was years ago, mind, and the marriage hardly lasted. She made a record called “Oh Ho, You Know” back in the eighties. You might remember it?’

  Banham searched his memory. He couldn’t remember ever having heard the song. He shook his head. ‘Does she work for him every year? Or is it just this one?

  ‘He usually gives her a pantomime at Christmas. He must feel sorry for her. It’s hard to get work when you’re a woman in your fifties and, let’s face it, over the hill.’

  ‘How did she get on with Lucinda Benson?’

  Stephen pulled a pained face and scratched the inside of his ear. ‘She bloody hated her. They argued all through rehearsals. They had to work closely together too, sing love duets an’ all. Barbara kept saying Lucinda was singing flat, which she was. Michael wouldn’t get involved. He’s afraid of Barbara, she’s a monster, see, and Lucinda had him well wrapped around her finger too. He never could resist a pretty girl. Barbara tried to get me involved, but I said it didn’t matter how bloody flat the girl sang, seeing that she couldn’t project neither, even with a microphone.’

  ‘And the rest of the cast? How did they get on with Lucinda?’

  He shrugged. ‘No one said much. The producer was giving her one, and they all wanted to work next year. But no one really liked her. Except for Vincent …’

  ‘Vincent Mann,’ Banham said studying his piece of paper. ‘He plays Idle Jack, the comic?’

  ‘That’s right. Well, I know for a fact they were having a bit of a fling on the side too. I’m sure Michael didn’t know. He wouldn’t have been pleased. Vincent works very closely with her in the show. He has to pretend to be in love with her. And you know, in this business, one thing leads to another.’

  ‘So Lucinda was having a fling with Vincent, and with Michael?’

  Stephen nodded solemnly.

  ‘Do the rest of the cast know?’

  Stephen opened his fat arms and shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say for sure. I’m not one for gossiping, you see …’

  Banham chose to ignore that remark. ‘How do you get on with Vincent Mann?’ he asked.

  Stephen scratched his ear again. ‘Well, I’ll tell you straight, the man’s an idiot. He doesn’t know comedy. He presents a children’s series on morning television so he thinks he’s a star. Pantomime is an art, it takes experience. I’ve been working with live audiences all my life …’

  Banham was getting tired of this. ‘How do you get on with him?’ he snapped.

  Stephen blinked. ‘Like I say, he has a lot to learn.He thinks he knows comedy, but he don’t and I do. So, not well at all.’

  Banham said nothing. Stephen carried on, ‘He’s a married man, with two daughters. And he’s giving a nineteen-year-old girl a length. The man is an arsehole of the first degree, ain’t that a bloody fact.’

  Banham look back at his notes. ‘Right, thank you, that’ll be all for now,’ he said.

  ‘Can I go?’ Coombs said uncertainly.

  ‘You can.’ Banham looked up at the man. ‘But I believe you’ll be staying here tonight. There’s no public transport at this time and the roads are terrible. I might need to ask you some more questions, but that’s all for now.’

  ‘The show’s on tomorrow then?’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Stephen stood up and Banham noticed he was shaking. He paused as if about to say something else, but appeared to change his mind.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about anything you say to me,’ Banham said. ‘Everything is in confidence.’

  Stephen nodded, seeming reassured, but said no more. Then he left the room.

  Banham dragged his hands over his face. It was going to be a long night. The packet of fresh coffee stood on top of the fridge by the kettle, but the coffee pot was downstairs. He picked up his vending machine cup and drained the remains of the cold, muddy liquid. It tasted disgusting. He wondered if there might be another coffee pot.

  A grey metal filing cabinet stood in the corner of the room. He opened each of the three drawers in turn. Nothing in the first; some papers in the second. When he pulled open the bottom one he found himself gazing at a black leotard, black gloves and a pair of black tights.

  Chapter Four

  Crowther said he had personally name-tagged, counted and bagged up all the black costumes the actors were wearing at the time of the suspected murder, and given them to Penny Starr to take away for forensic testing. The young DC sometimes got above himself, but Banham was confident he was thorough. This was the company office; they probably kept a spare costume here for emergencies.

  He quickly took an evidence container from his briefcase and pulled on the latex gloves he kept i
n his pocket. He bagged the costume and dropped it back into the case, which he locked again right away.

  When he left the office, a man was standing at the top of the stairs. Banham recognised the thick-rimmed black glasses, red, blue and yellow jacket and bright yellow shoes. Vincent Mann, the television presenter.

  ‘I have to talk to you, alone,’ Mann whispered desperately.

  ‘No problem,’ Banham said. ‘One of us would have got round to you before the evening was out.’ He turned back towards the company office.

  ‘Not up there, it’s not safe.’ Vincent raised his hand and shook it nervously. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s had that office bugged. That’s probably why he offered it to you.’

  The man seemed unable to keep still; his whole body was shivering. Banham wondered if he took drugs. ‘OK, where is safe?’ he asked him.

  ‘Nowhere backstage.’ Vincent turned and hurried down the stairs. ‘Follow me.’

  Banham followed him – down the stairs, along the corridor and through the swing doors to the stage, where Penny Starr and the police exhibits officer were still working. Camera bulbs flashed and a video camera was trained on the area around the body. Banham lifted a hand to get Penny’s attention and pointed at his briefcase, mouthing, ‘Another evidence bag.’

  Vincent Mann was disappearing through the pass door into the auditorium. Banham followed him into the stalls, scanning the area to check where the exits were.

  The auditorium wasn’t large; Banham’s sharp eyes estimated there were about five hundred seats. Apart from the pass door, there were two exits at the back, both leading to the foyer, but no emergency access to the street.

  Vincent Mann was hurrying up the aisle towards the back of the stalls. In his bright clothes he looked like a clown, but Banham had the impression Mann was the exact opposite.

  Mann pulled down the scarlet velvet seat at the end of the back row and covered his face with his hands. ‘Lucinda’s death wasn’t an accident,’ he said, his voice only just audible.

  ‘OK. Tell me everything you know,’ Banham said noncommittally.

  Two tears fell from Vincent’s eyes and he lifted the back of his hand to catch them as they rolled down one side of his nose.

  Banham sat very still.

  Vincent sniffed loudly and said, ‘She’s been murdered. I know that for sure.’

  ‘How do you know for sure?’ Banham asked.

  ‘Lucinda was new to all this, and Stephen and Barbara were jealous of her.’ He felt around in his pocket for a handkerchief, Banham assumed. He didn’t find one. ‘They bullied her,’ he said. ‘And she couldn’t stand up for herself, so I decided I would.’ He paused, sniffed again and more tears fell. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. Banham waited in silence.

  ‘I went to Michael and threatened to walk out if he didn’t deal with it,’ Vincent said. ‘Michael needs me because the children know me – I’m on television every Saturday, so I pull the audiences in.’ He brushed his hands down both cheeks in an attempt to control his tears. ‘When Michael offered me the job, he told me he had very little money, that he was going bankrupt, so I said I’d work for free if he employed Lucinda as principal girl.’ He felt in his top pocket and found a tissue, which he used to wipe first his glasses then his eyes before putting it, practically disintegrated, back in his pocket. ‘If I hadn’t done that, she would still be here today.’

  ‘Were you having a relationship with her?’ Banham asked him.

  ‘Yes, I’m in love with her. We’ve been together for two years.’

  Banham rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Go on.’

  ‘If I walked out, Michael would have to pay someone to take my place, and I knew he wouldn’t want to do that. So I believed he’d sort it out.’

  ‘What did Michael say when you told him to sort it out?’

  ‘He said he’d tell my wife about Lucinda. Then he dismissed me as if I was an old sock.’ His voice rose, and Banham had to concentrate to understand what he was saying. He retrieved the crumpled tissue and rubbed one eye with what was left of it.

  ‘Take your time,’ Banham said, watching him roll the tissue into a ball.

  ‘I was furious. I followed Michael upstairs to his office. He slammed the door in my face. So I stood outside and listened.’ He paused and clenched his teeth. ‘I heard him tell Sophie that Lucinda had to go. I assumed he meant that he would sack her. I was going to have it out with him after the show.’ He put his hand to his mouth. ‘But then … they murdered her.’ He shook his head and stared at the floor.

  ‘What exactly did he say?’

  ‘His exact words were, “Lucinda has to go, at any cost!”’ He looked up and almost shouted at Banham. ‘At any cost, she had to go. That’s what they said.’

  He wiped his face in circular movements with one of the cuffs of his coloured jacket, reminding Banham of a cat washing itself. ‘They didn’t mention murder?’

  Vincent shook his head. ‘Of course not.’ His face crumpled like an unhappy child’s. More tears rolled down his face and he lifted his sleeve to wipe them again. ‘I know they’ve murdered her,’ he whispered.

  Banham gave him a couple of seconds to compose himself. ‘Tell me about the ultraviolet scene,’ he said. ‘The scene where she died.’

  Vincent ignored the question. ‘I got her the job. If I hadn’t got her the job she’d still be alive. They murdered her.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘They hit her with that concrete block. She was standing next to it at the end of the routine.’

  ‘Michael isn’t in the ultraviolet scene,’ Banham said. ‘He isn’t in the show at all. How are you suggesting he murdered her?

  The man was becoming hysterical. ‘Everyone is covered from head to foot in black; anyone could have been there.’

  ‘Could they?’ Banham asked.

  Vincent didn’t answer.

  ‘Do you know who is behind and in front of you in the scene?’ Banham asked him.

  ‘I don’t know anything. I’m useless at all that movement stuff. I don’t dance, I’m a television presenter. Sophie blames me, she says it’s my fault that people bump into each other all the time. I pick up the wrong fish too, but that’s because there isn’t anyone to help, and you can’t see much in those black balaclavas.’

  ‘When you bump into people, do you know who they are?’

  He seemed to be calming down. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Do any of the others?’

  ‘Sophie does, she choreographed it.She always knows exactly who went wrong.’

  Banham became thoughtful. ‘Is everyone about the same height in the routine?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so, apart from Sophie and Fay and the children, but the children are in a different line, in front of us.’

  ‘Is it just the children in that line?’

  ‘The professional dancers are with them, supposedly to help them. The children don’t need help though – they don’t go wrong. It’s us lot that picks up the wrong fish and bumps into each other.’

  Banham had heard enough. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you if I need to speak to you again.’

  Vincent turned to face him. ‘That’s it?’

  ‘For now, yes.’

  ‘You’re not arresting anyone?’

  Banham looked him in the eye. ‘We are making further enquiries. Meanwhile, I believe Michael has arranged for you to stay here tonight. The weather is bad and you have a show tomorrow.’

  ‘Will there be a post-mortem?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want to know the results!’

  Banham said nothing.

  ‘What about her parents? Has someone informed them?’

  ‘A liaison officer has gone to see them.’

  Mann stood up and clambered past Banham. ‘I’m not staying here,’ he said defiantly. ‘I’m driving home to my family.’

  Banham returned to the stage and gave Penny the forensics bag containin
g the black costume, imploring her to get a result as soon as possible. Then he decided to check on Alison. He wondered if she would have turned out as neurotic and theatrical as the people in this show if she had pursued a career in the theatre. He was glad she hadn’t, and even gladder she was on this case with him; other things aside, her knowledge of theatre and pantomime would be a great help.

  At the bottom of the spiral staircase he had to manoeuvre around about a dozen battered wooden skips overflowing with dusty costumes. He could hear Alison’s voice, and followed it toward a room at the side of the basement, with JUVENILES written on the door. He hesitated outside the door; there were no children waiting to be interviewed, so she must be taking the last statement. His reflection glared at him from a full-length mirror on the wall next to the door.Normally he avoided them, but this building was infested with them. At least now he understood why performers were so image-conscious; they were forced to spend most of their lives looking at themselves. He turned his head to get a view of his crown; the patch of thinning hair was more prominent than he had hoped. As a child he’d hated his baby-fine hair; the way the ends curled in the rain had earned him no end of teasing from his schoolmates and the nickname ‘Girly-Whirly.’ Suddenly that curly fine hair didn’t seem so bad, compared with none at all. The big four-oh was fast approaching, and he smiled to himself as he realised that it wasn’t the age that life began at – especially not for hair!

  He undid the button of his heavy sheepskin coat and turned sideways, quickly pulling his stomach in. His denim shirt was crumpled – and he’d only bought it because the label had stated clearly, Non Iron.

  That was when he saw the toy rabbit, stuck to the top of the mirror with Blu-Tac. It wore a white sash bearing the words Good Luck in large red letters. He turned sharply away, but the memory was back: his tiny daughter Elizabeth, her head unrecognisable, on her yellow bunny blanket. Her little body was covered in blood, and one hand reached out for help from her already dead mother.

  He took three deep breaths and the image receded. A few minutes went by before he felt able to open the door behind which Alison was working.

  She was sitting behind a large laundry basket, opposite the attractive middle-aged blonde woman he had met when he arrived. Beside the woman, on a child-sized bench, sat a slightly built girl with long, dark hair.