Murder Most Frequent: three more Inspector Constable mysteries (The Inspector Constable Murder Mysteries Book 5)

by Roger Keevil

  Constable stored the thought away in the back of his mind. “So you say everyone came into the theatre at two o'clock?”

  “Well, more or less. Delia Armstrong came in a bit earlier, but she usually does if she's got props to lay out ready. And Don Abbott got here just at the same time Stuart and Will came back from the pub, and he grabbed Stuart – said he wanted a quiet word with him. Of course, I was sat here in my little booth with the hatch open, and you can't help overhearing if someone's right outside.”

  “And the quiet word was …?” coaxed Constable.

  “Something about needing more time to sort the money out, and Stuart told him to get on with it, because he wasn't prepared to wait for ever. Mind you, as far as I know, everything was ready to start the rehearsal on time.”

  “So all the other people were in by then?”

  “No. Miss Hamilton's taxi dropped her off a few moments later, and then Matthew Edwards and Jessica Davenport came in just after that – I think he'd given her a lift. Oh, and Angela Bailey rushed in about five minutes before they were due to start, but that's like her – she's always late for everything. Not that it really mattered, because they weren't using costumes because it wasn't a proper dress rehearsal until this evening.”

  “So we now have the entire dramatis personae on the scene.” Constable permitted himself a small quip, but was rewarded only by a slightly odd stare from the stage doorman. “What about after that?”

  “I didn't really see anybody much after that,” said Castle, “being as they were mostly on and around the stage, and I was here in my booth. I just had my little radio on – actually, there was quite a good play on this afternoon – a nice old-fashioned Dorothy Sayers. Not like some of the modern rubbish they stick on that stage through there.” He gestured dismissively. “Mind you, I did hear a few bits and pieces.”

  “How's that then, sir, if you were here and everyone else was through onstage?”

  “There's this loudspeaker system rigged up so that you can hear what's going on onstage when you're in the dressing rooms or in the offices,” answered Castle, pointing to a small speaker affixed to the top of the wall opposite his hatch opening. “It's normally on all the time, but generally I just sort of tune out of it. But that's how I heard the row about the lighting.”

  The inspector's attention was alerted. “And what row would that be, sir?”

  “I think that's the one I mentioned to you, sir,” murmured Copper.

  “I missed the very start of it,” continued Castle, “because I wasn't really taking much notice, but then Stuart was going on at David hammer and tongs, and Miss Hamilton was telling him not to be unreasonable, and Jessica was crying, and Don was trying to calm everybody down. That was about five o'clock, when the tech finished. But then I suppose Stuart must have gone off, because it all died down.”

  “I see.” Constable mused for a moment. “And can you tell us anything about Mr. Nelson's movements after that?”

  “I did see him about ten to six, because Miss Hamilton was coming down from her room, and he was chasing after her and trying to get her to hang on. But she said, 'Don't you talk to me!', and then she stormed out of the theatre, but I've no idea what that was about. One of their usual rows, I expect – well, you have to expect it with these tempestuous theatricals. It happens all the time, whoever we've got in here. And then Stuart went back up towards the dressing rooms.”

  “Did you see him after that at all?”

  “I did. In fact, it was the last time I did see him – well, alive, that is. It was about quarter past six, and I'd popped down to the Green Room to make myself a cup of tea. I asked Delia if she wanted one but she said no, she was busy, and when I came back up I saw Stuart heading up the stairs. I heard him muttering something about 'the damned electrics' under his breath, so I suppose he was heading up towards the lighting box, but he had a face like thunder, so I just looked the other way.”

  “The lighting box?” queried Constable. “Wouldn't that normally be out somewhere at the top of the auditorium?”

  “It is,” confirmed Castle, “but at the top of these stairs, there's a pass door and a little corridor which goes through, so's you don't need to go through front-of-house. And the sound room lives up there as well.”

  “And I'm afraid I interrupted you, Mr. Castle. You were saying about how you saw Mr. Nelson heading in that direction …?”

  “Well, that was it, really. I came back in here with my tea, and I saw Miss Hamilton come in through the stage door just before a quarter to seven. And I was sat here reading my paper, when all of a sudden the lighting started to flicker, and I heard a bang from upstairs, just like I tried to tell your sergeant here, so I ran up to the dressing rooms. Everybody was standing in the corridor, all saying 'what's going on?', except for Stuart, so I knocked on his door, and when there was no answer, I went in and found him. So then I got everyone to wait downstairs while I went and dialled 999.”

  “Which is where I came in, guv,” said Copper.

  Constable mused for a moment. “Then I think that will do for the present, Mr. Castle. If I can just ask you to stay here at your post, if you will. I have officers conducting a search of the building, so if they have any queries, perhaps you would assist them as necessary.”

  “Of course, sir.” Castle almost saluted, as the two detectives creaked to their feet from the extremely uncomfortable folding chairs and made their way back into the corridor.

  *

  “Lighting box? Flickering lights? Any connection, do you suppose, guv?” said Dave Copper.

  “Not impossible,” replied Andy Constable. “So let's see if we can find our way to this pass door and check it out.” He led the way up the stairs.

  At the very top, next to an iron ladder set into the wall which appeared to lead to a hatch to the roof, and opposite an ordinary panelled door marked 'Wardrobe' from which emanated the sound of a sewing machine in action, lurked another door, only about five feet in height, which bore a boldly-painted 'KEEP CLOSED' legend.

  “This, I take it, is the pass door,” said Constable.

  “Bit small, isn't it, guv?” observed Copper. “Who's it designed for – munchkins?” He grasped the handle and pulled. “Blimey – this thing weighs a ton! What's it made of – cast iron?”

  “You know, I think you're probably right, sergeant. It's obviously all part of the theatre's fire precautions, like the safety curtain. Time was, in the nineteenth century, they had theatres burning down left, right, and centre because they were all using gas lighting, so they started building them with a fire barrier between the stage and the public areas. That's what this is.”

  “Well, I suppose it's better to have your arm pulled out of its socket than to get fried,” muttered Copper, massaging his shoulder. “After you, guv.”

  Constable crouched to pass through the door and entered the blessedly full-height, but extremely narrow and grimy corridor behind it. Two or three small windows at intervals gave a view down into the auditorium below. Avoiding the selection of dangling cobwebs, the detectives emerged through a conventional door at the far end, to find themselves in a further corridor with two doors off it, marked 'F.X.' and 'L.X.' respectively. Behind the first, which stood open, could be seen the back view of William Mott, leaning on the desk before him and looking out through the windows on to the front of the stalls and the stage curtain. He turned at the sound of the detectives' approach.

  “This is Mr. Mott, sir,” said Copper. “He's the F.X. man.”

  “I beg your pardon, sergeant?”

  “Sorry, sir – it's just some jargon they use in theatre,” replied Copper, with only the tiniest hint of smugness. “Bit of a play on words, so to speak. 'F.X.' - sounds like 'effects', see. It means he does all the sound for the production. It's like 'L.X' next door – 'elecs', short for electrics.”

  “Yes, well, thank you for the tutorial, sergeant,” remarked Constable with a touch of asperity. “So, Mr. Mott, I am what my sergean
t here might call the police man – Detective Inspector Constable ...” He produced his warrant card. “... and I'm hoping that you may be able to help me with some information.” The swift look up and down at Will Mott's appearance, and the slight flicker in the inspector's expression, hinted at doubts.

  “Of course, inspector.” Will's cheerful smile, the hand held out for a robust handshake, and the clearly well-educated accent, warned Constable of the perils of judging a book by its cover. “Ask me anything you like. Mind you,” he continued, “if you want the one who killed Stuart Nelson, don't bother to look any further – I'm your man.” The shocked look on the faces of both detectives caused him to hurry on before they could respond. “Sorry, joke in very bad taste.”

  “Would you care to explain the nature of this joke, Mr. Mott?” Constable did not sound remotely amused.

  “I'm sorry, inspector.” Will was immediately contrite. “You're right – it's not funny at all. No, I was talking about the play. There's this shooting effect during Act Two, you see, and I have to cue it, so I would have been responsible for killing Stuart every night. Except tonight, of course,” he added hastily.

  “I think you'd better elucidate a little more, sir,” said Constable.

  “It's actually one of Delia's props,” explained Will. “She's brilliant at making that sort of thing. There's a tiny explosive device built into one of Stuart's costumes, so that when someone supposedly shoots at him, a charge goes off in his jacket and it looks as if he's been hit by a bullet. They use them a lot in films.”

  “I always wondered how they did that,” commented Copper, intrigued. “So how exactly does it work, sir?”

  “I'll show you,” said Will, turning to the bank of switches in front of him. “It's very simple. It's all electronic – Delia's built it so that I hit this button on my sound board here which makes the sound of the shot, and at the same time sends a radio signal to fire the explosion. Of course, Props have to replace it for every performance, and Angela has to sew a new breast pocket on to Stuart's jacket each time, but it looks really good. Great way to kill someone.” He shook his head sadly. “All gone to waste now, of course.” He stopped in the realisation of what he had said. “Sorry, inspector – that's not what I meant. It just came out wrong.”

  “So may I take it, sir, that you would have no wish to do Mr. Nelson any harm?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Good friends, then?”

  Will considered for a moment. “Maybe that's going a bit far. I mean, Stuart was all right, I suppose – I never had too much trouble with him, but we all got on the wrong side of him from time to time. Well, except for Jessica, of course.”

  “Oh? In what way, sir?”

  “For some reason, he always seemed to gravitate towards the young actresses. He's actually quite notorious for it around the business – everyone calls it 'The Nelson Touch'. I mean, I don't know that he ever actually did anything he shouldn't,” said Will hastily, “but I still think it's a bit creepy, and I don't think Jessica was too keen on it, but sometimes in this business you have to be nice to the boss or you don't get the work.”

  “So, Mr. Nelson had an eye for the ladies.” Constable squirrelled the information away in the back of his mind for further consideration. “Can we come on to practicalities, Mr. Mott. Would you fill us in on the events of the day as you saw them? And sergeant, ...”

  “On it, sir,” said Copper, producing his notebook.

  “I was in this morning sorting out some final details on sound – there's always something that has to be tweaked whichever theatre you're in – and then Stuart asked me if I wanted to go over to the pub for some lunch, so I did. And when we came back, Don Abbott had just come out of the bookies' next door, and he grabbed Stuart as we came in, and I went on down to my control board at the back of the stalls.”

  “I thought this was your control board,” commented Constable.

  “Oh, it's the main one,” explained Will, “but I've got a sort of temporary one downstairs, just for tech and dress rehearsals, which works in parallel. Otherwise I'd be forever up and down the stairs. Anyway, after that I was all over the place at different times, adjusting equipment. In fact ...” Will paused in thought. “Come to think of it, there was a funny atmosphere about the place all day. Wherever you went, there was someone having a huddled conversation about something, but they always stopped when they saw you.”

  “So, of course, you would have had no idea of the nature of these conversations?”

  “Only the one,” said Will. “There was one point when I was in the wings – it was during the interval of tech, so it must have been about quarter past four, I suppose – and it was all quite dark, and Delia was there talking to Elizabeth Hamilton, and I heard Delia say 'I was so shocked! I gave up everything, and now see what's happening'. And then they saw me and shut up quick, so I've no idea what it was about.”

  “And Mr. Nelson himself. I assume you must have had some sort of dealings with him during this afternoon's rehearsal?”

  Will shrugged. “Not that much, actually. Except of course when he was barking orders about a cue being half a millisecond off, but that's nothing unusual with directors. You get used to it.”

  “So when would have been the last time you saw him?” persisted the inspector.

  “Just before six o'clock, I think. Yes, that's right. I was on the stairs, and I was just passing the landing that gives on to the dressing room corridor when Stuart came up and knocked on Jessica's door and marched in. And then I heard him say 'What are you doing in here? Out! I want to talk to Jessica', but I was gone before I could see who came out.”

  “And that's the last thing you can tell us about Mr. Nelson's movements? You don't know anything about his whereabouts after that?”

  “Ah! Not so fast, inspector,” grinned Will. “I said that was the last time I saw him. I didn't say it was the last I heard of him.” He folded his arms and leaned back with an expression of amused self-satisfaction on his face.

  “Well, do go on, Mr. Mott,” said Constable. “You're evidently dying to tell us something.”

  “Okay, inspector – you're right,” admitted Will. “I have been saving the best bit till last. You see, I was down at my control desk ...”

  “The one in the stalls?”

  “That's the one.”

  “And when would this have been?”

  “It was about fifteen minutes later, so around quarter past six, I suppose. And I had my cans on ...” A puzzled look from Constable. “... sorry, earphones – I had them on because I'd just been speaking to David Winston up here in lighting control. There's an intercom system with headphones, so that sound and lighting and stage management can all talk to each other during performances. Like these.” Will held up a set of earphones with a microphone attached.

  “I get the picture, Mr. Mott. And so …?”

  “So, I still had mine on, and David must have taken his off, but his mike was still live, because I heard Stuart go into the lighting box and start going on at David again, and then there was this great crash, and I reckon David must have decked him. Huge fun.” Will laughed, but then seemed to recollect the gravity of the situation in response to Constable's lack of amusement.

  “And Mr. Nelson's reaction to this?”

  “Oh, nothing physical, if that's what you're wondering. No, Stuart obviously picked himself up, and he said something like 'You'll never work in theatre again after this show'. His voice sounded really tight, like he was absolutely furious. Well, he would be, I reckon. And then David said 'Watch out, or I'll put a real bullet in that gun', and then he threw Stuart out. I don't know if anyone else heard. After that, it all went quiet, until ...”

  “Until what?”

  “Until about seven o'clock – that's the first I knew anything was wrong, when all the lights went mad. And then someone told me that they'd found Stuart dead – must have been Peter Castle, I suppose, because then he got everyone to go down to the Green R
oom while he phoned the police. And that's it.”

  “So other than the argument between Mr. Nelson and Mr. Winston, you know of nobody who had any reason to do Mr. Nelson any harm?”

  “That's the trouble with being the sound man, inspector,” said Will. “I never usually get to hear any of the interesting stuff. Only my boring old sound cues. Sorry.”

  *

  “That must be where Nelson got that bruise from, guv,” remarked Dave Copper as the two officers emerged into the corridor.

  “One question answered at least,” observed Andy Constable. “Let's see if we can find out the answers to a few more in here.” He pushed open the door marked 'L.X.', only to find the room deserted. A large and complex-looking board with an array of switches, sliders, and coloured indicator lights was located below a bank of windows which gave a clear view of the stage below, while to one side, a spotlight on a stand was positioned in front of one of the windows which had been slid open. Reels of cables were dotted about, together with boxes of metal slides containing plastic filters in various colours. Tall metal cabinets along one wall spilled out a variety of electrical paraphernalia – plugs, sockets, more bundles of cable, stacks of light bulbs in a bewildering range of sizes and types – while on another wall was mounted a pegboard which held a comprehensive range of tools – hammers, screwdrivers, drills, pliers, and all the requisites of the electrician – each one neatly outlined in bold red marker pen, and each regimented in its place.

  “All the what, and none of the who,” commented Constable. “I don't know about you, but all this means very little to me without the man who runs it.”