‘God, I don’t know.’ Max shifted in his chair impatiently. ‘Just, you know, how are you? Any problems, that sort of thing.’
‘Owen asked if he should bring your mail down.’
‘There was no need. It was mostly business stuff that could wait.’
‘And a letter from a friend in Italy.’
‘Oh, Sergio, yes. But that was just a letter from a friend – addressed to both of us.’
‘Nice to get an actual letter,’ said Libby. ‘I was saying to Owen, I hardly get any these days. It’s all social media or email.’
‘Yes.’ Max smiled. ‘Sergio’s a bit old-fashioned. He lives in the wilds with no mobile reception and no Wi-Fi, so all his communications are by letter.’
‘How does he manage?’ asked Libby. ‘Doesn’t he need a computer for work?’
‘No. When he needs to he goes to Perugia.’
‘Where’s Perugia?’ asked Libby.
‘Capital of Umbria. Lovely place.’
‘Oh, Anne and Patti – remember them? – they went to Umbria a couple of years ago on a painting holiday. They said it was beautiful. Anyway, that doesn’t get us any further, does it?’
‘No. And that was it, really. We talked about Owen coming down here, getting the dog looked after and shutting the school for the week. That was it.’
‘Nothing there, then. And nothing happened on Saturday evening?’
‘No. I went to bed quite early.’ He frowned. ‘There was something …’
‘Something happened?’
‘No, something I thought of. And I thought about it in the morning. But I don’t know what it was.’
‘You went off to the theatre early. Seb and Damian said you’d finished breakfast by the time they came down.’
‘Yes.’ Max was still frowning. ‘I was in a hurry.’
‘Well it’s a start,’ said Libby. ‘If you’ve remembered you thought of something and you were in a hurry, you might remember what the thing was. Or is.’
‘I suppose I might.’ Max sighed and leant his head back against the chair. ‘But I’m still not sure we shouldn’t pull it.’
‘How about if I go back and ask Owen to take a straw poll? And if we check with the police? If they all said to go ahead with it, would you feel happier?’
‘I might,’ said Max with a tired smile. ‘It’s worth a try.’
Libby stood up. ‘I’ll get back, then. Is there anything you want before I go?’
Max started to shake his head and winced. ‘Must remember not to do that. No thanks, Libby. I can ring room service if I want anything.’
‘Oh, do they have room service? I didn’t think they did.’
‘I think it’s just for me, under the circumstances,’ said Max with another faint grin. ‘I suspect your policeman sorted it out.’
‘He’s good at that,’ said Libby. ‘Right, I’m off. I’ll let you know what I find out.’
She walked back to the theatre thinking hard. Max was no help at all, and might well decide to pull the production whatever the general consensus of opinion was. She could understand that, of course; when you took all the incidents, threats and attacks together it could seem madness to continue and simpler all round to pack up and return to London. After Fran’s query on Saturday night, she was actually beginning to feel slightly scared herself.
When she arrived back at the theatre she saw Ian’s car parked outside.
‘Hello,’ she said, finding him in the foyer about to go up the spiral staircase. ‘They’re mid-rehearsal, you know.’
‘I need to have a look at this ruined equipment.’ He paused, looking down at her with irritation stamped clearly on his features.
‘Can’t it wait until they break? And I don’t think it’s completely ruined, actually. Ben will know.’
‘Where’s he?’
‘Backstage, I expect.’ Libby looked at her watch. ‘I don’t expect they’ll be very long. They were only doing Act Two this afternoon.’
Ian came back down the stairs. ‘What’s happening, then?’
Libby looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Well, Max is in two minds about going ahead. He wants to know who in the company would prefer to stop. I said I’d find out and ask you – or the police, anyway – what they thought.’
‘I’ve told him he can go ahead,’ said Ian, looking even more irritated. ‘What more does he want?’
‘You don’t think that could be tempting fate?’
A gleam came into Ian’s eyes.
‘Ah!’ said Libby. ‘That’s what you want to happen! But suppose someone else is hurt?’
‘We’re taking precautions,’ said Ian obliquely. ‘And I could address the whole company about not taking risks.’
‘When they finish here,’ said Libby, ‘I’m going to ask Owen to canvass the company about their thoughts. You could do it then.’
Ian uttered a grunt which could be interpreted as agreement and followed her into the auditorium.
As Libby had thought, the company had just arrived at the final tableau. She went up to Owen and told him what Max had said and indicated Ian, standing frowning at the back. Owen nodded, clapped his hands and went up to the stage.
‘Listen, everyone. Max is concerned that there may be some among you who feel that under the circumstances this production ought to be pulled. I have to tell you, we have the permission of the police to go ahead, and DCI Connell is here to have a few words, too. So what do you all think?’
The dancers all looked at one another. No one said anything. Then Damian called down from the FX box.
‘I think we ought to pull it. There have been too many incidents.’
A ripple of murmurings went through the company.
‘It went so well today, though,’ said Tom. ‘Owen was pleased, weren’t you?’
‘I was,’ said Owen. ‘Shall we ask DCI Connell what he thinks?’
Libby watched as Ian came to the front and stood looking up at the dancers.
‘If you carry on,’ he said, ‘it will be sensible to take precautions. Don’t go anywhere alone, check dressing rooms and bedrooms carefully and Ben, I’m sure, will be checking backstage with Sebastian to make sure everything is safe there. There will be a police presence here all the time until you leave, but you might not know it.’
‘You mean there’s someone here already?’ asked Dan.
Ian smiled grimly. ‘It seemed sensible after Max was allowed home yesterday.’
‘How come the equipment got damaged then?’ asked someone.
‘That was done when Max was attacked. We should have had someone here then. We know better now.’
‘There’s been a lot of hard work put into this production,’ said Owen, ‘and to put it crudely, a lot of money spent. If the majority want to pull it, fair enough, but as long as the police think there’s minimal risk, I think we should go ahead.’
‘A patrol car will be driving by at intervals throughout the night,’ said Ian, ‘and further security measures will be taken.’
‘But we know someone can get into the theatre,’ said Jonathan. ‘Someone got in to rig the rat and the Kabuki and someone got in to attack Stan and Max. So there’s someone here who has a set of keys. How can we stop them coming in at night again?’
‘I don’t think that’s the problem,’ said Ian.
Ben appeared diffidently on the side of the stage. ‘We are taking extra security measures,’ he said, ‘but as Ian says, we don’t think that’s the problem.’
There were more mutterings. Even Libby was puzzled.
‘You are due to open on Wednesday, I believe,’ said Ian. ‘You haven’t much time to decide. I leave it to you. Now I’m going up to take a look at the sound equipment. If anyone has any private concerns, they can come and see me up there.’ He disappeared through the auditorium doors.
The dancers went into a huddle on the stage, where Sebastian joined them. Ben came down and joined Libby.
‘What extra security measures?’ s
he whispered. ‘And why don’t you think it’s a problem?’
‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that the burglar alarms have never gone off? I know we sometimes forget to set them, we’ve already talked about this, but not once has an alarm gone off. Ian’s pretty sure, and so am I now, that whoever is doing this is not getting in on their own.’
‘What?’ gasped Libby. ‘You mean there’s an accomplice?’
‘No. Think about it. Max came in and went up to the sound box. There was no one there as far as he can remember. But what would be easier than to slip in behind him unseen and follow him up there?’
‘He’d have to be awfully quiet,’ said Libby dubiously.
‘Dancers are light on their feet,’ said Ben. ‘And as for the rat and the knife, the theatre was open from first thing that morning. Anyone could have gone in before the rehearsal started.’
‘What about Stan?’
‘Same as Max. Someone knew where he was going and what he was doing and followed him in.’
‘Oh, Lord,’ said Libby. ‘This is getting worse and worse.’
Chapter Twenty-two
Libby waited until Owen came down from the stage.
‘They want to go on,’ he said. ‘Well, perhaps “want” is too strong a word, but they feel it would be a waste to cancel now, and they’re all going to take extra safety precautions.’
‘Will you tell Max?’ asked Libby.
‘Yes.’ Owen sighed. ‘This whole thing has turned into a bit of a fiasco, hasn’t it?’
‘It has a bit. But Pendle’s a good piece, it deserves to be seen.’
‘Thanks. I had nothing to do with it, of course, except to encourage from the sidelines.’
‘But you trained some of the dancers, didn’t you?’
‘Jonathan, yes, some time ago. And young Lee.’
‘Jonathan was expressing doubt about the production going on,’ said Libby. ‘How is he now?’
‘Resigned, I think would describe it best,’ said Owen, with a short laugh.
Libby smiled. ‘They’ll all be fine once you open.’
‘If nothing else happens,’ said Owen. With these valedictory words he went back to the stage and Libby left the auditorium.
Ben was in the foyer talking to Ian.
‘Are they going on?’ he asked.
‘Looks like it,’ said Libby. ‘Are you sure you’re not using them as bait, Ian?’
Ian looked amused. ‘Now would I do that? Anyway, we have other lines of enquiry.’
‘You have? Apart from the company?’
‘As you know, we have to look at the victim. And in this case he had a life apart from the Tobin Dance Theatre. We have to investigate that other life.’
‘But …’ began Libby.
‘Libby, it’s police business,’ said Ben. ‘Leave it to Ian. He knows what he’s doing.’
Ian grinned. ‘Sometimes. Now I’m going to carry on sleuthing.’ He pushed open the auditorium doors and disappeared.
‘Bother. I wanted to ask him what he found out upstairs.’ Libby turned a disgruntled face to her beloved.
‘I doubt if he would have told you.’
‘Perhaps not. But what I was going to say to him was, it’s all very well Stan having another life, but how would that life connect with this one? It would have to be someone in the company, wouldn’t it?’
‘You mean if his murder was connected to another part of his life, someone would have had to infiltrate the company? That’s a thought.’ Ben did, indeed, look thoughtful.
‘And,’ said Libby, warming to this theme, ‘Stan was keeping the secret but felt threatened. That explains what he meant when he said “they” were going to get him next time.’
‘If we’ve thought of it, you can bet Ian has, too.’
‘Of course he has, that’s why he told us about the other life.’ Libby cast a speculative glance at the auditorium doors. ‘I bet he’s in there now grilling poor Seb.’
Ben laughed. ‘Poor Seb! I’m going to go and see if there’s any clearing up to do. I’ll see you at home.’
Libby, pausing at the Manor to say goodbye to Hetty, set off home. On the way, she called Fran.
‘You’re walking!’ Fran accused.
‘Yes, but I couldn’t wait until I got home. Ian’s looking into Stan’s “other life” as he called it.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Life outside the Tobin Dance Theatre. And it occurred to me, we’ve never looked him up, have we? Or his granddad or father, or whoever he was. Wally Willis. I know Ian’s asked Flo and Lenny what they remember about him.’
‘Didn’t you say at some point it couldn’t be anything to do with him?’
‘Did I?’ Libby gave Nella at the Farm Shop a desultory wave. ‘But we did wonder if it was through his family connections he called the drugs mob off Seb, didn’t we?’
‘You did, I believe. So you want me to look him up before you get home and relay you the results?’
‘Well, I can do it myself when I get home …’
‘But I can cut out the leg work. OK, I’ll start now. Speak later.’
Fran rang off, and Libby tucked the phone into the pocket of her cape. Modern technology was a wonderful thing.
As she turned the corner into Allhallow’s Lane, Bethany Cole, the vicar, was just coming out of her front gate.
‘Hello, Lib. I hear you’ve got yourself another murder?’
‘Oh, don’t!’ groaned Libby. ‘I was saying only the other day, I’m a positive jinx, aren’t I?’
Beth laughed. ‘Course not! People come to you – it’s not as if you go looking for them! I must say I’m looking forward to this production. I’m a huge fan of the male Swan Lake.’
‘So am I, but this isn’t anywhere near as glamorous. They’re rather gruesome, the witches. Patti and Anne are coming on Wednesday.’
‘I’ll see if they’ve got any tickets left for Wednesday, then. When’s the box office open?’
‘Online, all the time. Otherwise leave a message on the answerphone. I’ll look for you on Wednesday, then. Regards to John.’
‘Of course. Oh, by the way, have they had any protests from religious groups?’
Libby stopped and turned round. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said warily. ‘Why?’
‘There are a few hard-line Christian groups who are still inflamed by the thought of witchcraft.’
Libby frowned. ‘I know there were …’
Bethany flicked her long, fair plait. ‘Oh, there still are. Mostly the rather strict sects, you know?’
‘The sort that still think the theatre’s a creation of the devil?’ said Libby with a grin.
‘That’s them. I only ask because a few years ago I was involved with a production of The Crucible –’
‘That’s the Salem witches, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, and we were targeted by one of these groups. Very unpleasant.’
‘You were?’ Libby’s interest quickened. ‘When you say targeted, how do you mean?’
‘Oh, anonymous letters, graffiti, that sort of thing.’
‘Nothing worse?’
‘I don’t think so. Why?’
‘The dance company were targeted like that in London. Could I tell our tame policeman about your experience?’
Beth shrugged. ‘If you like, if you think it might be relevant. But it can’t have anything to do with the murder, can it?’
‘I don’t know, but the sequence of events began with that sort of targeting, so it’s worth telling him. Thanks, Beth.’
Libby arrived at number seventeen, opened the door, tripped down the step and pulled out her phone.
‘Is Ian still there, Ben?’
‘I’ll have a look.’ She heard him move, then a shout. ‘Yes. Why?’
Libby repeated Beth’s tale. ‘I just thought he ought to know.’
‘I’ll tell him. He might call in on her when he leaves here.’
‘She was just going out when I saw her.’
‘He can try the church, then. Thanks, Lib.’
Libby discarded cape, bag and phone and went to put the kettle on. By the time it boiled, she’d booted up the laptop and rung Fran again.
‘There are quite a lot of links, and a lot of them are completely irrelevant, but I’ve emailed you those I think are useful. There’s one story in particular you’ll be interested in.’
‘There is? What?’
‘Have a look. You’ll see. I’m going now, I’ve got Chrissie arriving any minute.’
‘Lucky you. How’s Cassandra?’
‘Don’t you mean Montana?’
‘I meant the cat, not the daughter.’ Chrissie and her husband Bruce had chosen what their elders thought a very silly name for their only child, and a more sensible one for their cat.
‘Very well, thank you. And I still get told off for calling the child Monty.’
Libby giggled. ‘I’m not surprised. Not known for their sense of humour, your daughter and son-in-law. Go on, then, off you go.’
Libby poured her tea and opened Fran’s email. There was a link to an obviously professional CV, with photographs of productions, a link to Stan’s former drama school, where he was listed as a visiting lecturer, a few links to productions, one to the Tobin Dance Theatre and none linking Stan to Wally Willis. However, Fran had obviously done a search on this name, too, and here there were more interesting stories.
Fran had put three stars by one link. When Libby opened it, she saw why.
‘Willis accused of taking part in Satanic sex orgy,’ read the headline.
‘Golly,’ said Libby to Sidney, who had come to sit next to the laptop. The article went on to describe, in guarded 1970s terms, that the ‘orgy’, held in the crypt of a disused church, involved both blood-letting and the involvement of children.
The accusations were revealed as part of Wally Willis’s trial for implication in a dozen murders.
‘He really was a bad boy,’ Libby told Sidney. ‘I got it the wrong way round when I was talking to Seb, didn’t I? Stan wasn’t frightened of what his father would say about him being gay, he was frightened of turning out like his father.’
A knock on the door startled Sidney, who shot into the kitchen.
‘Ian!’ Libby stood aside to let him in. ‘What can I do for you?’
Murder Dancing Page 16
