Death and Cinderella (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 11)
Page 11
‘Now that’s more like it!’ she said, studying it closely. ‘Tailor-made for him, I should think. No, I don’t know her. Is she that Russian girl?’
‘You didn’t have her to stay at this flat last Friday night, after the dress-rehearsal?’
Mrs Bethencourt shook her head. ‘She may well have stayed here, but I wouldn’t know. I was away for Christmas, visiting our eldest daughter, and would have been on the way back for the show.’ She chuckled. ‘Too late for dents in the pillows, I’m afraid; our cleaning woman comes Mondays. You’re not accusing him of murder, are you? He may not be able to keep his trousers on but he’d never be able to kill anyone; he faints at the sight of blood. He once cut himself in Sweeny Todd and they had to stop the show.’
◆◆◆
They found everyone gathered, as instructed, in the theatre foyer looking disgruntled.
‘What’s all this about?’ said Arthur Penfold querulously. ‘No-one will tell us.’
‘There’s another of these for you, sir,’ said Nash, handing him the now familiar buff-coloured envelope.
‘“You owe me 16/3d for 5cwt of house-coal.”’ read Felix. ‘“Will deliver approx 6pm this afternoon.”’
‘Seems a bit vindictive, don’t you think?’ frowned Rattigan. ‘If I understand her correctly, that is.’
Felix looked around him. ‘Does anyone know where Miss Herring is?’
They all shook their heads.
‘Miss Figg?’
They shook them again.
‘That’ll be the lorry now,’ said Rattigan.
‘Damn!’ said Felix. ‘Cribb, this young lady is Salome. Give her a tour of the photos on the walls, will you? She’s looking for a dark-haired, Indian gentleman. You might need to interpret that description rather loosely. Don’t let her run away. Hilliard, get thee to the coal-cellar door, pronto. You’ll probably find it locked on the inside. Take a couple of constables. Come on Teddy.’
‘Er, where exactly is the coal-cellar, sir?’ called Hilliard.
‘There are some stairs down from the catacomb,’ said Millicent. ‘I’ll show you.’
Squeezing past the throbbing lorry they found the coal-hole uncovered and a man preparing to send down the first sack-load. A boy with a broom stood ready to deal with any overspill.
‘If you could just wait a moment, sir,’ said Felix.
‘Who’s askin’? This ’ere’s a special delivery and I’m late.’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Felix is asking.’ He crouched at the hole. ‘Miss Fielding, I know you’re in there. The game is up. Kindly unlock the door and come out.’
Five minutes passed.
‘No response, sir,’ called a muffled Hilliard.
The coalman sighed and folded his arms. The boy with the broom scratched his backside.
‘We only have her word for it,’ Rattigan pointed out. ‘In fact, we haven’t even got that.’
‘Miss Fielding,’ called Felix testily, ‘since you are clearly not in residence, I’m going to authorise this gentleman to unload his coal.’ He glanced at the name on the lorry. Mr Taylor, is it?’
‘That’s me.’
‘Kindly send down a sack-full.’
There was a roar of coal down the chute, followed by a scream, some most unladylike language and a paroxysm of coughing.
‘All right, we’ve got her,’ called Hilliard.
They arrived to find a filthy and dishevelled Lizzie Fielding securely handcuffed between the two constables. Both had lost their helmets and everyone present was liberally coated in coal-dust.
‘Fought like a wildcat,’ reported Hilliard, pointlessly brushing at his coat sleeves.
‘You absolute bastards,’ she raged. ‘You didn’t have to do that!’
‘I’m sorry, Lizzie,’ said a miserable-looking Alastair, ‘but we warned you to come out.’
She turned on him with a snarl. ‘Don’t you sorry me, you . . . Judas! So much for together forever!’ She tried to spit at him but missed.
‘We’d have gone in there,’ explained Figgy, careful to keep her distance. ‘Alastair found a spare key but we couldn’t use it because hers was blocking the lock.’ She handed over the precious dressing case, filthy as everything else. ‘You’ll be able to tell us if it’s all there, presumably?’
‘Thank you, Miss Figg,’ said Felix,’ passing it to Hilliard. ‘Mr Bethencourt, you and I will be having a serious conversation. Do not leave these premises.’
Cribb and Salome appeared. Cribb, chuckling delightedly, was brandishing a publicity photo from the foyer. ‘Sir, she identified him from this. Welsh accent, Indian accent, get it?’
‘I don’t see what’s so funny,’ pouted Salome. ‘They sound the same to me! Can I go now?’
‘Where is our ace investigator?’ smiled Felix. ‘Not here to enjoy her latest triumph?’
‘She was until a minute or two ago,’ said Figgy.
‘Probably making a citizen’s arrest,’ said Rattigan cynically. ‘I don’t know why we bother.’
‘She’d better not try!’
There came a cry from Yardley.
‘Sir, come quick! It’s Parry. He’s got a gun, and Miss Herring!’
◆◆◆
From the stage they looked up to see Iwan Parry standing in the front row of the dress circle, his diminutive hostage held firmly in front of him. In his other hand he held what was probably Charlie Sullivan’s pistol.
‘I want my jewellery, Chief Inspector,’ he called, ‘which you seem determined to deny me. I also want safe passage out of here, or your girlfriend gets a flying lesson.’
‘And what will you do when you get her outside,’ called Alastair, ‘push her under a van, like you did poor Snow?’
‘That’ll do, if you don’t mind, Mr Bethencourt,’ snapped Felix. ‘I’ll deal with this.’
‘Samuel Snow was a nasty little blackmailer,’ sneered Parry. ‘The world is well rid of him. And tell your pals not to come any closer. That includes you, fat man. I mean it!’
‘Keep away from him, he’s mad!’ called Jane, rather shrilly. But he clamped his free hand over her mouth and held her more tightly to him.
‘And you can shut up, little Goody Tap-shoes, or over the side you go!’
Even as he spoke the auditorium was plunged into darkness, leaving only a glimmer from the stage and the double doors of the dress circle.
‘That won’t help you,’ called Parry contemptuously.
But now a spotlight, operated by Ron Cooper, began to track slowly left to right until it caught and held the wanted man in its glare.’
Felix meanwhile, had quietly climbed the stairs to join Rattigan, now only a few feet from their quarry. ‘Mr Parry, kindly put Miss Herring down,’ he said. ‘You can’t escape. There are two guns trained on you and a theatre full of policemen. Let her go, give up your weapon, and we can talk.’
But with a flick of his hips Parry swung Jane outside the balustrade, where she dangled helplessly over the stalls, twelve feet below. ‘Safe passage and the sparklers,’ he repeated. ‘Or she drops.’
‘Jane,’ came a voice, ‘Bite him!’
There was an enraged ‘eeow!’ as thirty-two sharp little teeth sank into her captor’s hand, followed by a confusion of shots and screams, not all of them hers, and she was falling, plummeting downwards to find herself spitting blood and gazing confusedly about her like waking from a bad dream.
‘Toss her in a blanket!’ chorused Butler and Cook, and then she was in Figgy’s arms.
‘You foolish, foolish, girl!’ cried Figgy. ‘How could you be so stupid? Oh, come here!’
‘Figgy, you’re smothering me!’ complained Jane. ‘Where is Andrew?’
But Andrew had walked away without a backward glance.
◆◆◆
They foun
d the cast in the green room.
‘I’ve come to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that you are free to go,’ said Felix. ‘Thank you for your cooperation. You’ve all been very patient. As for you, Miss Herring, I hope you realise how lucky you are, and what resourceful friends you have. Not that I’d have advised such a course. Are you quite alright?’
‘Yes, I think so, thank you,’ said Jane. And, miraculously, she was.
‘We caught her good,’ beamed Butler, ‘didn’t we, chaps?’
‘Is he dead?’ asked Figgy.
‘Parry? Yes, he is.’
For a moment they said nothing, taking this in.
‘He always seemed such a nice chap,’ said Arthur. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘What about Alastair,’ asked Millicent. ‘Is it true you’ve arrested him?’
‘Mr Bethencourt is in police custody, yes.’
‘What will happen to him? Will he go to prison?’
‘Not for me to say, I’m afraid.’
‘What about the show?’ asked Cook. ‘Can it reopen?’
‘I see no reason why not.’
‘I don’t see how we can,’ said Millicent, ‘with no Dandini and no Buttons.’
‘And probably no Alastair,’ sighed Figgy.
‘Well, I hope the Regent Players shall yet rise again,’ said Felix tactfully. ‘Goodbye, everybody and good luck.’
Madge from the booking office came in. She was crying. ‘We didn’t know what was happening. We were terrified. I don’t know what frightened me most, all that shooting and screaming or Mr Robin. He was horrid to us, and what had we done? He made me type this. I’m so sorry.’
Millicent took the paper from her. ‘“The management of the Regent Playhouse”’ she read, ‘“wishes it known that we are rescinding, with immediate effect, the Regent Players’ contract. When this building reopens it will be as a cinema. You have a week from today’s date to remove your props and personal possessions. Anything remaining after that time will be sold to defray expenses. Kindly return any keys when you leave.” Signed E and R Hubbard. Directors. Regent Entertainment Properties Ltd.’
They stared at each other in shocked silence.
‘Just like that,’ said Cook.
‘He can’t do that, can he?’ said Arthur. ‘Not without some sort of notice. Cannot we sue him?’
‘I’m rather afraid he can,’ sighed Millicent. ‘There’s no money in the kitty to sue anybody, even supposing it were possible.’
‘And if anyone wants to know,’ said Jane dully, ‘that was the Bad Thing.’
Chapter Twelve
They stood and watched as the murderer of Sam Snow was taken away, the other miscreants having already been transferred to the local station.
‘We had to do it, didn’t we?’ appealed Rattigan. ‘We had no choice.’
‘This from the man with a hole in his hat.’ said Felix, glancing at the ill-used bowler. Well, if it makes you feel any better about it, Teddy, I rather suspect he wanted to be shot, if only subconsciously. He’d got himself into a corner and there was nowhere left for him to go. And at least this way his family is spared the shame of the noose.’
‘I know which I’d prefer,’ said Yardley, ‘if it came to it.’
Felix nodded grimly. ‘Come on down, chaps. I want to talk to you.’
Carrying their mugs of tea, they passed for the last time through the now deserted catacomb and made themselves at home again in Alastair’s office.
‘I feel a bit sorry for Bethencourt,’ said Nash. ‘We’ve all made fools of ourselves with a woman at one time or another. What do you think he’ll get?’
‘I don’t remember one luring me into a jewellery robbery,’ said Rattigan, still looking shaken.
‘Depends on the courts,’ said Felix. ‘There’s no getting away from the fact that he deliberately misled us from the moment we arrived, and might have continued to do so if Jane Herring hadn’t induced him, by some feminine sorcery, to turn King’s evidence. However, it’s that young lady I want to talk to you about. You understand the problem of course?’
They all nodded.
‘Tricky,’ said Rattigan. ‘You have to give her credit for predicting the burglary and recovering the gems, but when it comes to not giving them back until it suited her . . .’
‘Via Charing Cross Left Luggage,’ added Yardley. ‘Four thousand pounds worth!’
‘Quite so,’ said Felix. ‘And then to do it a second time when half of Scotland Yard was out looking for them.’
‘Hoping to give Bethencourt a chance to redeem himself, no doubt.’ said Rattigan. ‘“They’re all very protective of him,” as his missus said.’
‘Rather late for that, I fear. But, yes, I expect that was the plan. It also explains, to my mind, the business of the coal delivery. Lizzy Fielding had dared to corrupt their hero and protector; she had to be punished.’
‘I’d like to have seen Parry’s face when he found the gems gone a second time,’ said Nash. ‘He could only have lifted them moments before. That was Jane’s work too, presumably.’
‘I suspect it was worse than that,’ said Felix. ‘There’s probably no way to prove it – she won’t split – but I don’t think Parry was involved in it at all, though he might have hoped to recover them during the hue and cry. It was, I believe, Miss Herring who stole the gems from this office, with Bethencourt’s connivance, enabling him to later make a show of returning them to us. If they could be found in the possession of Fielding, which they were, so much the better. All terribly risky to put it mildly.’
‘So, do you think it was Jane who manoeuvred Fielding into hiding in the coal-hole, sir? We don’t know exactly who was involved in that do we?’
‘We know who ordered the coalman,’ said Rattigan.
‘Actually, we don’t even know that,’ Felix reminded him. ‘We just received some cryptic notes, unsigned; which, by the way, I seem inexplicably to have mislaid.’ He looked at the others meaningfully.
The sergeants nodded. ‘Understood, sir,’ said Nash.
‘Talking of unknowns, sir,’ said Yardley. ‘Have you any idea why Parry put Sullivan’s body in the pumpkin coach of all places? Or was it Bethencourt? It seems extraordinary to me. Was it really panic that made them do it?’
Felix glanced at Rattigan. ‘Shall we tell them our theory?’
‘That’s all it is,’ cautioned Rattigan.
‘Yes, but it’s the only one, to my mind, that halfway fits the facts. He reached for his pipe. ‘First, some background. It seems that Iwan Parry had worked with Fielding on two or three previous occasions. This, incidentally, explains how he could afford to dress as well as he did and even run a car on an actor’s pittance. It was also Parry who learned from local gossip that there was a fortune in gems to be harvested just a few yards from the Regent, and it was he who hatched the plan for the innocent Charlie Sullivan to buy Fielding a place in the company.
‘It’s likely that Parry had come to think of himself as Fielding’s permanent lover and accomplice, but according to Bethencourt she was as indifferent to him as she was to all her other dupes, doing just enough to keep him interested and no more. What Parry didn’t know, because she hadn’t told him, was that she had for some time been romantically involved with Alastair Bethencourt, whom she’d also met in that man-magnet, the Folies Bergère.
‘Bethencourt was, until he met Fielding, an honest man – by his own account anyway – and claims he’d taken no part in her life of crime and seduction, though he knew about it and admits he found it exciting. He’d been discomfited when she’d announced she was joining the Players, considering it a bit too close to home, but was loath to reject Sullivan’s much-needed five hundred pounds. He claims – which of course he would – not to have known about the plan to break into Tillotson’s until it was a fait accompli.
<
br /> ‘Returning to Friday night. It was unfortunate that Sullivan, arriving early, should find Fielding and Bethencourt in compromising circumstances. Already suspicious of the theatre director, he’d no doubt realised on seeing them together how matters stood. He’d immediately begun ranting at them and waving his gun about, and a frightened Fielding, trying to take it off him, had inadvertently shot him dead. We were right about that anyway, if not the identities of those involved. Into this mayhem now walked Parry. He hadn’t gone home, as he claimed to have done, but was still in his dressing room. He immediately took charge of the situation, appropriating Sullivan’s pistol, the one he nearly plugged Teddy with, and agreeing to dispose of the body while Bethencourt whisked Fielding to safety. ‘Bethencourt, we discovered, couldn’t stand the sight of blood, nor could he drive a car. It had to be Parry for that job. This was just after seven o’clock, incidentally, only minutes after the last members of the cast, apart from Sam Snow, had left the catacomb. Snow, by his own admission, had been chatting to a friend and was therefore slow to follow them. We suppose he’d heard enough to make a little blackmail worthwhile and may even have lain in wait to see Parry dispose of the body, which Parry returned to do when he was sure the stage manager and electrician had departed.
‘Much of this we learned from Bethencourt himself. What follows is speculation, although, as I say, it fits the facts. Essentially we took a look at the personalities of the characters involved and asked ourselves what probably happened.’
‘Jealousy,’ said Rattigan. ‘Sums it up.’
‘I’d say it goes deeper than that, Teddy. We’d had our eye on Parry for a while – there were not, after all, that many possibilities – and once we’d eliminated Andrew Haigh and the improbable Robin Hubbard, and assuming it wasn’t someone unknown to us, we were left with the Welshman as Fielding’s accomplice. I regret to say, we had no such suspicions about Bethencourt. However, once we’d learned of his involvement with Fielding, and hence, probably, the burglary, we had two men thrown unwillingly together who were, when you think about it, chalk and cheese.