by Bev Robitai
After giving the rest of the roof a once-over, she eased herself back through the trapdoor and down the ladder, breathing a sigh of relief to be back on solid ground instead of hanging twenty feet above the floor. With nothing else she could do for the day, she quickly checked the answer-phone in her office, turned off the lights, set the lock and left the building.
When she returned to the theatre for rehearsal at 6.30 that evening, things weren’t right. The front door stood wide open, and, more worryingly, an ambulance was parked outside. Instantly, her mind raced with the most likely reasons. Had someone slipped on the wet stage and broken a leg? Had there been a fall from that damned fly floor ladder? Had one of the more senior actors had a heart attack? Her feet raced towards the theatre as a police car pulled into the loading bay, its siren blaring.
Now she was really panicked. She dived through the door and started down the corridor towards the stage, but heard voices in the auditorium. She yanked hard on the bar holding the fire-exit closed and pulled the double doors open.
There were two safety-jacketed ambulance staff bending over a blond figure slumped in a seat with his head between his knees. One of them eased him up enough to hold an oxygen mask to his face. Beyond them, another figure looked up at the noise of her entrance. When she recognised Nathan’s dreadlocks, she looked harder at the patient being treated and realised it was Stewart.
‘Is he all right?’ she blurted, running along the cross-aisle towards them. ‘What’s happened?’
The ambulance man held up a warning hand.
‘Stop where you are, please. He’s OK. Now, could you go back to the door and see if the police are here yet?’
As if hearing their cue, two blue-shirted police officers appeared in the doorway behind her. The ambulance man gave them a tiny nod towards the back of the auditorium. The policemen skirted round Jessica, approached the back row of seats, and leaned down briefly. They both stood up and one of them pulled out his radio. In clipped bursts of speech, sprinkled with spoken numbers, he communicated with what Jessica decided was probably a higher authority, his demeanour changing from watchful assessment to barely-suppressed excitement.
Stewart pulled the mask away from his face and looked towards Jessica. Even from fifteen feet away she could see the dull horror in his eyes. She took a step towards him but pulled up short, turning to the nearest police officer for permission. He shook his head. She gestured helplessly to Stewart and sent him a supportive smile. Behind him, looking equally shaken, Nathan rested a hand on Stewart’s shoulder.
One police officer stayed at the aisle end of the back row. The other spoke quietly to the ambulance men, then approached Jessica.
‘Hi, I’m Constable Wilkins. You are?’
‘Jessica Jones. I’m the theatre manager. Can you tell me what’s happened?’
Adrenaline was flooding her system and she could barely stop her voice from shaking.
‘We need to get a few things organised first, Jessica,’ he said calmly. ‘Are more people likely to be arriving here any time soon?’
‘Er, yes. There’s a rehearsal due to start in half an hour. The cast should be turning up in ten or fifteen minutes.’
‘Then I’m afraid you’ll need to stand out front and let them know it’s been cancelled. We’re going to be closing off this place as soon as the team gets here and nobody will be allowed in. Is there anybody else in the building?’
‘I have no idea. I only just got here myself. Look, can I please just go and talk to Stewart? He may know what’s going on and he looks really upset.’ She swallowed hard.
He put a friendly hand on her arm and steered her towards the door. ‘You can talk to him in a little while. He’s being looked after for now. The most helpful thing you can do is to turn away any newcomers.’ He paused. ‘I’m assuming you’ll know them all… and have records of their contact details? We’ll probably need to talk to them later on.’
‘Yes, I can give you a cast and crew list right now if you want. There are copies up in the office.’
‘Not this minute, thanks,’ he said, still gently. ‘Just go out there and stop people coming in for now, all right? Oh, and try not to touch anything like light switches or door handles unless you absolutely have to, OK?’
Numbly, she walked out to the front door. The ambulance was still parked by the kerb. Standing on the pavement, she started to shiver.
Gazza appeared round the corner wearing his familiar cap and a ratty old sweat-shirt from a long-ago rock concert. He glanced at the ambulance. It was all she could do not to fling herself at him.
‘Hey, Gazza. How are you doing?’ She tried for casual but didn’t quite make it.
He looked at her closely. ‘What’s going on? Somebody’s sick? Jeez, you’re white as a sheet. You all right?’
‘I would be if I knew what the hell was going on. Stewart and Nathan are inside, there’s an ambulance parked out front, and now the cops are taking over the place. I’m supposed to stop anyone from going in for rehearsal.’
‘Hm. That sounds a bit serious.’
‘You think?’ she laughed shakily.
‘Want me to stick around for a bit?’
‘Yeah, all right.’
Gazza’s solid presence was surprisingly comforting. She took a few deep breaths and started to feel more normal. Her pulse rate was almost down to its usual level when the sudden blip of a police siren in a nearby side street sent it soaring again.
‘Bloody hell! Do they have to do that?’
‘Probably better than running over that cyclist,’ he pointed out.
Two more police cars pulled up outside the theatre and four officers got out. Two were carrying equipment cases, while the other two looked more senior.
‘I guess this’ll be The Team. The cop inside said they were on their way.’ Jessica watched the two senior officers conferring. ‘D’you think they’re deciding who’s good cop and who’s bad cop?’ She tried to joke.
‘Nah, they’re deciding who gets to use the taser,’ smiled Gazza.
The ones carrying equipment cases approached them at the door.
‘They’re in there,’ offered Jessica, pointing. ‘They asked me to stop anyone else from going in.’
They thanked her and went inside, pausing in the corridor to slip plastic covers over their shoes.
‘Did you see that?’ hissed Jessica. ‘That makes the theatre a crime scene! What the hell has been going on in there? What on earth were Stewart and Nathan up to, for God’s sake?’
The two senior officers finished their conversation and walked over towards the door.
‘Evening, all,’ said the younger one, earning a sharp look from his grey-haired superior. ‘This is the Regent Theatre, is it?’
Jessica looked up at the billboard space which displayed “Regent Theatre” in two-foot-high letters across the front of the entire building. He followed her gaze.
‘Ah. First thing they teach us in police interrogation classes – start with an easy question to get the subject talking freely.’ He smiled, ignoring the now glaring officer beside him. ‘I’m Detective Senior Sergeant Jack Matherson and this is Detective Inspector Carthew. I hear you may have had a spot of bother round here then?’
Jessica blinked. A spot of bother? Was this guy for real? He certainly looked like a policeman. Tall, well-muscled, with dark hair cut crisply above his collar. His clothes sat well and his shoes were polished to the point of overkill. Nice eyes, too.
Detective Inspector Carthew took over, tired of waiting for his subordinate to get on with it. ‘Come on Jack, we’ve got a crime scene to investigate.’ He nodded to Jessica. ‘We’ll come and speak to you when we’ve had a look around. Please stay here until told otherwise. Thank you.’
‘But hold on,’ began Jessica. ‘Can’t you tell me what’s happened?’
But Detective Inspector Carthew was gone. Jack Matherson shrugged apologetically and followed him.
‘They don’t give much away,
do they?’ said Gazza.
Jessica ground her teeth. ‘Argh! This is so frustrating! If something major has happened in there I need to know about it. Suppose we can’t use the theatre and I have to organise an alternative venue for rehearsals?’ Her eyes widened as the next thought struck her. ‘Suppose we have to cancel the show for some reason?’
‘Take it easy there, Jess. Don’t go looking for a worst-case scenario just yet. Let’s deal with one thing at a time, eh? How about texting people to tell them that tonight’s rehearsal is cancelled, for starters?’
‘Of course! Thanks, Gaz. Just as well one of us can still think straight. I’m on it like a cop on a doughnut,’ and she dug her cell phone from a pocket with shaking hands.
With ten minutes left before rehearsal was due to begin, she might still catch a few people before they reached the theatre. She wrote a quick text message and sent it to all the cast and crew that were on her phone list.
Adam’s car pulled up across the road and she saw him look at his phone and frown. He got out of the car quickly and came over.
‘What’s happened, Jessica? Flood? Fire?’ He saw the ambulance. ‘Injury?’ He saw the police cars. ‘Break-in?’
‘For all we know, Adam, all of the above. The police have given orders to keep everyone out and they’re calling it a crime scene. That’s as much as we know.’
He looked at her searchingly, blue eyes seeing deeper than she might have liked.
‘You’re really upset, aren’t you?’ he asked, in a voice so gentle that she just wanted to bawl her eyes out.
She toughed it out instead. ‘Oh, I was for a bit, but I’m fine now. I just wish we could find out what happened in there, that’s all.’
Adam patted her on the shoulder. ‘Let me see what I can do.’
He walked purposefully towards the door and went inside, leaving Jessica saying, ‘But you can’t do that, Adam’ in his wake.
In a few minutes he reappeared in the corridor, deep in conversation with Jack Matherson. There were serious faces, nods, and finally handshakes, before Adam re-joined them outside. For once he looked older than his 56 years.
‘Sorry Jessica, but it’s not good news, I’m afraid. It seems that Stewart and Nathan found a body at the back of the auditorium. The police suspect it’s a homicide, so they’ll be closing off access to the whole theatre while they investigate. The detective told me that it’ll be off-limits all of tonight, and next day at least, to give the criminal pathologist time to get here and complete work on the scene.’
‘Who?’ She managed a strangled croak. ‘Whose body?’
He shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t say any more than that. Not even if it was a man or a woman.’
‘Shitfuckbuggerypoxdamn’ was Gazza’s eloquent contribution.
‘Yes indeed,’ agreed Adam. ‘Now, in a “show must go on” spirit, shall we work out a contingency plan for dealing with the situation?’
‘We could ask the Musical Society if we can use their clubrooms as a rehearsal space,’ said Jessica, her mind already racing ahead. ‘I think it should be available for a week or so at least before they start working on Oklahoma.’ She grabbed Adam’s arm, her eyes huge at the thought that had just struck her.
‘Suppose it’s one of the cast. What do we do then?’
He shrugged. ‘To be brutally practical, there’s nobody who is irreplaceable. Except perhaps for Simone. That would be a hard part to re-cast at this stage of the game.’
Jessica pulled out her phone and stared at it as if it might bite her. ‘I guess I could call her.’
Adam gently put his hand over hers. ‘I’ll do it.’
He thumbed the keypad and held his phone to his ear. They waited. It rang and rang.
It’s too long, it’s too long, thought Jessica. She should have answered by now.
‘Hi Simone, Adam here.’
She gasped a relieved sigh. One problem was averted, at least. But then he continued.
‘Can you give me a call when you get this message please? It’s quite urgent. Thank you.’
‘Shitfuckbuggerypoxdamn?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid so. All I got was her voicemail.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Well, there doesn’t seem to be anything much more I can do here. I might as well head home. I’ll let you know if I hear from Simone.’
‘If you hear what?’ asked a booming voice. Simone sailed up behind him looking very put out. ‘I hear that tonight’s rehearsal has been cancelled, at extremely short notice I might add. It would be preferable to have a little more warning if such an event were to happen again. Some of us do have lives outside the theatre, you know.’
‘Simone! Boy, are we glad to see you! You’re all right!’
Simone stared at Jessica as if she’d been speaking in tongues. ‘Yes of course I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?’
Jessica suddenly needed a break. She gestured to Adam to explain and went to sit down on the pavement, leaning against the front of the theatre with her knees pulled up to her chin. Her mind went mercifully blank for a while as she gazed unseeing at the street in front of her.
The next thing she knew, Jack Matherson was standing in front of her, offering a hand to pull her up. His grasp was firm and warm, and she was almost reluctant to let go once she was up on her feet. ‘You’re Jessica and you manage the theatre,’ he began.
‘Ah, thanks for clearing that up.’ She stopped, surprised at herself. Where had that come from? ‘I mean, yes. Sorry.’
He tilted his head slightly. ‘Am I going to have to caution you, Jessica?’
‘No, Detective Senior Sergeant Matherson. I’ll co-operate fully.’
He grinned. ‘That’s what we like to hear. It saves so much wear and tear on the rubber hoses. Now, while you’re feeling meek and compliant, can you show me somewhere in the theatre where I can set up an interview room, please? Preferably well away from the auditorium.’
‘As long as I get first go – and you tell me something about what’s happened. Deal?’
‘Fair enough. I’ve sent a chap to guard the door so you can stop being watchdog out here.’ He looked at her companions. ‘I’ve spoken to Adam Bryant already, but has that guy with him been inside at all?’
‘Gazza? No, he hasn’t. He turned up just after your first two officers got here.’
‘Fine. The interviewing officer will talk to him soon. Come on.’
Jessica followed Jack inside.
The fire doors had been firmly closed so there was no chance to sneak a look into the auditorium as they passed along the corridor. She took Jack out the back and up into the Rose Room.
‘Is this OK, Detective Senior Sergeant? There’s a table and plenty of chairs. Oh, and a power socket just behind the bookcase there, to plug in your interrogation lamp.’
He grinned. ‘Ah, you haven’t heard about the new user-friendly police force, have you? We don’t call them interrogation lamps any more. Now they’re “investigative” lamps, along with “investigative” thumbscrews and “investigative” bamboo slivers.’
‘Ha, try what you like, you’ll get nothing from me, copper.’
‘Interesting. Is this a brave front over your worry, or an attempt to show how completely unconcerned and therefore not guilty you are?’
The answer that sprang into her mind was that now he was here, the worry didn’t seem so bad, but that sounded far too stupid. ‘It’s a brave front, sir. Now can you please tell me what’s happened in there?’
Jack pulled a couple of chairs round to the same side of the table and offered her one. He looked into her eyes as he sat down.
‘It appears that the two lads out there found a woman’s body lying on the floor in the back row of the stalls. Stewart has given us a preliminary identification and we’ll be sending an officer to pick up her next of kin for a formal ID when we’ve established who that is.’
Jessica was on the edge of her seat willing him to get to the point.
‘And? Who i
s the woman?’
‘According to Stewart, the deceased is Tamara Fitzpatrick.’
‘Good God. Wow.’
Jessica was stunned. She held up a hand to stop him saying any more until she’d had time to think. Her mind filled with a whirling mass of thoughts, turning over all the possible ramifications of Tamara’s death. How did it happen? Accident, suicide, murder? Who did it? When? Why? Could she be replaced? How would this affect the show? The theatre?
‘Jessica?’ He waved a hand in front of her eyes. ‘Come back to me. This is where I get to ask you some questions, OK?’
‘What? Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry, go ahead.’ She shook her head to clear it. ‘I’ve never been involved with anything like this – it’s a bit mind-boggling.’
He smiled faintly. ‘You get used to it, I’m afraid to say. Anyway, Jessica, can you give me any details about Tamara’s family? We’ll need to notify her next of kin as soon as possible. Do you have her home address?’
‘As far as I know, she lives away from her family. They didn’t get on very well. But I suppose they’d still be her next of kin though, wouldn’t they? Oh, dear, I’m not making much sense, am I? Of course your parents don’t stop being your parents just because you don’t live in the same house.’
‘We’ll assume that for the moment. Do you have any contact details for them?’
She hesitated. ‘Let me just confirm something I was told. May I make a phone call?’
‘You’re entitled to one, remember.’
She smiled briefly at his joke, and called Clara-Jane who asserted that she was absolutely positive that Bruce Fitzpatrick was truly Tamara’s father. Jessica passed Bruce’s details to Jack who called in one of the constables to handle the visit. Once the constable had been despatched, Jack turned back to Jessica.
