“Hope springs eternal.” Roland sighed.
Twenty-Three
Osian
“I can’t make sense of this.” Osian had printed out a copy of the note on tracing paper in an attempt to try fitting the letters over the signatures one at a time. He found it easier than comparing them on his laptop. “Handwriting experts on the telly always make this seem so easy.”
Why am I talking to myself out loud? The flat isn’t going to answer.
Stepping over to the windows, Osian opened them to let in some fresh air. They’d had a brief reprieve from the stifling summer heat. London had gone through a sweltering heatwave before the rain took the sting out.
Osian leaned out the window, allowing the mild breeze to clear away some of his frustration. He noticed a familiar figure on the street below. “Archie?”
“Can I come up?” Archie tilted his head back and shouted up to Osian.
“Come on.” Osian pulled back inside. He glanced around at the chaotic mess their dining room table had turned into. Archie lived in a tent on the side of a mountain half the time. He wasn’t going to complain about a few papers strewn about. Dannel, on the other hand, would definitely be whinging about the mess when he returned from working out with Evie.
“Morning.” Osian greeted when Archie had jogged up the steps to their flat. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”
Archie trudged inside, immediately heading over to sink down on the sofa. He tilted his head against the cushion with a groan. “I thought being cleared would make everything better. Feel like complete rubbish.”
“You’ve had a rough couple of weeks.” Osian grabbed a couple beers from the fridge. He handed one to Archie, then went over to grab the copy of the note. “Does this handwriting seem familiar to you? Maybe your mum’s or Niall’s?”
“Not really.” Archie stared at the paper while clutching the bottle of beer. “You don’t have to do this anymore. I’m free and clear. You’ve already been hurt.”
“Exactly. Someone’s tried to do me in as well.” Osian refused to let the subject rest until they knew who was behind the murders. His curiosity had been piqued. “There’s still a killer out there.”
And who knows if they’re finished.
After three deaths, what if the killer did simply vanish? It would add yet another legend to the darker side history of the West End. The Evelyn Lavelle murders might simply join the London theatre lore.
“Oz?”
Osian glanced over to find Archie watching him in concern. “Sorry. Lost in thought for a mo. You all right?”
“Is it normal to be so angry and devastated at the same time? Feels like my heart was ripped twice with Niall’s death.” Archie dug a nail into the label on the bottle, peeling it away in ragged strips. “I’m sad about Mum. Losing her has almost been easier, though. Am I a rotten son?”
“She wasn’t snogging half the actors and crew at the Evelyn Lavelle.”
“Oz.”
“Well, she wasn’t.” Osian sat beside Archie. “Listen, Arch, my point is Niall broke your heart twice.”
“Twice?”
“He did. And then, as you’re grieving the loss of your mum. You find out the new love in your life was screwing around with a number of other people. And then he dies.” Osian figured that would be enough to mess with anyone’s head. “Give yourself time to process. You can’t make yourself feel better instantly. No matter how hard you try.”
“I don’t know, Oz.” Archie dragged a hand across his face, sighing deeply. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Not trying to be rude, but you look as if you haven’t slept in ages. Why don’t you sneak in a few hours on the pull-out bed in our spare room? You’re absolutely knackered.” Osian didn’t give the gentle ginger giant a chance to argue. “Come on. Sleep will do you a world of good.”
“Keep having nightmares at Mum’s place. And I wake up expecting her to pop out of the kitchen with a hot chocolate and my favourite flapjacks.” Archie downed the rest of his beer and allowed Osian to guide him down the hall. He barely paused to kick off his trainers before dropping into bed like a felled tree. “I stayed on the mountain too….”
Osian watched Archie drift off to sleep mid-sentence. “Rest up, Arch.”
Brilliant.
Grieving ginger sleeping in our spare room.
Prat didn’t even answer my question about the note either.
With Archie snoring his head off, Osian returned to his disorganised chaos in the living room. He gathered up the photos of the poster. They’d proven to be nothing other than a source of frustration.
Taking a fresh sheet of paper, Osian jotted down the suspects across the top. Niall, may he rest in peace—or not, depending on if he killed Birdie. Howard, innocent bystander or double-crossed killer. Philippa, the petty princess. Edwin, bad actor, perhaps figuratively as well as literally.
My money’s on Howard and Edwin. Maybe the two created the ghost of the Evelyn Lavelle together. They might’ve fallen out over Birdie’s death. Could Edwin have caught Howard in the act after Niall’s death?
We definitely have to track down Edwin.
How had the police completely ignored him? Motive, probably. There was no apparent reason for either Edwin or Howard to have been involved in the crime. Osian knew from being around the theatre scene that fame could and often did do strange things to people.
Knowing the nature of theatre company gossip, Osian decided to shoot a text to Hope. She’d be able to safely fish for information about Edwin without making him overly suspicious. They might get a chance to get a confession out of him.
If Edwin was guilty.
He sent a text to Dannel as well, to let him know they had a visitor.
On the other hand, they had no way of really knowing for sure about Howard or Niall. I wonder if Archie has any of Niall’s stuff. They’d travelled together, after all.
After deciding hunting through Archie’s bag without permission would be a step too far, Osian turned his attention to cleaning up the mess in the living room. Maybe organised chaos would help him think more clearly. It couldn’t hurt.
He stretched out on the sofa after making quick work of gathering up all the papers and queued up the hours of CCTV footage from the theatre. “Time to watch the dullest reality show on telly.”
Maybe he’d see something Chris had missed.
Or maybe he’d take a nap.
Twenty-Four
Dannel
Sport didn’t come naturally to Dannel. His coordination hadn’t been brilliant, particularly as a young man. He did find working out almost therapeutic, though.
Running, lifting weights, keeping fit. It had always offered an outlet for him during meltdowns. Evie had been his gym partner for years. She seemed to instinctively know when he needed to run his energy out on a treadmill in silence.
The day after the blowout with his family, Dannel had hovered on the edge of a meltdown. The energy of it almost sizzled under his skin. Evie had come by early in the morning, taken one look at him, and dragged him out to the gym.
Three hours later, Dannel had exhausted himself of the stress.
“Ready to head home?” Evie came over with a towel draped across her neck. She offered him a bottle of water. “I’ve got a shift later. And you seem to be feeling better. You pong a bit, though.”
“You don’t smell of daisies either.” Dannel set his weights down and began stretching out his body. “Mum’s been awfully quiet today. Not even a text.”
Evie wiped her brow with the corner of her towel. “First, you’re supposed to be releasing stress, not revisiting the cause. Second, your mum never met a text she didn’t like, so enjoy the momentary silence. Third, you dropped a massive heap of truth on your fam. They’re going to need time to process as much as you would.”
“No fourth?”
“Fourth?” Evie considered him for a moment. “Slowest to shower and change has to pay for coffee.”
Dannel
watched her bolt for the stairs leading down to where the locker rooms and showers were. “I always end up buying coffee anyway.”
Deciding not to rush, Dannel carefully finished stretching out his muscles. He didn’t fancy a cramp halfway home. Evie would never let him hear the end of it.
Even with taking his time to stretch, Dannel managed to shower, change, and be outside waiting for Evie. She glared at him while he casually sipped his water. He was unbothered.
“Coffee, then? My treat.” Evie caught him by the sleeve, dragging him away from the gym. “Your dad’s been hanging around the station.”
Dannel caught his toe on the kerb, jolting forward into a jogger trying to sneak past them. He murmured an apology, then glowered at his best friend. “Evie.”
“Sorry.” She grinned at him. “Think he’s getting advice from the chief on how to stop being an absolute wanker.”
Dannel stumbled into a lamppost. “I’m sure Ossie would prefer I make it home in one complete, uninjured piece if you can restrain yourself.”
“What?” Evie’s smile widened even further. She peered at him over the top of her cat-eye shaped glasses. “Sorry. Listen, I think it’s doing him some good. He’s thinking about his actions. His mistakes. The ones both he and your mum made. You might start seeing a real change in him.”
Dannel shrugged.
Evie patted him on the shoulder. “Not saying to expect miracles. Just give him a chance to show he’s willing to change.”
“I’ll try.” Dannel refused to make any promises to anyone. He’d go at his pace or not at all. “I’m starved.”
Thankfully, Evie didn’t call him out on the sudden change of subject. They joined the queue at Greggs, grabbing coffees and a box of sausage rolls. He got enough to share with Osian plus a number of pain au chocolat for Stanley and Adelle.
“Well, I’m on a double shift tonight. Why don’t I drop these off with Adelle while you check on Osian?” Evie shoved him toward the stairs when they got to the building. “Go on before your sausage rolls cool.”
Stepping inside their flat, Dannel tossed his keys to the side. Osian was stretched out on the sofa, half asleep with a laptop resting on his stomach. He shut the door quietly to keep from waking him.
“I can hear you tiptoeing.”
“I’m not tiptoeing.”
“You are. You shush your feet when you tiptoe.” Osian sat up slowly with a broad smile. “I smell sausage.”
“Isn’t that the first sign of a stroke?”
Osian laughed so hard he had to grab the laptop when it slipped off him. “No. Toast is supposed to be one, but it’s more of a myth than anything.”
“Want to brainstorm over breakfast? Where’s Archie?” Dannel lifted up the coffees in one hand. He headed over to the table to set the drink carrier down along with the Greggs box. “We’ve got a podcast episode to sort out.”
“And a murder to solve.” Osian joined him at the table. They sat across from each other with the sausage rolls between them. “Dibs on the pain au chocolat. And Arch decided to head to his mum’s place.”
“We can share it.” Dannel thought, in retrospect, he should’ve gotten two of the chocolate croissants. “What’s this say?”
Osian leaned forward to peer at the barely legible note scribbled on the corner of the page Dannel had been reading. “Not a clue. Elder? Eviscerate? This part further down is a reminder to chat with the Evelyn Lavelle doorman about Howard’s ghost.”
The doorman at the Evelyn Lavelle had been there for years. He’d notice anything out of the ordinary with his theatre. Dannel grabbed the page from Osian to try to figure out his handwriting.
“Edwin.” Dannel finally figured it out. “Or escargot?”
“Why would I write snails in French?”
“You were feeling fancy?” Dannel snickered. He set the paper back on the table. “We’ll assume it’s Edwin.”
“We should see if we can corner him into answering questions.” Osian broke the chocolate croissant in half and offered part to Dannel. “Together. No more going on our own.”
“Haider will appreciate it.” He left out the fact the detective inspector would likely appreciate if they didn’t investigate at all. “Did you find anything in the security footage?”
Osian popped the last bite into his mouth, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We didn’t get any concrete evidence of murder or paranormal activity. One moment did stand out to me, though. Howard and Edwin having an argument the day before he was murdered.”
“Interesting.”
“Incredibly interesting.” Osian drained the rest of his coffee with a contented sigh. “There’s also a flash of someone just out of frame who I think might be Philippa.”
Twisting the laptop around, Osian played the short video several times. Dannel didn’t know what made him think the flash of fabric in the corner of the screen was Philippa. It could’ve been anything, even someone wandering by with a costume over their shoulder.
The clip of Howard and Edwin having an argument was far more intriguing. The two had what appeared to be a heated argument in which the former shoved the latter before storming off. Edwin chased after him, going out of view of the camera.
“Text Ian. See if Edwin’s been at the theatre.” Dannel wondered if they could corner the actor to get answers. “We have to find out what their argument was about.”
“Together.”
“You already said that.” Dannel sorted through the stacks of notes they’d both made. He found their outline for the upcoming podcast episode. “Did we settle on what story to feature first?”
“The ghost of the Evelyn Lavelle.”
“Current or former?” Dannel had a feeling the current ghost wouldn’t be nearly as impressive as the supposed haunting of the theatre’s namesake. “So, the ghost Evelyn Lavelle.”
“An unsolved mysterious death leading to a ghost? Perfect topic.”
While Osian continued texting with Ian, Dannel stole the last sausage roll. He stacked their various notes together into some semblance of organisation. They’d made little progress on planning the new episode.
We’re going to end up winging it again.
It never goes to plan when we do that.
“Edwin showed up for rehearsals.” Osian drew him out of his thoughts. “Why don’t you toss your workout gear in the laundry basket? We can chat about our episode while we walk to the theatre.”
“Think Haider finally cornered Edwin for a chat?”
“I’m not texting him to find out. He’ll yell at us for poking our noses into his investigation again.” Osian shoved his phone into his pocket. He fished their podcast notebook out from under the slips of paper and other folders. “We can jot our ideas down if we come up with anything brilliant.”
“Too tired to be brilliant.” Dannel tossed the remnants of their breakfast in the rubbish bin. “Did Ian have any thoughts about Evelyn Lavelle?”
“The life and times?”
“Her mysterious death.” Dannel had been intrigued by the lack of information about how the famed and glamorous actress had died.
Young, talented, and beautiful, Evelyn Lavelle had died under mysterious and suspicious circumstances. She’d been found in her dressing room, collapsed at her vanity while preparing for a performance. No autopsy had been done.
Poison?
Natural causes?
No investigation had been made into her death. The coroner of the time had declared her death a natural one. They had found a few mentions in newspaper columns of a supposed relationship with a high-flying politician.
Mostly in gossip columns of the time.
It made for fascinating reading. They’d have plenty of material to go over in the podcast. A potential old murder mystery combined with a current one at the same theatre.
“Ian found a few old gossip magazines at the theatre. They’ve got an archive featuring Evelyn Lavelle. We can skim through those.” Osian closed his laptop and handed i
t to Dannel to secure in his backpack. “Ready?”
“Let’s try not to get bashed over the head or locked in the loo or poisoned.” Dannel glanced around their flat to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. “Or stabbed with scissors.”
Twenty-Five
Osian
“Is this why we never did theatre at uni?” Dannel stared at the utter chaos amongst everyone involved in the play. “What’s happening?”
“Someone stabbed through the backdrops.” Hope sidled up to them. She held out a paper bag of chocolate buttons to them. “Picked these up at the sweet shop around the corner. We all arrived early to find all the beautifully hand-painted scenes had been utterly destroyed.”
“Did they find the culprit?” Osian’s heart broke for Ian, who’d worked so hard to make everything perfect for his play. “Is there time to repair them?”
“We’ll do our best. The whole company is coming together to try to help.” Hope offered Dannel some of the chocolate buttons. “Everyone’s going on about the ghost.”
“The ghost?”
“Everyone’s convinced the murdered spirit of Evelyn Lavelle is haunting the production because Edwin forgot to turn on the ghost light last night.” Hope gave a shrug. “We’re a superstitious bunch.”
Osian gratefully accepted another handful of chocolate. He had a feeling the sugar rush might help him get through the day. “Where’s your fearless leader?”
“In his dressing room with a handsome lad wafting smelling salts under his nose.” Hope winked at them. “Joking. He’s on his mobile being his charming self in an attempt to wrangle an extra week or two before opening night. He won’t give up.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. What if the killer won’t stop until the play does? Has this been all about Ian from the beginning?
“Don’t worry. We’ve got bodyguards on him.” Hope had obviously caught his expression. “We’re not leaving him alone until the ghost, whether human or ethereal, is caught.”
Ghost Light Killer Page 14
