The Green Room

by Faith Mortimer

  His eyes widened, and he laid down his coffee cup with a clatter. “Christ, no. When was this?”

  “I first heard it on the mid-morning news.”

  “Dreadful. I haven’t heard the news today. Whereabouts? Was she…I’m assuming it was a woman?”

  “Yes. Murdered and raped. They haven’t announced it, but I bet it’ll be attributed to the Surrey Punisher.”

  “It’s terrible. But let’s not talk about it. You and I have to deal with awful things every day at work. Let’s leave the blood and gore for a while, shall we?” His face held a sombre, pinched expression, and like before at the party, I wondered again how much stress he was under at work. I couldn’t blame him wanting to escape for a while. Road-traffic accidents, attempted suicides, domestic rows and other victims of attack were a daily occurrence in our lives.

  I agreed and we chatted on. It was easy listening to his banter, and once we had got over the subject of me going out with him again, I relaxed. Hopefully, he had finally taken the hint, though what he saw in me I didn’t know. I was convinced I wasn’t his type. According to the girls at work, he was usually seen escorting beautiful women. I know I’m moderately attractive, but I would never class myself as stunning. I was certain he only asked me out of habit.

  Movement at the door caught my attention, and I was surprised to see my father enter the café. I searched for Mum trailing in behind him but soon realised he was on his own, and then I remembered her saying she had a hair appointment that afternoon. He placed his order at the counter and then glanced round for a place to sit. Once he caught sight of me, he wandered over, a smile on his face.

  “This is nice. I rarely bump into anyone I know in town.” He looked across at Liam expectantly.

  “Dad, this is Liam McAllister, a work colleague. Liam, meet my father, Colin Mallory.”

  The two men shook hands. “Won’t you join us, Mr Mallory?” Liam asked and pulled out the seat next to him.

  “Thank you. How do you do…Doctor McAllister, is it? I don’t see enough of my daughter despite her living so near us.”

  “It’s Mister, Dad. Liam’s a surgical registrar.”

  “Ah, I see. I believe I know your face. Have we met before?” Dad asked before taking a sip of tea.

  Liam shook his head. “I don’t believe so, unless you’ve had surgery recently?”

  “No, everything’s working tickety-boo despite the advancement of years,” Dad replied drily. He put his head on one side. “I never forget a face. This is going to annoy me now.”

  We all laughed, and Liam asked if I would like another coffee. While he was at the counter, Dad turned to me with a frown.

  “Damned exasperating, but I know him from somewhere, and I haven’t been up to the Royal Surrey for over a year.”

  “What about Mum? Have you taken her to visit anyone?”

  He shook his head, obviously irritated. “Getting old is a real swine. Now I have dementia creeping in too.”

  I laughed. “I hardly think one misplaced face is anything to worry about. It’ll come to you in a minute.”

  “Hmm. Probably more like it’ll wake me up in the night. Anyhow, is he a replacement for Michael? You know what they say about the Irish, being blessed with the gift of the blarney, etcetera, etcetera.”

  “Dad! Don’t be so prejudiced!” I lowered my voice. “Liam’s just a friend. All right, so he does ask me out from time to time, but he’s not my type, and we really did just bump into one another. There’s nothing wrong in having a coffee together.”

  He patted my hand. “I’m just joking, love. You’re so easy to wind up sometimes.”

  Liam rejoined us and handed me my fresh coffee. We sat and nattered for another ten minutes, and then Dad suddenly snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it.”

  Liam and I stared at him. “Got what?” I asked.

  “I know where I’ve seen your face.”

  “Oh, where?”

  “At the theatre. The Yvonne Arnaud.”

  I was amused. Dad was such a theatre groupie. He never failed to see a show and enjoyed brushing shoulders with actors, although I guessed it was the actresses he enjoyed meeting the most. He must have missed his mother as a child. I knew he would eventually remember where he had seen Liam.

  Liam paused before answering. “Yes, I do go and see a play from time to time. The theatre here puts on some good dramas before they go up to the West End. But I haven’t seen a play for ages.”

  “No, no. It wasn’t in the theatre itself, not during a performance. It was upstairs in the members’ bar. You know, in The Green Room. I remember now.”

  Liam frowned for a second and then nodded slowly. “You’re right. I did call in for a drink there recently.”

  “It was after the final curtain, so it was pretty late. In fact, I know exactly which evening it was. It was the night they found the body of that poor little actress. The one who was murdered and raped in Stoke Park. She was in The Green Room after the play. I remember her sitting alone and having a drink—a gin and tonic it looked like, or maybe it was vodka. You were also sitting at the bar on your own. I know I didn’t stay long. I had one quick whisky and left before closing, but I’m positive you were there. There was something else, too, which I’m trying to recall. Damn! What was it! It’s gone.”

  Liam stared and then shook his head emphatically. “No, you’re wrong. I’m certain it wasn’t that night I visited The Green Room. I went to a hospital party that night. In fact…” He turned to me. “Ella, you were there too. We chatted for ages.”

  I nodded. “He’s right, Dad. It must have been another night.”

  Dad looked puzzled and upset. “But I can see it all in my mind, I’m sure…oh well, wrong again…my mind playing up.”

  I picked up my coffee cup and warmed my hands. Something felt odd. Dad was quite correct. He had an amazing brain for remembering things. If he said Liam had been there, then I believed him. But why would Liam have lied?

  The final curtain fell after the last act, usually around half ten or eleven if it was a long play. I didn’t know what time the bar in The Green Room closed, but Dad often went there and never got home later than eleven thirty or thereabouts. Then I remembered how late Liam had turned up that night at the party. I recalled saying I was on the point of leaving and he said it was still early. In fact, it was close to two o’clock. So where had he been between leaving the theatre and arriving at the party?

  I took a sip of coffee and found that my hand was trembling. Liam had turned up looking pretty dishevelled that night. At the time, I thought he hadn’t been home to change after work, as his shoes were muddy and there were flecks of blood on his shirt cuffs. He said the blood was from the picking up broken glass of a wine bottle he dropped.

  Oh my god! A horrific thought had just entered my head.

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Ella

  Back home, after an early light dinner, I tidied up the kitchen and poured myself a second glass of wine. I stood by the window in my living room, gazing out at the darkness beyond. Talking to Liam that afternoon and then my father turning up and telling us what he remembered had unsettled me. Everything was going round and round in my mind. Was I imagining things? I wanted to talk it through with someone. But with whom? I didn’t want to worry Mum and Dad, my best friend—Teresa—was away again and not due back for a few days or so. Tim was nearby, but he was hardly someone I could confide in, as he was still a relative stranger. I didn’t have many other friends I could call really close. I needed someone in authority: maybe Michael’s current partner. He said they were sharing a patrol car, and Pete was one of the few people I had met who worked with Michael.. Or there was Michael. He was a policeman, after all. Surely he was the best person with whom to discuss my concerns, as I did know him personally, and if he laughed at my ideas, I would have lost less face than talking to a perfect stranger. Besides, I was fairly certain he would listen and not belittle anything I said. He may have had his idiosyncrasies,
but he was usually business-like when it came to police matters. And most importantly, he agreed we should remain friends. I knew I wouldn’t rest until I had got it all off my chest, so I rang his mobile.

  “Hi, Ella. How have you been?”

  “Okay, you?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “Are you off duty or down at the station because I was wondering if we could meet for a few minutes. There’s something I need to talk to you about. Nothing serious and I’m probably way off track, but I need some advice.”

  “Ye…es.” I heard a hesitation in his voice and knew he wasn’t alone. “I am rather tied up at work. What’s it about?”

  “Police business. The latest murder.”

  There was a short pause, and then when he next spoke his voice sounded more interested. “What about it? Do you have anything to report which could help?”

  “That’s just it. I…I don’t know. Michael, can we meet? I don’t mind driving over to Godalming.”

  “Sure. I’m off later this evening. I can meet you straight after I finish. I think it’s best we meet in a pub, don’t you? ”

  Although Michael and I had been together for two years, we hadn’t spent much time in his place. He owned a small dingy cottage on the outskirts of Peasmarsh. The ex-farmworkers cottage was in dire need of modernisation and repair, and the few times I had been there with him, I never liked it. It was at the end of a rutted track in an isolated position. A country cottage had a certain ring to it but not when it stood in a couple of boggy acres and miles from even a village convenience store. I preferred living in or near to a town with all the modern facilities. Calling the place dingy was laying on the charm. I disliked the cottage intensely.

  “Perfect. I can get over to Godalming in fifteen minutes or so. Just say where and when it’s convenient.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Ella

  The Star in Church Street had long been a favourite of Michael’s. The pub served the type of food he liked, and he ate there regularly. But despite Michael being a fan of The Star’s pub grub, I always had a sneaking suspicion it was because dogs were banned from the place that made it his favourite haunt. I’ve always loved animals and thought that, once I was married and thinking about having kids, a dog or two would be a part of my family. Michael hated animals, and his distaste for anything on four legs was another reason he and I were incompatible.

  As I pushed open the pub door, I was assaulted by the smell of beer, roast beef and wood smoke. Michael, I knew, would be at his favourite table, seated back to the wall, a pint of bitter already in front of him. He glanced up and watched me pick my way through the tables and chairs towards him.

  “Hey!” He smiled and I thought he looked tired. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

  I checked for a second. Did he really think that? Oh lord. I was just going to have to put him right.

  “Hello, and no, you know my feelings. Nothing’s changed. Anyway, sorry I’m a bit late. I had to search around for change for the car park. I forgot about the charges at this end of town.” I removed my jacket and unwound my scarf from my neck before sitting down. “How are you?”

  I saw he was giving me a glare, which said, ‘I don’t believe you!’ He would soon find out I just wanted to run a few ideas by him.

  I stared back calmly. Michael could be really quite arrogant. Take sex. He knew I enjoyed sex with him and laughed when I said it helped me sleep. One thing, though: we had never spent a full night together. I had a bit of a thing about Mum and Dad living below me, and I never cared to stay over at Michael’s place—not that I asked. Michael was highly sexed and when we were together, I often thought he was turned on by the idea of coming to my place for sex and then having to leave. After sex, he usually just dressed and went, without even taking a shower. I always thought he must have liked the smell of me or just the sex on him when he got home.

  He stood up, and I noticed he had changed out of uniform into mufti, but was still wearing his outdoor jacket and gloves. Perhaps he didn’t intend staying long.

  “I’m good. Let me get you a drink. A glass of red?”

  I shook my head, remembering I had already downed two glasses that evening. “Just a slimline tonic, ice and lemon, please.”

  I sighed, sat back in my seat and glanced round the lounge. The bar area was pretty full with regulars. I smiled and nodded at the few I recognised. I hoped this was going to be easy and straightforward.

  “Here you go.” Michael placed my glass on a coaster and plonked himself back down. “So, if it’s not my considerable charm, good looks or body which has brought you running back to me, to what do I owe this pleasure? You sounded mysterious on the phone. Police business, you intimated. Cheers!”

  “Cheers!” I took a sip, swallowed and set my drink down, eager to push on. “It may be nothing, but…you judge for yourself. It’s to do with the last murder. The one up on Chinthurst Hill.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed, and he paused as he lifted his glass to his mouth. “What about it? We don’t have a lot of clues to go on.”

  “We? You’re still helping with the case, then?”

  Michael sat up straight and nodded, his face a picture of smugness. “Yes. They thought I did a good job with the other one, so kept me on. There’s a hint of me being on the team permanently, hence the non-uniform.”

  “I did wonder, and good for you. I know you’ve always fancied being a detective. I’m sure you’ll make a good one.” I frowned. “Aren’t you hot wearing your jacket and gloves in here?”

  He huddled nearer the table. “If you must know, I’m feeling a bit off colour. Maybe I’m coming down with the flu that’s going round. So what’s this mysterious information you have to divulge?”

  “Oh, I see. Poor you. I hope you don’t…it’s a stinker by all accounts. As I said, this may all be my imagination, and I’m not naming anyone at this stage, but I was talking to a friend today. To cut a long story short, this friend happened to have been walking on Chinthurst Hill yesterday. We were just chatting, and I noticed how scratched his hands looked. I asked him if he had a cat and he said, no, he got caught up in some brambles on his walk. When I asked him where this was and he said Chinthurst, I thought at first it was just a coincidence.”

  I noticed how tense Michael had become. His eyes widened, and he gave a tiny nod. “Yeah. You said at first, it was, just a coincidence. And then what else did he say?”

  “Nothing really until I asked him whether he had heard about the latest murder victim. He said he hadn’t, and I must say he did seem shocked as if it was all news to him.”

  Michael sat very still, his face serious. “Some people are good actors. Some of the worst psychopaths go around as if they’re as ordinary as you and me. Okay, so he freaked you out, but we’d need more to go on than someone with a few scratches after walking around a well-known beauty spot. You seem concerned. I take it there’s more to tell? Is this friend a new man on the scene by chance? It wouldn’t be this Tim, eh?”

  I felt my mouth go dry, my tongue too large. I hastily took a huge gulp of tonic. I was torn between talking about Liam—who might have been a hundred per cent innocent—and disclosing my suspicions.

  “No, it’s not Tim. Why do you insist on jumping to conclusions where he’s concerned? This is just a friend, nothing more. But yes, I do have more to tell you. My friend changed the subject pretty soon after I mentioned the scratch, and we talked about other things. Then, after a few minutes, my dad walked in.”

  “Ah, how is Colin? And Sibel of course. Both okay?”

  Knowing Michael had never really hit it off with my parents, I was a bit surprised that he mentioned them or their health. “They’re both fine, thank you.”

  “So, your father…where does he come into all this?”

  “He didn’t know my friend. Never met him properly…or at least I didn’t think he had at first when I introduced them. Then he said a funny thing. He asked
where they’d met before, as he recognised his face from somewhere. My friend said, no, they’d never met.”

  “Where’s this leading, Ella?” He fidgeted in his chair.

  “My friend went up to the counter to order more coffee, and I realised Dad was quite agitated. He said he’d definitely seen my friend before and it was going to annoy him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sorry, I meant he was going to be irritated until he remembered. You know how good my father’s memory is, Michael. He hated the idea of not putting a place to a face he recognised.”

  “You’re not telling me that your father was up on Chinthurst Hill the same time as this ‘friend' and that he saw him up there, are you?”

  “No, no.”

  Michael exhaled in exasperation. “Then what? For god’s sake, Ella, you’re bloody maddening at times.”

  I felt my skin grow hot as I flushed at his words. “Stop interrupting. Do you want to hear me out or not? I didn’t have to come to you. I could have gone straight to the Guildford station,” I muttered between my teeth, trying not to attract any attention from the other pub users.

  Michael waved his hand in dismissal. “You know I do, and thanks, but just get on with it.”

  I pursed my lips. Michael was a real pain in the arse at times. “Right. Dad and I were still sitting at our table, when my friend returned. Just as he sat down, Dad suddenly snapped his fingers and said. ‘I’ve got it!’ We exchanged looks and then my friend asked. ‘Got what?’”

  I leant nearer the table between us and lowered my voice.

  “I noticed how Dad looked relieved and excited at the same time. Obviously, he’d been fretting about forgetting. He said he’d remembered where he’d seen him. My friend then asked where this was. I thought he was being polite, as he didn’t seem bothered at first.”

  Michael nodded and asked in a low voice. “And? What did he say?”

  I scanned the room, but nobody was paying us the slightest bit of attention. The nearest group of drinkers were playing cards and telling jokes. I doubt they would have heard anything, anyway. “Dad said he’d seen him at the Yvonne Arnaud theatre. You know what a theatre groupie he is. Never misses a new play and loves meeting the actors, especially the ladies.” I realised I’d never mentioned to Michael about my father and his sad childhood, so he never knew the real reason for his obsession with the theatre.