Behind You!

by Linda Regan

  Barbara tightened her grip. ‘Keep still!’ she said angrily. ‘You wanted to know about Sophie Flint. Well, I’m telling you. She was only three days past her sixteenth birthday when she opened her legs for him.’

  The key to the room lay on the dresser in front of them. Barbara picked it up with her left hand. Alison watched carefully.

  ‘The mother used to be in the chorus,’ Barbara said, still speaking in the strange voice. ‘No talent, so she threw herself at every producer and director that she worked for, hoping to get a leg up on the career ladder. All she got was that bastard child who turned out the same as her, a grade one slag. I did the world a good turn.’ The hard, mad eyes turned back to Alison. ‘Oh, but you’re a copper. I don’t expect you to agree.’

  She started to drag Alison toward the door.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Out of here. You’re my ticket. Your boss likes you.’

  Alison willed herself to stay calm. Her neck stung and her head throbbed, but worst of all was the humiliation at having urinated in her trousers.

  ‘He won’t take any chances with you. But I’ll kill you too if I have to.’ Barbara laughed. ‘So the choice is yours. If you try anything I’ll happily cut your throat.’

  ‘Fine,’ Alison answered with more confidence that she felt.

  Barbara locked the door from the inside. She was still wearing her costume: short beige suede tunic, bloodstained shirt and thigh-length boots. There was no pocket so she threw the key across the room on to the dresser. She stared at Alison in the mirror. Alison stared back, desperately trying to keep her brain working. Their eyes locked.

  ‘What did Lucinda Benson do wrong?’ Alison asked, fighting to sound calm.

  ‘It was her own fault,’ Barbara said with a casual shrug. ‘She was in the wrong place.’

  ‘You thought she was Sophie?’

  Barbara burst out laughing. ‘You’ve wet yourself. A nice, clean-living policewoman, and you couldn’t wait. I hope he still fancies you, or I’ll have to kill you.’

  ‘You hit her with the stage weight thinking it was Sophie?’ Alison persisted, willing her voice not to shake.

  Barbara shrugged again and lowered her eyes. ‘I got her eventually, didn’t I? I finished what I started.’ Her forehead creased and she suddenly calmed down. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt Lucinda,’ she said, her tone now a child caught raiding the biscuit tin. ‘She had a lot to learn but she wasn’t a bad girl. And she was welcome to Vincent Mann. He’s a ghastly man, but that’s none of my business. She didn’t interfere with my Michael, and she didn’t deserve to die.’ She shook her head and pressed her lips together. ‘I’m truly sorry about that.’

  So Barbara didn’t know everything that had gone on.

  The rapping on the door made them both start. Alison winced as the knife delivered another wasp sting to her neck.

  ‘Open up,’ Banham shouted. Alison recognised the nervous edge in his voice as he banged and rattled the locked door. ‘Alison, are you in there.’ Then a second later, ‘Alison? Alison, answer me.’

  Neither did. The two women stared at each other.

  After a second Barbara whispered, ‘I told you he liked you.’ She pulled Alison’s ponytail with her left arm and dug the knife hard against her already smarting neck. Alison closed her eyes, willing the pain away.

  The banging was suddenly much louder. ‘Open the door now!’

  ‘Don’t answer,’ Barbara whispered.

  Alison knew what was going through Banham’s mind. It took all her willpower to stop herself crying out to him that she was alive.

  ‘Get this door open,’ she heard him command. Bodies banged hard against it.

  Barbara twisted Alison’s body so they were facing the door. The sharp edge of the knife pressed hard against her throat.

  The door was starting to give way. There was desperation in Banham’s voice as he urged the officers to hurry. She said a silent prayer that she would stay alive long enough to thank him. If she ever needed proof that he cared for her, she had it now.

  Then the lock on the door gave way and the door flew open. Banham stood in the doorway. Alison’s head was pulled to one side but they could see each other. His face was a mask.

  He held his hand out and took a step forward. ‘Give me the knife, Barbara,’ he said.

  ‘One foot closer from any of your dummies and I’ll carve her throat open and you can watch her life drip away.’ Barbara’s voice was cold as ice.

  All the officers froze.

  Alison felt another sting as the knife moved slowly across her neck. It took all her all her willpower not to cry out and her body started to shudder uncontrollably. Banham stood still as a statue.

  ‘What do you want, Barbara?’ he asked calmly.

  There was no reply.

  ‘Let her go,’ Banham said, as if he was suggesting she shouldn’t have another drink before driving.

  Barbara moved the knife a millimetre from Alison’s eye. ‘I’m not messing. If you come any closer, I’ll take her fucking eye out.’

  Then without warning the knife flashed down to her chest and struck through the jumper and into the skin above Alison’s breast. Alison cried out as her knees started to give way, but Barbara held her ponytail firmly so she stayed upright. Blood leaked from the wound, staining her jumper dark crimson. Then the knife was back against her throat, and Barbara’s mouth pulled into an ugly smile. ‘Just to let you know, I give the orders,’ she said to Banham.

  Warm blood ran down Alison’s chest. She didn’t know how badly she was cut, only that the pain was excruciating. She forced her eyes to stay open and look at Banham. It gave her strength. His were fixed on her, but showed no emotion. ‘What do you want, Barbara?’ he repeated, showing no sign of fear.

  Barbara relaxed and Alison seized the moment. She closed her mind to her own pain and lifted her leg, booting Barbara hard in the groin.

  Barbara hunched, gulping for air. Alison’s training kicked in. She grabbed Barbara skilfully by the wrist that held the knife. Banham moved quickly to help, but Barbara was quicker, and a wave of dizziness engulfed Alison. Barbara held on to the knife and pointed it against Alison’s face. Banham backed off, putting his hand out to halt the other officers. He was taking no chances, but his eyes were pinned on Barbara, waiting for another opportunity.

  Barbara slipped her wrist from Alison’s grip and brought the knife back to her throat. She dragged her long nails along the already burning graze on Alison’s neck. The pain was nearly unbearable. Alison’s shoulders slumped, but Barbara held her upright. Then she moved the knife back to the side of Alison’s eye.

  ‘It’s up to you,’ Barbara said, watching Banham. ‘Not my fault if she falls unconscious on to the knife.’ She burst out laughing. ‘Ever heard of King Harold?’

  Then her voice changed again, becoming low and distorted. ‘Get out of my way. We are leaving. And if any of your penguins get in my way, she’ll be a one-eyed wonder.’

  ‘Do as she says,’ Banham said, his eyes on Alison. All the police stood back to let Barbara walk out. Alison managed to keep her eyes open and look back at Banham. They had been through a lot together in the ten years she had worked under him, but nothing compared to this. He gave her strength.

  The police all backed away from the door. Barbara started to drag Alison. As they reached the door Banham said, ‘You can go, Barbara. I give you my word we won’t try to stop you. But please leave Sergeant Grainger.’

  ‘Then give me your car keys,’ Barbara said.

  ‘Let her go first,’ Banham answered.

  Her voice dropped in tone. ‘I decide the terms. Give me the keys, or I’ll take her eye out.’

  She opened her left hand, palm up, and he dug in his pocket for the keys.

  ‘OK, that’s fine.’ He spoke in a quiet authoritative tone, and his eyes met Barbara’s. ‘Let her go, then I’ll give you the keys.’

  Barbara took another step towards the door. She
was a foot from Banham, and Alison was still within his reach.

  ‘She’s coming with me,’ Barbara said. ‘She’s my passage out of here. Give me your car keys or it’s King Harold the Second.’

  His voice was perfectly steady. ‘You’re too clever to believe you can walk out of here with a knife against the face of a police sergeant and get away with it. I’ll give you my car keys, and I’ll let you drive off, but you’re not taking Sergeant Grainger with you.’

  ‘The keys to your car,’ Barbara spat at him.

  Alison could see no way out of this. Banham couldn’t back down, and Barbara wouldn’t. At best she was going to lose an eye; at worst, her life. The odds weren’t good. It was now or never.

  Adrenaline drove her forward. She swiftly ducked her head and kicked out hard, making contact with Barbara’s thigh.

  As Barbara took the kick she raised the knife, but Banham saw it coming and lunged, closely followed by Crowther, who was standing right behind him. This time Banham grabbed the hand that held the knife, but before he could shake it free, Barbara dug it into his hand. He hardly felt the pain; he bent her wrist back sharply, and she released both the knife and Alison with a little cry. He held both Barbara’s arms above her head. ‘Handcuffs,’ he shouted to the uniformed officer next to him. Crowther picked up the knife as the PC happily clicked the handcuffs on Barbara. But she wasn’t finished; she managed a final kick, and the heel of her boot landed in Alison’s face. Blood spurted from her nose and she fell forward in a heap on the floor.

  Banham was on his knees beside her in a second. ‘Where’s that ambulance?’ he shouted. Then, unable to resist, he stood up and punched Barbara hard in the face.

  The other police all looked away.

  Barbara sat in the interview room, her swollen eye almost closed. The other stared at the cold grey walls that surrounded her.

  Banham sat opposite, with DC Crowther beside him.

  ‘I don’t deserve this,’ she said.

  ‘That’s for a jury to decide,’ Banham said coldly.

  ‘He should be here. It’s his fault.’

  ‘Who’s he?’ Crowther asked, bored.

  ‘My husband. No, sorry – everybody’s husband.’ She laughed harshly, then burst into angry tears.

  Banham and Crowther made eye contact. She was clearly mentally disturbed, but Banham hoped the court wouldn’t be lenient because of it. She had killed two beautiful young women with their lives ahead of them, and nearly murdered his sergeant and best friend as well.

  He was angry that someone so unstable could get a job in a Christmas pantomime show alongside a dozen innocent children who all thought themselves lucky to be doing it, while twice a day five hundred adults and children cheered her on as a hero. He shuddered at the thought.

  He stared at Barbara’s swollen and bruised eye. Crowther’s report would say she had walked into a wall resisting arrest.

  Barbara smiled coyly at Banham. ‘It really is Michael’s fault, you know. He killed us all. He lured me into his nest, got me a hit record, promised to love me for ever.’ Her voice took on the distorted note. ‘Then he dropped me when the next little tart came along.’ Her own voice returned. ‘He took my life, you see.’

  ‘Tell us how you killed Sophie,’ Banham said flatly.

  ‘I’m only sorry I didn’t kill Fay as well.’

  ‘Fay? What does she have to do with it?’ This woman was unbelievable.

  Again the tone of her voice changed. ‘She was Michael’s bastard. He wouldn’t give me a child, but he gave Maggie one.’

  Banham swallowed his anger. ‘Tell us how you killed Sophie,’ he repeated.

  ‘You know how I killed her,’ she sighed. ‘I cut her throat.’

  ‘Talk us through your movements up to and just after the murder.’

  She looked away. ‘I married him first. He was mine.’

  Both men waited for her to continue. She started to cry again. Banham hoped her swollen eye hurt.

  ‘She wound me up,’ Barbara said through her tears. ‘She kept saying she loved him, and he was her father.’ She closed her good eye and shook her head, then stopped crying and smiled again. ‘He wasn’t her father. She seduced him, like all the other tarts. And he gave her my job. I was always his assistant director, right up to last year.’

  ‘Tell us how it happened,’ Banham asked again.

  ‘I took the knife from Stephen’s car and hid it in the step with my gloves.’ She looked at Crowther. ‘There were plenty of the overall things your little blue people wore – I found one yesterday in one of the costume skips down in the basement, and thought, what a good idea. Didn’t want to get blood all over my costume, did I? So I hid it with the knife.’ She seemed pleased with herself. ‘I set my boots out in the toilet to look as if I was in there, then locked the door and climbed out over the wall. Oh, and I fixed the cat’s costume so the head wouldn’t stay on. The loo was nearer than their dressing room – I knew Maggie’d head straight there after we left the stage.’ A smile spread across her face. ‘And I knew she and that halfwit daughter of hers would be stupid enough to see my boots and believe I was in there.’ She smiled again. ‘They were my alibi.’

  ‘You had it all worked out,’ Banham said, his eyes burning into her.

  ‘Oh, it was perfect,’ she assured him. ‘Even Stephen. He walked into the trap like a stupid rabbit.’

  Crowther took in a noisy breath, but Banham’s eyes remained on Barbara. Her excitement mounted. ‘I had to be quick. I ran to the step and got the knife and gloves, and the blue suit, then I ran down the haunted staircase and met her in the basement. It was perfect.’ She looked innocently at Banham. ‘You didn’t know her. She had it coming, believe me.’

  Banham managed to keep his temper. ‘I wonder if the judge will agree with you.’

  ‘And you took Stephen’s costume from the laundry basket?’ Crowther butted in. ‘And wrapped it around the knife then hid it in the step, so if it was found, Stephen would take the rap.’

  She looked at Crowther and burst out laughing. ‘I’d already cooked his goose, with the gloves.’

  ‘Gloves?’ Banham frowned.

  ‘I wore his black gloves when I went to kill Sophie. Except it wasn’t Sophie that time – it was the other girl.’

  Her eyes were glazed. Banham began to wonder if she was losing it, or if he was. Then it fell into place: the gloves from the oversized black costume in the company office, which had incriminated Stephen Coombs when Penny Starr found concrete dust on them. Barbara must have taken them, then returned them to the office after killing Lucinda. What a devious mind she had.

  ‘It was so easy.’ She looked superciliously at Crowther. ‘You didn’t even notice me. Your eyes were out on stalks, watching those twits of girls gyrating. You were a walkover.’

  Crowther stared at the floor to avoid Banham’s eyes. Barbara smiled again. ‘I enjoyed it. I heard her coming down the stairs, on the opposite side of the basement. It was pitch black down there until I turned the worker light on. She walked into me, like a rabbit to a fox. I enjoyed ripping her neck open. I only wish the light had been better – I really wanted to watch her face. But I enjoyed every sound she made. I had to stop myself laughing out loud as her head fell back and the blood shot out.’ Her eye stared coldly. ‘I had to be very careful, you see; very careful to stand behind her, so that the blood shot away from me; I couldn’t risk getting any on my boots.’

  She smiled and sighed as she said, ‘She was moaning and writhing on the floor and her body was jerking. But I was careful not to tread in the blood. Mind you, when your little blue person asked for my boots, I gave her the other pair, the spares I’d left in the toilet, just in case I’d been careless.’ She laughed, this time like a small child. ‘Then I came up the haunted passage and hid the knife in the step by the door of the passage. I saw Stephen drop his costume in the laundry basket, so when he went upstairs I took it and wrapped it around the knife and dropped them back in the
step.’

  ‘What did you do with the gloves and the forensic suit?’

  She frowned.

  ‘The blue overall,’ Banham said wearily.

  ‘I’m coming to that! Maggie and Fay had gone, so I went back into the loo, climbed over the toilet wall again and changed my boots…’

  ‘The overall. Where did you hide it?’

  ‘I stuffed it in the lavatory cistern. The gloves too. Didn’t anyone look?’ She threw him a triumphant look. ‘Your penguins really aren’t very thorough, are they? They didn’t even ask if I had a second pair of boots! The star of the show always has spare costumes. No one else, though.’

  Her look of satisfaction made Banham feel like blacking her other eye. That toilet must have been flushing with pink water for the past twenty-four hours, and none of the forensic team had noticed. And Coombs’s bathing costume – why had nobody realised that there simply wasn’t enough blood on it? Why had he not realised? The basement had been like a horror movie – the killer must have been liberally splashed. The costume was only smeared, from the knife wrapped up in it.

  Barbara burst out laughing again. ‘I fooled you, didn’t I, Inspector?’

  Banham looked away. Yes, he had been well and truly fooled. And Alison had almost died as a result.

  ‘When did you discover that the step opened? Crowther asked her.

  ‘An electrician who worked at the theatre many years ago used to leave me love letters there. He was besotted with me. I could have had an affair with him, but I didn’t because I loved Michael.’ She paused. ‘He showed me the step. He told me it was a very special place, like my …’ She mouthed the ugly little word and smiled again. ‘It just looks like a step, but it opens like the lid of a box, provided you know which corner to lift it from.’ She looked at Banham, a hand covering her eye. ‘Easy, really. All your uniformed little penguins searching high and low, and it was there all the time, in front of their noses. In my secret place. And you were sure to find out that Stephen has a record for GBH. Police are very predictable. So it was perfect.’ She twisted her mouth downward and shuddered. ‘Anyway, he’s a horrible man. He’s fat and talentless, and the other way sexually. He should be locked away.’