Revengeful Death

by Jennie Melville

  ‘I don’t think I have helped you,’ said Dan Pitt. He had accepted whisky with happy alacrity, and was drinking it with pleasure; he looked more relaxed.

  ‘More than you think. You’ve been a catalyst.’ Ideas were joining up in her mind.

  Headfort looked pleased.

  ‘And then there’s Gina Foster,’ went on Charmian. ‘ She figures in my cladogram.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Pitt.

  ‘It’s a kind of diagram of relationships. I came across it in a book I was reading about evolution.’

  ‘Anthropology?’ asked Humphrey with interest.

  ‘More bones and relics,’ Charmian said, turning to him. ‘I thought it would be of help to me as well as to a study of evolution. Am I explaining?’

  ‘Sort of,’ said Headfort.

  ‘I started with Gina.’

  ‘Did you indeed?’ said Humphrey. ‘Why did you do that?’

  Charmian shrugged. ‘It was quite arbitrary. You have to start somewhere. But her line crosses with Mary March, Peter Parker and the girl Marian. That’s quite an interesting set of contacts in my book.’

  ‘That reminds me – did I tell you that Rosie said Gina wanted to talk to you? She was going to ring.’

  ‘She hasn’t; I’ll see her tomorrow,’ said Charmian. ‘ Let her wait.’

  Chapter Eleven

  The Trojans were up early the next morning. An early start was something their life demanded often, but this was different. Since they were young, keen and anxious to climb the theatrical ladder, they usually got up cheerfully when a production was on. True, the night before they might have stayed up late, talked, drunk too much coffee and too much wine, but hangovers were not allowed and therefore did not happen. But this morning they were subdued.

  The murder of Pip had broken their solidarity and ruined their sense of being a small, special unit.

  Shirley James, Joe Dibben and Albert Fish were waiting for Gina and Emma in the hall; Shirley was brushing her hair in the big looking-glass which Rosie had installed there for that very purpose. A desultory conversation was going on between them while they stood there. Emma and Gina seemed stuck together since the murder, which worried them all.

  ‘You know, every morning I wake up and think: Oh, this will be the day, the day when the telephone rings and it’s my agent who says the National want you for a big part … Not today though, not yesterday either, come to think of it.’ Shirley frowned at her reflection.

  ‘There isn’t a phone in the Rolls,’ said Joe, ever the realist.

  ‘Well, a letter … I phone my agent practically every day just in case, anyway. Don’t you?’

  Joe shook his head. ‘ Can’t afford it. Not worth it.’

  ‘I’ve told you to get another agent,’ said Albert.

  ‘Go to mine.’ Shirley had got her hair how she liked it and had moved on to lipstick.

  ‘No, dear, and you know why.’

  ‘He’s always decent to me. I’ve never had any trouble.’

  ‘Any woman is safe with him and no man.’

  ‘Paris is worth a Mass,’ said Albert. ‘He’s a good agent, though.’ Shirley’s agent was Albert’s also, but sexual advances were something Albert never had any problem with – it was all his territory, this way, that way, and never came amiss. He was rather admired for it than not, and it certainly made life easier for him in certain respects. He had got parts that he would not have got otherwise, as he willingly admitted. But it had its disadvantages and the disappearance of one lover into prison and Albert’s near miss accounted for his sojourn with the Trojans. Gina had, as he put it himself, got him cheap. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, going back to where they had been before. ‘You ought to get a mobile phone.’

  ‘I can’t afford that. And if I did, you lot would use it all the time.’

  ‘I had that in mind,’ admitted Albert.

  ‘You’re always honest, Albie, or more or less.’

  ‘Sometimes less, darling.’

  ‘But anyway, I’ve explained: this is a no-hope day. And tomorrow,’ she added gloomily. ‘That’s how I feel … What about you two?’

  ‘I never feel optimistic anyway,’ said Joe. ‘If I get an audition it’s a surprise to me, and if I get the part, I’m practically in shock. But all right, I admit it, my mood is not good. What about you, Albie?’

  ‘It’s Pip’s murder and the killing of the girl, and Gina knowing both of them.’ Albert spoke bluntly. ‘ I’ve never been one for coincidences, and I reckon the police aren’t either, and it does not make me jolly.’

  ‘And don’t forget the woman who found Pip, Mary March – Gina knew her too,’ said Joe uneasily.

  ‘I know the police have been sniffing around,’ said Shirley. ‘Rosie told me, although Gina’s kept quiet. Don’t blame her for that. The police went over the Rolls looking for blood. Didn’t find any.’

  ‘How well do you know Gina?’ asked Albert.

  ‘On and off for years, but only as workmates. We’ve played together, even shared rooms if it was convenient; drunk together, been mates, but then the play ends and we don’t meet again for ages. You know how it goes.’

  They did: you had friends in a production, or on a tour (especially on tour) and loved each other dearly; then the show ended and you did not meet. It was theatre life. You were roaming animals, not ruminants quietly grazing in a field.

  ‘But I can’t see her as a killer,’ said Shirley. ‘And what’s her motive? Why should she kill Pip? And why the girl?’

  ‘We don’t always know about killers. People turn round afterwards and say: What a nice chap, who’d have thought it, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘It may have something to do with the March woman,’ said Joe. ‘I’ve seen her around, and thought: there’s a woman in trouble.’

  ‘That would make two of them.’ Shirley turned away from her image in the looking-glass; she had decided to stop being Shirley James, moderately unsuccessful actress, today and be Shirley James, the girl on the way up. This had helped her through many a bad patch in the past. And there might always be a letter from her agent. Or she could call herself. ‘What is it Gina’s got on today?’

  ‘Anything is better than nothing,’ said Albert, who conducted his life on that principle, ‘ otherwise, I don’t know.’

  Shirley looked up the stairs. ‘I think they’re coming … Funny about Emma; she loved Pip, said so and I now believe her. She was angry with Gina that first day, but since then they’ve been hardly ever apart.’

  ‘She thinks Gina will find out who killed Pip,’ said Joe. ‘That’s what Rosie told me.’ He got on well with their landlady, with whom he had once done a television advert about washing powder.

  ‘Or perhaps she just wants to stay close so that if it turns out it was Gina, she can get in first with her knife and stab her,’ Albert spoke lightly.

  ‘Shut up, you two.’ Shirley spoke quietly. ‘ They’ll hear.’

  Gina came down the stairs followed by Emma, who was burdened with what looked like several notices, handwritten in black ink and stuck on long canes, a trumpet (Shirley remembered that from a production of Henry V – it didn’t work too well as she recalled) and a couple of black robes with hoods. She had no idea from which production they had come, but they were bound to make anyone who wore them look dramatic. Tacked under her arm was a large pillow.

  ‘Like the robes,’ said Albie as the two reached ground level. ‘We going to do The Nun’s Story, or is it Walpurgis Night?’

  Gina took no notice.

  ‘This is what we’re going to do: we’re going down the old Basin Road car park, now disused because it’s about to be redeveloped as a block of desirable apartments overlooking the Basin …’ The Basin was a small pond, green with stagnation. ‘Two main roads run past, so there’ll be an audience, and here we will enact the two murders.’

  The Trojans were silenced.

  ‘What about a script?’ Albie said finally.

  �
�No script – we mime, but you may use such words as come to mind.’

  ‘Such as rubbish or not bloody likely,’ said Albert.

  Gina ignored this too. ‘On the way down we pick up Mary March.’

  ‘Oh, she’s got a part too?’ inquired Albert.

  Gina gave him a bleak smile. ‘ We all have parts, some of us several; I was going to allot you the part of the boy child as you are small, Albert … but I’ve decided we’ll have to mime the child, act round him.’

  ‘What about …’ Shirley hesitated. ‘What about the victims? I mean, I don’t fancy that part.’

  ‘No one gets it. That’s what the pillow is for.’

  Shirley, who had a vivid imagination, could see it lying there, limp, pale, dead. Or would it be bloodstained? She reached out a hand to Joe who took it in his warm, firm grasp.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ he said to Gina.

  She was crisp. ‘You’re not meant to like it. This is not a game, but serious business. We’re going to flush out the killer.’

  ‘You think it’s one of us?’ Shirley was incredulous.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t think it’s us,’ said Joe, who had been watching Gina’s face. ‘Or we wouldn’t be in it.’

  ‘I didn’t say that either’ Gina was calm. ‘I don’t know who it is. Some people think it could be me, others that it could be Mary March. I’m hoping that someone will come forward when they see our acting and remember a fact and say so.’

  ‘Bloody Agatha Christie,’ muttered Albie under his breath. ‘I thought I had left that behind. Bags I Poirot.’

  ‘No, Albert, you and Shirley can alternate the part of the killers. You wear the black robes with the hoods down over the face.’

  Shirley opened her mouth and shut it again.

  ‘We don’t know the sex of the killer,’ said Gina. ‘Or even if it was the same killer in each case.’

  ‘I think the police know it was,’ said Emma, speaking for the first time.

  ‘And what part does Emma get?’ asked Shirley.

  ‘She’s the wife, seen running away. Then she comes back as the police doctor.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m the policeman,’ she added: ‘And, in case you were wondering, Mary March plays herself.’

  ‘You think it’s her,’ said Shirley.

  ‘I didn’t say so,’ Gina looked at Emma. ‘ I think we’d better get on. Mary will be waiting. Don’t want that.’

  Rosie appeared from the back of the hall clutching a basket with two thermos flasks and mugs. ‘Brought you these. Reckon you might need a drink. The milk is in the bottle with the screw top. Sugar lumps in a bag.’

  ‘Any biscuits?’ asked Albert.

  ‘Devil,’ said Rosie fondly. ‘ Yes, there are; I put in a packet of mixed creams. And I’ll be down to watch.’

  ‘So will the police when they get wind of it, I should think,’ said Albert.

  Rosie turned to Gina. ‘ Oh, did you get in touch with Charmian Daniels? You said you were going to.’

  ‘Do you know,’ said Gina blandly, ‘I clean forgot.’ She waved a hand. ‘On your way, everyone.’

  Silenced, they followed her to where the Rolls was parked in the road. Albert, who had a kind heart, and was not tethered by the hand as Joe was to Shirley, helped Emma with her burdens. He carried the robes over his arm; Rosie, seeing he was willing, put the basket of food on the other. ‘Good boy,’ she said. ‘Give you a drink when you get back.’

  ‘If I’m not in prison,’ muttered Albert.

  ‘You might well be,’ Rosie agreed, ‘ when Charmian finds out. Gina should have said. I’ll bring you some vittles down to the gaol.’ She was a kind, Dickens landlady now.

  Gina called to Albert over her shoulder. ‘Come on, don’t stand there gassing.’

  ‘Hold you to the food in jug – smuggle in a drink, will you?’ said Albert under his breath.

  He deposited his double burden in the small trailer anchored to the Rolls and climbed in. ‘ Shove over,’ he said to Joe.

  Mary March was waiting for them outside her house, walking up and down the pavement. ‘You’re late,’ she said. ‘I nearly went back inside.’ She got in the Rolls, squeezing in beside the others.

  ‘Good job you’re small,’ said Albert. ‘ This car ought to have some of those drop seats like the Queen has.’ They were passing the Castle by this time. He looked up at the flag flying. ‘The Union Jack and not the royal standard, so HM is not in residence.’ He took in a deep breath. ‘Let’s all breathe in and out together. Or should we stagger it? Alternate down the line.’

  ‘Shut up, Albert,’ Gina spoke over her shoulder.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Mary, ‘it’s not worrying me. I can tell he’s nervous.’

  ‘I certainly am,’ agreed Albert. ‘With you taking your eyes off the road, Gina.’ With Mary March pressed up close against him, he was conscious of anger emanating from her. Not directed at him, he hoped. He smiled at her uneasily but got nothing back. Not the lady to try the charm on.

  There was plenty of early morning go-to-work traffic moving both ways. Their little caravan attracted some notice but nothing that stopped Gina making her way through to the car park. There was a board up saying Keep Out, but she ignored this and pushed the heavy car through a broken bit of wooden fencing. The car was like a tank in weight and strength, and Gina was beginning to act the same, reflected Albert.

  ‘Out you get.’ Gina parked the car neatly, off the road and out of everyone’s way. ‘I’m leaving the keys in because I want one of you to move the car as part of the performance, but don’t any of you nick it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ murmured Albert, scrambling out after Mary March. ‘Now if it was a Ferrari …’

  The car park was on a triangle of land with traffic moving past slowly on either side. Pedestrians paced on the pavements. With any luck, Gina thought, there is our audience, some of whom are already taking an interest.

  She strode off, setting out the scene.

  ‘We ought to have plenty of time for the police to arrive.’

  I wouldn’t count on it, thought Mary March: I left a message for Charmian Daniels just before we set out. She looked at her watch. Have to give her time to get here.

  Gina, helped by Joe, had got several of her handwritten placards stuck up, and had handed Albert the trumpet to start shouting out their programme.

  Cars were slowing down to see what was happening, although none had stopped so far. A woman walking a trio of dogs had begun a shouted conversation with Joe, who had lowered his trumpet to talk to her. She was pointing out to him that she couldn’t understand what he was shouting or what was going on.

  ‘If you stopped your dogs barking, ma’am,’ Joe was answering politely, ‘you would hear better’

  Dogs and owner moved on, but Mary noticed that they did not go far. ‘Our first audience: a whippet, two mongrels and a woman.’

  Gina had got an area chalked out as the stage, with another notice saying that this was the Murder Room. Chalked outlines represented window and doors. Mary had to admit that Gina had skill. It had the feel of a room, somehow.

  Their audience had grown: a woman with a shopping basket, a man on a bicycle and a small boy who had somehow got into the enclosure and was nosing around. Mary heard him ask Albert if he could play the murderer.

  ‘No,’ was the blunt answer.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You’re too small.’

  ‘You aren’t so big yourself,’ said the boy appraisingly.

  ‘Why aren’t you at school?’ Albert demanded.

  ‘I’ve got mumps.’

  Mary wondered how long it would take Charmian to arrive. A routine patrol car, just passing, might get here before her. This was Windsor, after all, with the Queen in her Castle at the top of the hill, so the streets were carefully watched over.

  How long would this charade go on, and what did Gina really ex
pect to get out of it?

  As if she had picked up what Mary was thinking, Gina came over. ‘ We ought to start soon … You can run in and find the body.’

  Mary looked across the car park. Yes, the body was in place, a nice squashy pillow, even a splodge or two of blood on it. In spite of her inner mockery, she began to feel hot, and her breathing became faster. When she turned back to Gina, she felt the woman was trying to read her face. Looking for what? Guilt, of course.

  That is what Gina is looking for, Mary said to herself. She wants me to break down and confess. She said in a firm voice: ‘Let us begin.’ She nodded towards Albert. ‘You start, Albert, as first murderer.’

  Albert had put down his trumpet and was hiding himself in his black robes, gratefully concealing his face in the hood. He went in to murder and seized the pillow. Not knowing what to do he wrestled with it, then threw it to the ground, miming stab wounds. After which, he went to what might have been the front door, saw no one around and walked away. Perhaps he had a car there? He mimed getting into a car.

  ‘Time passes,’ said Gina loudly. She looked towards Emma.

  Emma moved forward and ran; she ran into the distance of the car park to where it overlooked the pond. Then she stopped.

  ‘I watched her,’ said Mary in a loud voice. ‘Then I went into the house. I was worried about the boy, thinking he would be on his own.’ She walked forward.

  She earned a small cheer from the audience, now swollen by a few more shoppers and another boy, presumably also absent from school.

  She walked into the murder room, saw the body. Pretended to unroll the carpet as she had done. See, I am remembering everything, she wanted to call out. Then she found the body, saw the incision in the side, and began to feel sick.