A Theatrical Murder

by David W Robinson

“Now, listen—”

  “No. You listen while I talk. I came here of my own free will to give you information which may or may not have some bearing on last night. If it doesn’t, then I’ll go on my way. If it does, you might be grateful to me for coming here. Either way, you have no business rushing me in here like I’m guilty of killing Sedgwick.”

  “You’re in here less than two minutes and already I don’t like you,” Nichols observed.

  “It’s mutual.”

  Sergeant Hinch drew up a chair and silently invited Joe to sit. He stripped off his coat, took the seat.

  The sergeant stood at the side of Nichols and when she spoke it was in more measured tones than her boss. “Mr Murray, you identified a man in the bar last night. For some reason that you haven’t yet explained, you chose to follow up by asking the bar staff what he wanted. We’re particularly interested in why you should even notice this man, and why you felt it necessary to ask about him.”

  “Why did I notice this prat? Because he was big, arrogant and ignorant.” Joe glared at Nichols. “A bit like you. But not only that, he tried to get a word with Sedgwick, but Sedgwick gave him short shrift. Why did I ask after him? Because Teri had just told me that Sedgwick had been murdered, and after this man spoke to the barman, he left in a hurry. That seemed to me to be suspicious. Especially when there’s been a murder.”

  “And you’d know about suspicious characters when there’s been a murder, would you?” Nichols demanded.

  “More than you might think, pal. Do yourself a favour. Ring Detective Sergeant Gemma Craddock of Sanford CID. She’ll vouch for me.”

  “We may get to that,” Nichols told him. “In the meantime, we have another theory on why you noticed this man and why you might have had a hand in killing Sedgwick.”

  “What? I—”

  “It’s called disinformation, Murray. You noticed him because you knew him, you didn’t want to see him there, so when he left in a hurry, you decided to come here and muddy the issue with this cock and bull tale of him acting suspiciously.”

  Joe considered the inspector’s words. “This planet you live on? Is the standard rate of VAT lower than ours?”

  His face suffused with anger, Nichols picked up his phone again, dialled and put it to his ear. “It’s Nichols. Bring me some mugshots in.” He glowered at Joe. “Let’s see if you can recognise him.”

  “No need. I already know who he is.”

  Nichols’s face lit up. “You do?”

  “Anthony Chelton. He’s an actor. He’s worked with Sedgwick in the past, but according to Nat Billingham, they didn’t get on any too well.”

  “Get out an all ports on him,” Nichols informed his sergeant. “Probably nothing to it, but we need a word.” He concentrated on Joe. “So what’s your angle on all this?”

  “I told you. My friend’s granddaughter is in the play, probably on your list of suspects. I’m just anxious to see her name cleared.”

  “Right. And did your friend’s granddaughter tell you that Sedgwick has been under investigation since forever?”

  Joe tried to hide his surprise. “Under investigation?”

  Nichols nodded. “According to our information, he is – correction, was – one of the country’s biggest drug dealers.”

  ***

  Stepping out of the Hildred Shopping Centre, where a visit to a clothing store had been a success for Brenda, and a local, discount bookstore had been equally satisfactory for Sheila, the two women made for a café across the street.

  Situated on a corner where Lumley Road and the pedestrianised High Street forked their separate ways, the café had an outside seating area which, in view of the inclement weather, was left barren.

  “Too cold for coffee on the pavement,” Brenda commented as she pushed her way into the interior.

  “I’ll bet Joe’s nice and warm wherever he is.”

  “Yes, and if he doesn’t get a move on we’re not going to get to Mablethorpe.”

  The café was about three-quarters full, and while Brenda queued, Sheila looked around for somewhere to sit. Her eyes lit on a despondent figure, seated alone over by the far windows. Weaving her way through the tables, she stood over the depressed woman.

  “Hello, Teri. It’s very crowded in here. May we join you?”

  Deep in thought, Teri looked up and registered her approval with a wan smile. “Hello, Mrs Riley.” She gestured at the empty seats.

  Dropping the carrier bags, hers and Brenda’s, Sheila tucked herself in with her back to the window.

  “Very quiet out there. Still, New Year, and I suppose most people will be short of money until next payday.”

  Teri nodded and stared through the windows.

  “Why so glum? Malcolm Sedgwick?”

  The young women heaved in a sigh. “No... well, yes. Partly.” A tear glistened in her eye and she looked away again in an effort to bring her emotions under control.

  Sheila had not spent years as a school secretary without learning how to spot clues. “Man trouble?” she asked and Teri nodded. In an effort to support her, Sheila went on. “You know, I was happily married to my husband for years, so I don’t profess to being an expert, but I do know that whatever the problem, there’s always a way to sort it out.”

  “Not this time, Mrs Riley. If he’s done what I think he’s done, then everything is finished. Not just him and me, but everything.”

  Trying to wade through the cryptic nature of Teri’s words, Sheila found herself in a blind alley, with only a tiny possibility of a way out. “Sylvia hinted that you had a boyfriend. Is he a colleague? A member of the cast or crew?”

  Again Teri nodded. “It’s Nat.”

  Sheila hid her surprise as Brenda arrived with two coffees.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Teri. I didn’t see you there, or I’d have got another cup.”

  Teri nodded at her half empty cappuccino. “I’m all right, thanks, Mrs Jump.”

  Clicking a couple of saccharin tablets into her latte, Sheila said, “Well, at least we have an expert on men with us now.” She brought Brenda quickly up to speed.

  When Sheila had finished, Brenda said, “I’m surprised, but I should have guessed. You never gave any indication last night that you and Nat were, er, an item.”

  Teri stirred her coffee slowly, sadly. “My gran was there, Mrs Jump. You don’t announce, hey, Gran, this is my boyfriend and he’s over ten years older than me. Gran is a bit straight-laced on such matters.”

  Reserving judgement on Sylvia Goodson and her not-so-secret relationship with Les Tanner, Brenda asked, “It’s all going sour, is it?”

  “No. Not yet. But it will.”

  “We’re not just being nosy, Teri,” Sheila said. “Your grandma has already asked Joe if he’ll look into Malcolm Sedgwick’s murder with a view to clearing you of any suspicion, and we know Joe. He won’t rest until he’s got to the bottom of it. And you can bet your relationship with Nat will come out into the open somewhere along the line. Why not tell us what’s gone wrong?”

  Teri sighed again, took another sip of her cappuccino and dabbed froth from her lips with a napkin. “Nat and I were with the police a long time last night, and they kept asking about Malcolm’s drug habit. During the night, I got to thinking about it. They obviously believe his murder is linked to the drugs and I guess they’ll be looking for Malcolm’s supplier.” She shuddered. “I think it’s Nat, and if it is, it means he probably murdered Malcolm and the police will get him. He’ll go to prison for a long time, and even if he manages to wriggle out of it, I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  Silence fell. Brenda watched an elderly woman on the street struggle with her shopping trolley after the wind blew it over. Sheila toyed with her coffee spoon and Teri continued to stare gloomily into her cup.

  “Have you been with him long?” Brenda asked.

  Teri shrugged. “About six months. We met when I was appearing at the West Yorkshire Playhouse. It was he who got me the part in th
is production. Then we got together when we were first rehearsing Hamlet up in Newcastle.” She laughed near to tears. “We were like schoolkids. Moon-faced and starry eyed. He was simply charming. You know what I mean?”

  “I do,” Brenda agreed.

  “Oddly enough, so do I,” Sheila echoed. “It may have been a long time ago, but I felt the same way about Peter when I first met him.”

  Teri’s face said she doubted both women, but she went on passionately. “Even before we went on the road, we were sharing a room. Malcolm claimed he was a visionary, but like Nat pointed out, he was actually a bit of a clown. Nat, on the other hand, isn’t. He’s a genuine ideas man. He carries his laptop with him at all times and I’ve seen some of his ideas. Films, TV series, stage productions. He has a script for a biopic of Kathy Kirby. I don’t know if you know who Kathy Kirby was, but—”

  “We remember Kathy Kirby,” Brenda interrupted. “We may be getting on, Teri, but our memory and faculties are still intact. Beautiful woman, lovely voice, but such a sad life as it turned out.” She paused a moment. “So go on. What makes you think Nat was Sedgwick’s supplier?”

  “It only occurred to me last night,” Teri replied. “He’s not particularly secretive. You never are when you first fall in love, are you? But then I remembered there were times when he’d be working on something and if I came in, he would close the laptop lid. That shuts it down, you know. Puts it into hibernation. And now and then, when we’ve been on the road, he would go out, saying he had to meet someone, but he wouldn’t take me with him, wouldn’t tell me where he was going or who it was he was meeting. All along, I guessed it was someone from his past, but after last night, I think it was something more serious.” Teri leaned forward to press her point. “Someone has been supplying Malcolm Sedgwick with cocaine. And someone else must be supplying that someone. It’s Nat. I’m sure of it. He’s been meeting his supplier, and then passing the drugs onto Malcolm.”

  “Does Nat do drugs?” Sheila asked.

  “I think he has done. Who hasn’t?”

  “Me for one,” Sheila replied, and Brenda murmured her agreement.

  “Most people dabble, Mrs Riley. I did. When I was in school and after I left. But not for long. Drugs are not my thing. Nat’s hinted that he’s done some of the rave drugs, like E, but it was when he was young, and he doesn’t have anything to do with them now.”

  “Any signs that he’s lying?” Brenda wanted to know.

  “No, but like most actors there are plenty of signs that he’s broke, and dealing is often an easy way out of financial trouble, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a disgraceful way out of financial trouble,” Sheila grumbled. “Have you confronted him on the matter?”

  “No. I daren’t. If I’m right, it means he murdered Malcolm and I could be next. If I’m wrong, it could wreck what we have.” He eyes pleading, she stared at them. “What do I do?”

  Brenda reached across the table and took her hand. “What you do is calm down and leave it to two interfering old biddies… correction, two interfering middle-aged biddies. Sheila and me. We’ll poke our noses in nice and gently, and if Nat Billingham thinks he can get away with murder, he’s sorely mistaken.”

  “And if he’s up to something else, he won’t get away with that, either,” Sheila declared.

  Brenda laughed. “Trust me. The man hasn’t been born who can fool us.”

  Chapter Six

  “Drugs?” Joe asked as Nichols re-entered the room.

  Nichols nodded as he took his seat again.

  After furnishing Joe with a cup of tea, he had left the office and been gone for almost twenty minutes, ensuring his “team were on the ball,” so he said. Joe had passed the time trying to call his companions to let them know where he was and what was happening. Unable to get through to Sheila or Brenda, whom he assumed would be too busy shopping, he eventually called Les Tanner instead and asked him to pass on the message that he was fine and would be with them as soon as he could.

  “Don’t know if I’ll see them, Joe, but if I do, I’ll let them know.”

  Now that the inspector had returned, Joe repeated the question he had first asked when Nichols made his startling announcement.

  Giving only a nod in response, Nichols took his seat again. “You’re quite a character, Murray.”

  “Smart enough to rip you and the local CID to pieces,” Joe replied.

  “So I’ve been hearing.” Nichols smiled thinly. “Hinch spoke to your niece.”

  “And what did Gemma tell you... no. Wait. Let me guess. She told you I’m a pain in the butt, a dab hand at making police officers look like blundering idiots, and I’m very rarely wrong.”

  “Or words to that effect,” Nichols agreed. “But you’ll not make me look a fool.”

  “I don’t have to, do I? Someone’s already done it by killing off Malcolm Sedgwick. Especially if he’s the big drug mobster you claim he is.”

  The cloud came back to the inspector’s features. “What do you know about his death?”

  “Nothing. Only what Nat Billingham and Teri Goodson told me in the bar last night. But it’s surprising what I can deduce from that, especially when I take your reactions into account.”

  “Just tell me what you know.”

  “You mean what I’ve worked out. Teri and Nat told me about his habit. From what I saw last night and from what Billingham told me, Sedgwick is a bit of a joke. I take that back. I saw him scrapping with Raif Dempsey yesterday. He was a lot of a joke. Billingham told me the police suspect he was shot by a toy gun, but the paramedics said he had all the symptoms of poisoning.”

  “And you know different, do you?”

  “I know disinformation when I hear it, and that’s what you gave Nat and Teri. If that gun had been switched and a real one substituted for the toy, then someone would have noticed. There’s a hell of a difference between a kid’s cap gun and the real thing. It’s heavier, for a start off, and the barrel would be drilled out. It’s much more likely that the paramedics had it right and he was poisoned. I watched the performance and he was all right until the gunshot. Then he went; suddenly and quickly. There are not many poisons which could that. Cyanide, perhaps, but cyanide poisoning through skin absorption is unlikely, and how did the poisoner get it into his bloodstream? A knife? So who held the knife? The only one I saw was the stage knife Sedgwick sank into Nat Billingham. Even if you could demonstrate that it was one, how did the blade get through a shirt, undergarment and a bag of stage blood to soak into his skin.”

  “The poison could have been in the stage blood.”

  “True, but again, you have to get round this problem of skin absorption. If you want to kill someone with cyanide, you ensure they ingest it, and the best method is to drop it in their tea or inject it. I suspected right from the outset that the police were misleading Nat and Teri, and when you told me Sedgwick was one of the UK’s biggest dealers, the answer became obvious to me. If Sedgwick was poisoned, it was likely to be in the drugs and it wasn’t cyanide. That would have killed him two within minutes of him taking it. Strychnine, maybe, but not cyanide.”

  Nichols was silent for a long moment. Eventually, he said, “Your niece was right about you. You are a pain in the rear end, Murray. You’re also good, but as it happens, you’re wrong this time. I’ve been here most of the night and I’ve had tests run on the wraps Sedgwick still had, and the discarded bag from the stuff he snorted before going on stage last night. None of it was poisoned.”

  Joe hid his surprise. “And yet he was definitely poisoned?”

  Nichols smiled smugly. “Yes. It was a poisoned dart shot into his left leg.”

  Joe snorted. “Someone using a blowpipe?”

  “Nope. Well, we doubt it. We figure it was an air pistol, and if so, it means it was fired from the left, offstage. Trouble is, as near as we can make out, everyone backstage was to the right.”

  Joe slotted the information away into his agile mind. “The poison?”


  “We don’t know. We didn’t find the dart. Our guess is that during the immediate confusion, after the curtain came down, the killer was ‘helping’—” Nichols described speech marks in the air “— and he pocketed the dart. We’ll have to wait for the post mortem and toxicology reports. So you’re partly right, Murray. At the moment we are misleading everyone on the cause of death. At least until we find out what we’re up against.”

  “What you’re up against? How do you mean?”

  “A man with a grudge, or a nutter?” Nichols paused a moment before going on and it seemed to Joe that there was a certain hesitancy about him. “You and Teri Sanford. She’s about twenty-two, you’re fifty-six. Is she generally into older men?”

  Joe tutted impatiently. “I’ve known Teri since she was a schoolgirl and used to come into my café. The fact is, I’m a close friend of her grandmother’s not her.”

  Nichols nodded slowly. “So if it turned out that Teri was the killer, how would you react to that?”

  “She isn’t.”

  “If she was?”

  Joe did not hesitate. “Then she should suffer the consequences. But it isn’t her. I’ll stake my life on that.”

  “If it was and you learned that,” Nichols persisted, “would you turn her in?”

  Again Joe showed no hesitation. “Yes. But it isn’t her.”

  “You know her that well, do you? She’s not the schoolgirl who used to come into your café. She’s a mature woman.”

  Joe shrugged. “All right. So it could be her, but I’d need to see it proven, and if it was, I’d hand her over.” He leaned forward. “Why don’t you stop pussyfooting, Nichols, and tell me exactly what you want?”

  “You’re in an advantageous position, Murray. You have someone on the inside who may or may not be involved in Sedgwick’s operation. You could get information from her. And if you’re as smart as your niece says you are, you can probably get the information without Teri Sanford realising she’s giving it you.”

  With a rueful twitch of the head, Joe laughed, almost to himself. “I think back years, when I wanted to join the police. My old man wouldn’t let me, and anyway, I was too short. Now look at me. Mid fifties and you want me to become a copper’s nark.”