It was only Juliet’s speech to Romeo in Act Three, Scene Five, which I had heard a hundred times by now – but I had never heard it spoken like this.
And I suddenly felt uncomfortably suspicious of Martita.
7
And so here we are, scribbling in the stalls (or at least I am scribbling; Daisy is stewing about ruined crime scenes and idiotic clodhoppers), while the policeman who was called by Miss Crompton stamps about the Rue and destroys the scene of the crime even further. He is not being careful at all, and it makes me feel sweaty with annoyance.
Daisy has just looked over at what I was writing and said, ‘Heavens, Hazel, I’m rubbing off on you! You never used to be so cynical about the police!’
This is not fair. I am not cynical about the good ones. I was not safe enough to feel cynical about Detective Leung during our case in Hong Kong. But blue-coated English bobbies, who have seen fewer dead bodies than Daisy and me, I have learned to be suspicious of. It is simply not wise to assume that grown-ups are any better at solving murders than we are.
When the policeman, PC Jellicoe, first arrived, he went trudging into the well room as though he was expecting to find nothing more down the well than a white sheet. He came out very pale. Then he went barging back into Miss Crompton’s office to telephone for more police, a whole crew to pull out the body, and cornered Miss Crompton to ask her what had happened.
‘I simply have no idea,’ said Miss Crompton forcefully while we all stood about and Daisy and I did our best not to look as though we were taking in every word she said. ‘It was a perfectly ordinary evening. We were working through Act Two. We lost Peter and Benvolio—’
PC Jellicoe looked concerned, and Miss Crompton said quickly, ‘Not dead! Merely ill. There’s something going around. My stage manager, Theresa Johnson, was sent home in the early evening with it. These two girls, the ones who found Rose, they and their maid took her, and they spent the evening in Miss Johnson’s flat.’
Daisy and I both heard that – she was making us Theresa’s alibi, and conveniently not mentioning that Theresa’s flat was her flat too, all in one breath. It was very neatly done.
‘Everyone had to pull together and they did. There’s no argument in my company,’ said Miss Crompton firmly, and I wondered if she knew the same Rue Theatre that I did.
‘Rose was perhaps a little giddy – there’s a reporter coming on Monday to talk to her and the rest of the cast about, well, about press for the production. She dropped a glass in her dressing room and stepped on it – she really wasn’t focused. But I calmed her down, and we proceeded in quite an ordinary way until after the break, when she refused to come out on stage for Scene Five. I sent Martita Torrera to her dressing room to get her, but she was unsuccessful. Inigo decided to wait to summon her again, but, when Martita went in again later, Rose had gone. We all looked, but we were searching for’ – here Miss Crompton’s gaze faltered – ‘a live woman. We never thought to open the cover and look down the well. If it wasn’t for the girls, who knows when she might have been discovered?’
I wondered a little about this story. Miss Crompton was making it sound as though Rose was responsible for smashing the glass, but I did not think that was true. Was she being truthful about everything else?
‘And what were you two doing in that room?’ PC Jellicoe asked me and Daisy.
I froze. Only the most improbable answers came into my mind. But Daisy, of course, did not turn a hair.
‘We were playing hide-and-seek!’ she said. ‘I came in and found Hazel, and then we both noticed that the well’s cover was a little loose, and we moved it and looked in, and then— Oh! It was TOO dreadful!’
I breathed again.
‘Hide-and-seek,’ said PC Jellicoe slowly, writing it down in his small notebook as though it was not a ridiculous lie. ‘This is all very useful. Now, you sit tight. I need to make a map of the scene – need to get it in my head before the super comes.’
‘Super?’ asked Miss Crompton. Her voice was a little sharp. ‘Can’t you clear this up on your own?’
‘Not on your life,’ said the policeman. ‘I’ve had my orders. The station’s sending someone. He should be here shortly.’
Daisy and I, sitting with the rest of the cast in the stalls, are both rather worried about this mysterious super. What if he is a bad policeman? What if he is a good one? We have clues. We saw the crime scene. We are at the beginning of our investigation. But what if this detective swoops in and takes it away from us, and then comes to all the wrong conclusions? What if he sends us home? We ought to have telephoned Uncle Felix, after all …
The door of the auditorium has just banged open and a man has come striding in, his greatcoat swirling around him. He has swept off his hat and is holding it in his hand. His nose is long, and he has a crinkled face and thick dark hair that is slicked back on his head.
I reached for Daisy’s hand and squeezed it as hard as I could. My heart is doing strange things in my chest and my head is whirling.
This policeman is not just anyone.
He is Inspector Priestley.
1
Inspector Priestley strode onto the stage and turned round to stare out into the stalls.
‘Who is in charge here?’ he asked.
‘I am!’ cried Inigo, stepping forward. ‘I am the director!’
‘This is my theatre,’ said Miss Crompton, drawing herself up. ‘And so I am in charge, Inigo darling. I am Frances Crompton. And who might you be?’
‘Inspector Priestley, madam,’ said the Inspector, bowing politely. ‘I have been called in to investigate this case.’
‘What are we going to do?’ I whispered to Daisy in panic. What if Inspector Priestley told the whole of the Rue that we were not just company members but detectives? What if he told Uncle Felix that we were mixed up in another murder case? ‘Daisy!’
‘Shh, quiet!’ Daisy whispered back. ‘I’m thinking. And don’t tell me to think more quickly!’
I bit back my intended reply.
The Inspector turned round to face the stalls and nodded at us all. I told myself that, in the glare of the stage lights, he could not make us out, but all the same his dark eyes swept across us and I swore I saw them flicker and pause on my face.
‘I must ask all of you here not to leave this theatre!’ he called out. ‘Stay where you are. I will be interviewing each of the people who were here last night in turn.’
‘Is that really necessary?’ asked Miss Crompton. She looked uncomfortable.
‘You yourself told my officer that the body was covered over, which rules out an accidental fall. I’m afraid that in these circumstances a proper investigation is necessary. Now, would you be able to tell me the best place to hold my interviews? Do you have somewhere we could use?’
‘I suppose you may use my office on the first floor,’ said Miss Crompton, folding her arms. ‘The bar can serve as a waiting area. But you must understand that rehearsal will have to continue this morning. We are of course terribly sad about poor Rose, but the show must go on. We open in just a few days, after all.’
I watched Miss Crompton carefully. She had seemed truly upset when we found Rose’s body in the well – but now, just like yesterday when the posters were discovered, she seemed to be thinking only of the theatre, and of how this might affect business. Was it just because she had to put aside her grief and think of the play? Or … was Daisy right? Had she liked Rose only because she was the star? I remembered how fond she had seemed of Rose, that first day Daisy and I arrived at the Rue. All that fondness seemed to have vanished now.
‘We certainly do,’ agreed Inigo. ‘I don’t suppose you know when journalists will be allowed into the theatre?’
‘Journalists?’ asked Inspector Priestley.
‘There is no such thing as bad publicity, Inspector,’ said Inigo. ‘The thing has occurred. We may as well turn it to our advantage!’
I remembered what he had said yesterday and shivered a
little. Was there anything Inigo would not do for publicity? Might he even … murder for it?
‘An interesting attitude,’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t work with journalists, unlike some other police officers. You will have to wait until I am done, sir. Now.’ He turned his gaze on Martita. ‘I have seen from the programme my officer gave me that you are the understudy Juliet.’
‘What of it?’ asked Martita, folding her arms to match Miss Crompton. The whole Rue Theatre seemed against Inspector Priestley.
‘Merely asking,’ said the Inspector mildly. ‘We shall discuss it later. Miss Crompton, may I be taken to your office?’
‘Daisy! Hazel!’ called Miss Crompton. ‘Come here! You can show the Inspector to the office and fetch him whatever he needs. Inspector, these are the girls who found poor Rose.’
Of course, she had no idea that we meant anything to the Inspector at all, and we could not refuse her request without explaining ourselves. Daisy and I looked at each other. We would have to go through with it.
2
As we walked down through the stalls, past frightened, angry cast members muttering to each other, I felt dizzy and unreal. I wished like anything that we were wearing some of Daisy’s disguises. I imagined the Inspector staring at us and not remembering us – but, of course, that was merely a fantasy. Although I was in my doublet and Daisy was in her gown, we were quite obviously Daisy Wells and Hazel Wong, two Deepdean schoolgirls with a reputation for being found near dead bodies.
Up the steps onto the stage we went, and then we were in the dazzle of the stage lights, and the darker glare of the Inspector. I saw him start just a little, and I knew he had recognized us. I cringed. Daisy, of course, simply stuck her chin out and marched over to shake his hand.
‘I am Daisy Wells and this is my friend Hazel Wong,’ she said firmly. ‘We are delighted to meet you for the very first time, because we have never been involved in anything like this before.’
I could see the corners of Inspector Priestley’s mouth crinkling, and knew in a glorious rush that we had nothing to fear from him. He would keep our secret from both Uncle Felix and the rest of the Rue. We could not have our suspects knowing that we were practised detectives, not when a murder had just occurred that any one of the company might have been part of.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ said the Inspector. ‘How wonderful to meet you.’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Daisy and she took his hand forcefully. ‘Now, if you’ll just come this way immediately, Hazel and I will guide you to your interview room …’
Inspector Priestley allowed himself to be dragged off stage right into the stuffy darkness of the wings. It was only as we turned into the stairwell that led up to Miss Crompton’s office that the Inspector spoke.
‘And what,’ he said, very softly, so softly that anyone listening would not be able to hear, ‘is the Detective Society doing at another murder scene?’
‘Do you know,’ said Daisy brightly, ‘that was just what Hazel and I were asking ourselves when you arrived. We didn’t witness the murder, most annoyingly, but luckily we are part of the company—’
‘Madam Super,’ said Inspector Priestley, ‘you are trying to chatter me into forgetting my question, and it will not work. Miss Wong?’
I gulped. ‘Daisy’s uncle and aunt sent us, to keep us out of trouble,’ I said as we walked up the stairs to the office. ‘We haven’t called them yet. We can’t let them know. We aren’t supposed to be detecting anything …’
‘Anyway, what are you doing here?’ Daisy butted in. ‘This isn’t Gloucestershire.’
‘I’ve been promoted,’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘The Fallingford case got me noticed.’
‘I’m glad it helped you,’ hissed Daisy. ‘Why, of all the—’
‘But we are part of this case,’ I said, as quickly as I could. ‘We found the body, and we’ve been part of the cast for almost two weeks. We know the Rue inside out.’
‘What Hazel is trying to say is that on this occasion we are willing to let you help us solve the case,’ said Daisy. ‘And don’t just say no like a grown-up. You’ve seen us solve three cases – and we’ve solved three more without you there.’
The Inspector’s forehead wrinkled.
‘Please,’ I said. ‘Let us help you. I promise we’ll be good!’
‘You know we’re good detectives. You gave us badges!’ said Daisy, her voice trembling with outrage as we pushed open the door into Miss Crompton’s chaotic office.
‘Let me speak, Miss Wells. You are not part of the police so you cannot officially be part of this case. However, I will not stop you detecting. I will turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to anything you do that is not obviously dangerous or criminal, and in turn you will make sure that what you are doing does not reach the ears of my higher-ups. Do you understand?’
‘Yes!’ I said gratefully.
‘Why?’ asked Daisy suspiciously.
‘Because last time I met you, you saved a little girl’s life, and you deserve a reward greater than badges for that,’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘That is all the reasoning I will give, Miss Wells. Do not look a gift horse in the mouth. If you please, will you ask all the relevant members of the company to come to the waiting area, and then bring the young woman who is now playing Juliet to be my first witness? Miss Wong, I am going to turn round, and I expect you to be gone before I turn back. Where you go is your own business.’
The Inspector turned away to face the wall of the office (rather marked and stained) and cleared his throat. For a moment I could not think what he meant, and then I understood. He was suggesting I hide so I could listen in to the suspects’ statements.
I panicked. It was like a deadly serious version of What’s the Time, Mr Wolf?, a game that always frightens me anyway. I glanced around the room. It was awfully full of rubbish, but all the same there did not seem much to hide behind apart from chairs and piles of papers. And then I caught sight of a little wardrobe just next to the door. It was half open, and I could see that there was a small space beneath Miss Crompton’s hanging coats. I am short still (I am beginning to think I will always be short), and I knew that, although Daisy could never twist herself into that space any more, I could. So I crept in, and crouched down, knees to my chest. I pulled the door almost closed behind me just as the Inspector turned round.
He looked about the room, then smiled and took off his greatcoat. He settled himself in Miss Crompton’s big leather chair, behind her desk, and laid out his notebook carefully before him. I could see a sliver of the Inspector and more of the empty seat in front of him. I breathed in mothballed dust as I pulled out my casebook and pencil and balanced them on my knees, inches from my face. I was glad all over again that I had learned shorthand from Alexander.
That made me think of the Junior Pinkertons, of course. Half-term was here, and I knew George and Alexander were planning to spend the week in London. I had been quite horrified at the idea that they might ask to come to the Rue, for I had not wanted them to see the difference between my performance and Daisy’s – but now I realized that they might be able to help us solve this mystery.
I was so much in a dream that I almost missed the door opening beside me and Daisy coming in with Martita.
3
‘Why am I the first person to be interviewed?’ asked Martita crossly, before she had even sat down.
‘I should think it was obvious, Miss Torrera,’ said the Inspector. ‘I have asked you to speak to me first because you are Juliet, now that Rose Tree is dead. You obviously gain from her death, and that makes me interested in you. Thank you, Miss Wells. You may go now.’
Daisy curtseyed and turned to leave. But she glanced back at Martita as she went, and for a moment her face suddenly slipped out of its polite mask and into an expression of terrible concern. Then she scowled and narrowed her eyes, turning back into my don’t-care best friend as though nothing had happened. I held my breath. It felt as though I had se
en something important even before the interviews had begun.
The door closed behind her and I turned my eyes back to Martita and the Inspector.
‘Now, Miss Torrera, you are Spanish?’
‘Portuguese,’ said Martita, bristling. ‘My name is invented, like everything at this theatre. Frances didn’t think my real name was dramatic enough for the audience. Apparently, Spanish girls are more alluring.’
She curled her lip as she said it, and I felt for her. At the Rue, no one is really themselves, and I saw again that Martita was not happy playing that part.
‘Now, on to the matter of your role. Now that Rose Tree is dead—’
‘I will be given the part,’ said Martita, tossing back her hair. ‘But I didn’t kill her for it.’
‘We shall see,’ said the Inspector very calmly. ‘Now, tell me, if you please, about last night. What did you see? What did you do? I’m not trying to trick you. I simply want to know what happened.’
Martita told the Inspector what she had told us about the night before, almost to the word. At least, I thought, her story was consistent – or was that a mark against her? Was it odd that she’d already chosen what she wanted to say? Rose had stormed off at the beginning of Scene Five, Martita had gone after her, and Rose had shouted at her from her dressing room to go away. Martita had decided to leave her alone for a time. When she went back, Rose was gone.
‘How long?’ pressed the Inspector.
‘How should I know? Half past nine, I think – yes, I remember seeing the clock on the stage door when I went to ask Jim if he had seen Rose. That was at twenty-five to ten, so I must have gone to look for her at half past nine. And I left her for the first time at about five minutes past nine.’
We could check this, I knew. And, if it was true, that meant we could already narrow down the crucial time to twenty-five minutes.
‘How did you feel about Rose, Miss Torrera?’
Death in the Spotlight Page 8
