I scrambled back inside. Daisy closed the door after me and slipped out of the room. A minute later, the office door opened.
‘Thank you, sir,’ the Inspector was saying. They both stepped past my hiding place, and I could see that the coroner was short and old. He looked rather like Daisy’s family doctor, Dr Cooper. ‘You are sure of that?’
‘Yes, absolutely. The lady has been in the water for approximately half a day,’ he was saying in a clipped, official voice to Inspector Priestley. ‘She has washerwoman’s skin, and, since she was stuck face down, lividity has caused the face and neck to have pronounced purple discoloration and swelling. It is impossible to tell much else from the body, I’m afraid.’
‘Did she drown?’ asked the Inspector. ‘Or was she already dead when she entered the water?’
‘No way to know for certain. I should say that violence was a possibility, but because of the way she was found, even an autopsy is not likely to tell us much. The only thing I did note was a deep cut to her right foot, which also seems to have occurred close to the time of death, though clearly before it, as it had been tended to and bound.’
I thought again of the footprint on the floor, and Rose falling down the well, and I felt myself trembling.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the Inspector. ‘Please do let me know any further results as soon as you have them. I will carry on here.’
The coroner nodded briskly and turned to go.
‘And please ask that blonde child hovering unsubtly outside to send in the next witness!’ called the Inspector after him.
7
‘What a terrible tragedy!’ Annie gasped, almost as soon as Daisy brought her in. She was draped in bangles that jangled distractingly, her face was painted dramatically and framed by her wildly curly blonde hair. ‘And to think, just yesterday she was alive. It’s dreadful. It makes me fear for my life. How common is murder? How many cases have you solved, Inspector? I remember I heard once about a woman who—’
‘Murder is, happily, not common at all,’ said the Inspector, cutting her off. ‘Now, Annie Joy, you are the dresser on this production. I understand that you move between companies for each new production. Before the Rue, you were at—’
‘Oh yes, the Criterion in February and the Apollo for Christmas. I do get about, but thankfully there’s always so much demand—’
‘Very good,’ said the Inspector, still sharp. ‘Now, what happened last night?’
‘WELL!’ said Annie. ‘We’ve begun to rehearse with costumes, you see, so I stayed late in case there should be issues, and of course there were. Lysander needed his doublet fixed, and I had to come out onstage to fix Rose’s nightie for Scene Two, and then Martita complained about her robe, and then I was in Wardrobe on the first floor, sewing Rose’s ballgown which isn’t needed in Act Two, and working on the Apothecary’s velvet hat, and then I looked in on Rose in her dressing room to make sure my stitching was holding and—’
‘That was when?’ asked the Inspector.
‘Oh, the middle of Scene Three, I think. And then—’
‘And how did Rose seem?’
‘Oh, ordinary. She was kind to me – she praised my work. It’s dreadful to think she’s dead now, after all that; it’s so hard to understand. There she was, talking to me quite as usual, and then, only a few hours later – she was gone! You never think that death will really happen; it seems like something in a play.’
‘So Rose was kind to you?’
‘Oh yes, always,’ said Annie, nodding her head firmly, so that her curls bounced. ‘She was a lovely lady, so talented. I asked her how she got her skin so clear and she said lemon juice, which is interesting because I myself have tried that remedy and it only makes my cheeks—’
‘Did you hear any altercations? Shouting, perhaps?’
‘Oh no, I don’t think so— Wait, perhaps I did! It was later in the evening, after the break. Rose and Martita were arguing, but I didn’t go out to listen. It happened so often that I thought the best thing to do was ignore it.’
‘Where were you when you heard it?’
‘In Wardrobe, surely— No, wait, I don’t think I was. I was powdering my nose in the – you know – loo. I heard it above the noise of the running tap. Then I went to smoke by the stage door and I was back in Wardrobe when Martita came in to say that Rose was missing.’
‘Do you smoke often?’ asked the Inspector.
‘Oh, not regularly,’ said Annie. ‘Sometimes I cadge one off the others – it doesn’t do to keep cigarettes around the costumes, you know. Why, once I had an actress put down a lit match near some lace and the whole thing went up like a—’
‘Thank you, Miss Joy, you may go now,’ said Inspector Priestley.
Jim was next, in a very odd mood. He came limping in – he had an old war injury that made him walk with a hopping, almost sideways gait – and sat down in the chair with a triumphant thump.
‘I knew it!’ he said, again and again. ‘I told them – I told them nothing gets past me. I would have seen her! But they didn’t believe me. Now they see!’
‘They do indeed,’ said the Inspector. ‘So, what did you see last night?’
‘The Act One cast signed themselves out as usual,’ said Jim. ‘Then came Theresa Johnson with Miss Wells and Miss Wong and their maid. Anyway, so they go, leaving Miss Crompton, Mr Leontes and the rest of the Act Two cast – apart from the actors playing Peter and Benvolio, who have the flu. Simon came out to see me, and Lysander and Annie came to cadge cigarettes from me – Lysander was smoking outside when Martita came to look for Rose. Miss Crompton discourages smoking in the theatre. She’s worried that the whole place might go up if someone’s careless, so the company either comes to stand at the stage door or goes down into the well room.’
‘What about Martita?’ asked Inspector Priestley. ‘Did she come past?’
‘Oh, she was rushing about. She came by several times – asked me to find some keys for her and so on. Then Mr Leontes came to talk to me – he was still with me when the alarm was raised, as it happens. He’s a gentleman, he is. The tales he can tell about the theatre! We had a nice chat about old times. He and I worked together many years ago on a production of Hamlet. You should have seen him holding Yorick’s skull!’
I know it is all just part of a play, but the image of Inigo digging up graves and staring at bones made me feel rather wobbly.
‘So – everyone except Miss Crompton stopped by to speak to you,’ said Inspector Priestley, writing.
‘That’s correct,’ said Jim. ‘Everyone except Miss Crompton – and Rose Tree. Of course, I saw them all again at the end of the night, after Rose had been discovered missing and they’d given up the search, but I never saw her. And now we know why! I thought I was losing my mind. Couldn’t get to sleep last night! But I was right. I never did see her, and now no one will ever see her again.’
And Jim sat back in his chair, arms folded, looking strangely pleased.
‘She wasn’t a good person,’ he went on. ‘I see people every day, but they don’t see me. These actors and actresses and famous folk – they don’t think I matter! But I’m always there at the door, and I see what people are really like. Rose thought I wasn’t important, and serve her right. She’s got what she deserved.’
And, with that, he got up and walked away, leaving me feeling distinctly chilly.
8
There was only one suspect left to interview. It was odd to be suspicious of Miss Crompton, but Daisy and I have learned from our investigations that no one should be left out of consideration. Even the unlikeliest person may have committed the crime, and so it would be wrong to discount anyone until it is certain that they couldn’t have done it.
Miss Crompton came in with her arms crossed and her chin jutting out. Even the close-cropped curls of her hair looked belligerent.
‘So, you have interrogated my cast,’ she said. ‘What are your conclusions?’
‘I can’t tell you that yet
, I’m afraid, madam,’ said Inspector Priestley. ‘I can only ask you to account for your movements last night, and tell me the nature of your relationship with the deceased.’
It was funny to listen to Inspector Priestley’s manner change as he spoke to different people. He was as much of a chameleon as Daisy, I thought – able to tell everyone what they wanted to hear.
‘Rose Tree was a clever girl,’ said Miss Crompton. ‘We got along very well, and I cast her as my Juliet. She could be overly dramatic, and she certainly rubbed some of the company up the wrong way, but that is the nature of theatrical temperaments. She was a born star, an actress in her soul, and people like that don’t always form close alliances. She and Martita are really so similar. Both have lost their parents one way or another, and have been forced to struggle to find their way onto the stage. Perhaps that’s why they fought. You will have heard about their argument last night? I know it sounds terrible, but I can assure you that there is nothing sinister to it. Just two girls letting out their temper on each other.’
She raised her chin and glared at the Inspector.
‘If that argument was harmless, who else might have had a grudge against Rose?’ asked Inspector Priestley.
‘Please do not ask me that,’ snapped Miss Crompton. ‘I will not give up a single member of my company. They are mine, you understand? This is my theatre and they are all my family. Everyone is welcome here, no matter who they are. The world can be cruel to those who are different, and the Rue is our refuge from that.’
The Inspector shrugged. ‘That is a wonderful sentiment, but I’m afraid that one of your family is guilty of a terrible crime. Now, where were you yesterday evening?’
‘Onstage with Inigo, watching him direct,’ said Miss Crompton.
‘I understand Miss Johnson had been taken ill, and Miss Torrera was filling in for her. Surely you helped Miss Torrera with the stage-manager duties?’
‘From time to time. But I was onstage when Martita and Rose had their argument, and I remained there with Inigo until just before Rose was discovered to be missing. I am not stupid, Inspector. I know these are the crucial times. I was with Inigo, then I went to powder my nose in the ladies’. I was only gone for two or three minutes, and when I came back Martita told me that Rose was missing.’
So Miss Crompton, like Inigo, admitted that there was a brief time in which she had been alone. How long, I wondered, would it have taken to actually kill Rose?
‘Inspector,’ Miss Crompton went on, ‘is this really murder?’
‘There’s no doubt about it, madam.’
‘Murder!’ muttered Miss Crompton. I was expecting to hear her sound sorrowful, hurt, horrified. But instead she sounded … thoughtful, almost calculating. ‘Will – will the papers hear of it?’
‘What is the Rue’s obsession with newspapers?’ asked the Inspector.
‘Inspector, in our business, there truly is no such thing as bad publicity. I am sure Inigo has tried to be coy about it, but I don’t see the point. A dead body in our well sells tickets. Everyone loves a crime, and murder is the best sort. I am sorry that Rose is dead – I felt for her, and she played Juliet beautifully. But her death will guarantee us a month of full houses, if not two, and the Rue is badly in need of full houses. I must think of my theatre and I will.’
And, with that, she stood up and strode out of the room. My head was in a whirl. Had Miss Crompton just given herself, and Inigo, the perfect motive to commit the crime? It was almost too horrid.
I sighed uncomfortably, and Inspector Priestley sighed too.
‘That’s everyone,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘One of them must have done it. But who?’
9
The Inspector stepped out of the office into the dusty corridor, and a careful thirty seconds later I followed him. I had no sooner walked through the doorway and turned towards the stairs than a slim hand shot out of a little alcove to my right and dragged me into it.
I found myself squashed up next to Daisy in the heavy darkness.
‘Ow!’ I said. ‘Daisy!’
I was rather worried that bits of us were sticking out of the alcove. We are not quite as small as we used to be, especially not Daisy, and it is rather harder for us to hide.
‘How do you know it’s me?’ said Daisy in a muffled voice. ‘It might be anyone. It might be the killer!’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said uncomfortably. ‘I know you. If it were anyone else, I’d scream.’
‘But what if I was wearing a costume? What if I was in disguise?’
‘I’d still know your hands,’ I said. ‘I’d know you anywhere.’
‘Ugh,’ said Daisy, and I could tell that she was wrinkling up her nose at me in the dark. ‘You’re such a – Hazel.’ But her voice was pleased. ‘Now, Watson, this case is becoming extremely exciting! All our suspects are behaving terribly oddly. I can’t tell who is acting and who is not, but I am certain that something is rotten in the Rue Theatre. This murder must be connected to the threats against Rose, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, I agree!’ I said eagerly. ‘We can’t rule any of them out yet – although, if it is true that Inigo and Miss Crompton didn’t leave the stage until just before Martita raised the alarm, then they are less likely to be guilty, aren’t they?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Daisy. ‘Or perhaps not. We must work out timings before we’re absolutely sure. All we know is that Rose must have been killed after her argument with Martita and before Martita realized she was missing.’
‘Daisy,’ I said uncomfortably, ‘we do keep coming back to Martita, don’t we? She was the last person to see—’
‘Hazel, DO you know, I think we ought to go and have a Detective Society meeting at once! The bar is empty now that everyone’s been interviewed. We can hide there and talk without anyone hearing!’
And I thought to myself that we might have travelled halfway across the world and faced things so terrible that I hardly like to remember them. We might have grown, and changed – even Daisy – but we would always be the same people underneath.
We found ourselves a little nest behind the bar, in the glitter and shine of the front-of-house foyer that was so different from the dark, hot, stripped-down backstage area, to hold our meeting. Our backs were to the wall and we kept our voices low. We could not be taken by surprise.
10
‘Detective Society meeting,’ said Daisy briskly. ‘Present: Daisy Wells and Hazel Wong, President and Vice-President of the Detective Society. The case: the Romeo and Juliet murder, or the Murder in the Rue Theatre. Oh, fancy, Hazel, that sounds like the title of that old story. Remember?’
Daisy makes me read plenty of detective stories, and I knew the one she was talking about.
‘The one by Poe, with the silly ending?’ I asked.
‘It’s not silly!’ said Daisy. ‘At least, it may seem silly, but surely you know by now that most of the silliest things are true? Fiction is when everything is utterly believable.’
‘Daisy, there is absolutely no way that—’ I began. ‘Never mind. The Romeo and Juliet Murder. That’s the better name. Victim: Rose Tree. Time of death …’
‘… last night, after the beginning of Act Two, Scene Five,’ said Daisy, nodding. ‘Our first task is to understand what time that really was. In light of what the suspects are all saying – that she was last seen and heard at five past nine, and discovered missing just before half past – I have been considering what we know about rehearsal times for Romeo and Juliet.
‘So. We left the theatre with Theresa and Bridget at six minutes to seven, and the second-act rehearsal had just begun. Act Two, Scene One would have been over quickly, since Benvolio wasn’t there. Then Act Two, Scene Two is a very long one – it’s the balcony scene, and that takes ages to get right. So they wouldn’t have moved on to Scene Three for more than an hour. Scene Three is shorter – say forty minutes – and Scene Four is shorter again, about twenty minutes to rehearse. Then they took a short break. Which m
eans that Scene Five can’t possibly have started before nine p.m. That fits with the evidence that Martita argued with Rose at about five past nine and found her missing just before nine thirty. So I think we can conclude that Rose really was murdered between nine oh six and nine thirty p.m.’
I wrote that down, nodding. Daisy was right.
‘Now, the murder weapon was …’
‘The well,’ I said, shuddering. ‘Oh, that’s horrid. The murderer got her into the well room and shoved her down it.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Daisy. ‘But there I think is our first truly interesting point. HOW did the murderer get Rose to that room? They must have told her some sort of lie, since Rose wasn’t the sort of person to simply trot after someone else without an explanation, and there are several flights of stairs and some very dark corridors between her dressing room and the well room.
‘Of course, she may have been dragged there against her will, but that would have been very risky for the murderer – anyone might have heard her yelling. And, for the same reason, I think it’s unlikely she was killed before she got to the well room – what if someone saw the murderer carrying her there? No, I think Rose walked into that room of her own accord, and very much alive.’
‘The murderer might have gone down there with her to smoke?’ I suggested. ‘That’s what Jim said happened sometimes. Or – or to talk about something secret, or to …’
‘Or to canoodle!’ said Daisy. ‘That’s a distinct possibility. Good. Now, we’ve begun to consider when and how. Next is who. Who are our suspects?’
‘Simon,’ I said, counting on my fingers, ‘Martita, Inigo, Lysander, Annie, Miss Crompton and Jim. We’re off the list.’
‘Indeed we are,’ said Daisy. ‘And so is Theresa. She was ill in bed – she certainly couldn’t have crept back to the Rue and murdered Rose later that night. Can we rule out any of those seven now that we have heard the interviews? What else do we know about the crime?’
Death in the Spotlight Page 10
