Early morning, and everyone was setting up cameras and stuff. I saw his little Styrax in the corner of the props area. It waggled one of its claw thingies, so I knew he was inside. So I hurried towards it. But damn and blast my luck! I had to hide behind a pillar. Ace producer Nicholas Everett was leaning on it, going through the shooting script with Smurf. I could see the top of Smurf’s adorable little head poking out the back, and occasionally an arm came out, and pointed at bits in the script. Mervyn Stone our cuddly script editor came over and had a quick discussion with Nicholas, and they put Smurf’s hatch on for him. My goodness! If the props boys had seen them handle the Styrax, they would have been up in arms! It would have been an instant strike; lights out, all out and they’d be standing outside round their braziers, waving their placards. Anyway, they left Smurf alone, and finally I could make my move.
*
Nicholas closed the book. ‘You see?’
‘Oh, definitely. It’s proof that you knew Sheldon was on set. You talked to the dwarf in the Styrax, went through the script with him—Vanity saw you. You had to know it was Sheldon.’
‘Precisely.’
Mervyn smiled, despite himself. ‘Do you know, that bit of the book earned me a blackmail note from Simon too.’
Nicholas was surprised. ‘You, old ducks?’
‘Of course. The chapter reads like I knew Sheldon was there too. Simon must have hedged his bets, and assumed we were both behind some kind of sinister midget murder. Look.’ Mervyn produced his blackmail note. So did Nicholas.
They were both holding photocopies of the lump of Styrax interior with the writing: 376—229—22
.
HANDS OFF—GINGER! SAFE
.
They turned the notes over. Each had suitably ambiguous messages from Simon on the other side.
‘Snap,’ said Mervyn.
Despite themselves, they both laughed.
‘I assume you got a copy of Vanity’s book too, with Chapter 13 highlighted.’
‘Snap,’ said Nicholas. This time there was no laughter.
Mervyn looked at his blackmail note thoughtfully. ‘The thing is, even after all these years, I
remember
coming over to help you put the hatch on. Smurf didn’t speak, and I couldn’t see his face. I just
assumed
it was Smurf. I’m ashamed to say it, but in the dark of a Styrax interior one dwarf looks very much like another to me.’
Nicholas smiled. ‘Which brings us nicely to Vanity.’
Minnie’s words had given Mervyn the key:
How rampant and self-obsessed do you have to be to sleep with the wrong person and not even notice?
‘So on that day, Sheldon didn’t stay in his Styrax all the time, did he?’
‘Alas no. I asked him to, but when my back was turned he was enticed out by the siren call of the Mycroft in heat.’
‘They did the dirty in the big Styrax. And she didn’t realise in the dark she’d had sex with the wrong midget.’
Nicholas gave a tired smile. ‘Typical Vanity, eh Mervyn? Who knows? It might have been the sexual exertions that finished him off.’
‘So that was another secret that stayed hidden until Vanity wrote her autobiography. No wonder Smurf went ballistic. He was telling the truth. He didn’t have sex with Vanity; he hadn’t even turned up for work that day. He was nowhere near her naughty bits at the time… And he wasn’t the father of Vanity’s daughter.’
‘Smurf wanted to clear his name, dear heart. He wanted to prove to his girlfriend that he didn’t do the dirty with La Mycroft.
He wanted to take a
DNA test…’
Nicholas looked imploringly at him. ‘Can you imagine what would have happened if he had?’
‘Of course I can imagine. Even if Simon was silenced and all the evidence of Sheldon’s presence in the Styrax was destroyed… If Smurf had taken the test and proved that he wasn’t the father, the question would still remain, “Who was the father of Minnie Metro Mycroft?” Attention would turn to the only other dwarf at the BBC who had ever operated a Styrax. Vanity would realise she’d been with Sheldon. She would have been an eyewitness—well, not an “eye” witness exactly, but…’
‘Quite so.’ Nicholas spread his hands helplessly. ‘I had it coming to me from both directions, if you pardon the expression. Material evidence… DNA tests… I was planning to return to producing, my first love, but all this nonsense was going to scupper all that. Worst, it was probably going to put me in prison.’
‘And becoming a multiple murderer was going to stop you going to prison?’
‘I’m not a murderer! I didn’t kill anyone!’
‘Not a murderer?’ Mervyn exploded. ‘Are you serious?’
‘I know it sounds incredible, Mervyn, but yes, I am serious old petal. I’m not a murderer.’
Mervyn feared the worst. Nicholas had gone completely mad.
Roddy continued, to the obvious pleasure of everyone present. ‘It’s bally lucky you conscripted me to head this little campaign, which I have dubbed “Operation: Styrax Genocide”…’
Much laughter from the crowd. Roddy was on form this year.
‘…But I must say I was less than pleased to be conscripted by Josh, for all my previous campaigns; having a chap over a barrel because he has a few measly unlicensed firearms on his premises…’ He gave a petulant frown. ‘I mean, if a chap can’t have a couple of Webleys, a few Tommy guns, a Bren, a Howitzer and the odd rocket launcher for his own personal use, then what’s the world coming to?’
‘Erm… Major…?
‘It’s political correctness.’
‘Are you okay?’
Roddy looked at Morris, as if noticing him for the first time. ‘Gone mad.’
‘What?’
‘Political correctness. Gone mad.’
‘Oh.’
*
‘How can you deny it?’
‘Because it’s not true, dear heart!’
‘Do you deny meeting with Simon Josh? Do you deny him blackmailing you? Do you deny getting him drunk that night? Sticking him in the Styrax, turning the engine on and running a hose from the exhaust and sticking it in Simon’s face? Do you deny scrabbling around in his room and faking a suicide note?’
Nicholas frowned. ‘Well, if you put it like that, Mervyn, no I don’t deny any of that.’
‘And do you deny tampering with Smurf’s Styrax with the intention of killing him?’
‘Ah… No. I don’t deny that either.’
‘And do you deny visiting that fan’s room to get this lump of Styrax off him? And attacking him when he wouldn’t sell it?’
Nicholas’s mouth opened and closed.
‘Do you?’
‘No I don’t. I don’t deny it.’
‘But you’re not a murderer.’
‘I know this sounds incredible Mervyn. I did do all those things you so vividly described, but I didn’t kill anyone. You know me, I hate unpleasantness in all its forms.’
‘You’re insane.’
Stuart was still in the wardrobe, recording everything. Then he stopped. The red light winked off the camera.
*
Nicholas stood up. Mervyn moved back a step, instinctively. He hoped Stuart could see all right and would be able to escape the wardrobe if Nicholas tried anything.
‘Here’s the thing Mervyn, old love,’ said Nicholas. ‘I did those things to Simon—he was demanding I hand over my whole business for flip’s sake—but I couldn’t bring myself to
kill
him. The night before last was so horrid. It was cold and wet, the rain just chucking it down, the annoying little man had drunk all my whisky, and he kept dribbling on my shirt as I carried him outside. The hose kept dropping out of the hole, I just couldn’t get it to stay in—to coin a phrase.’ He gave a tired wink. ‘I just gave up, old son. I took it as a sign I was never meant to be a murderer, so I removed the hose and went back to my room to get a grip on myself. I knew I wasn’t a murderer. I told myself to sort myself out; be a man, dear heart! I just had to refuse to get blackmailed, let Simon do his worst, and face the consequences. When I emerged to tidy up the car park, I found him, just as you all did, with the engine running, the hose fixed neatly back in place and Simon dead.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Never more so. I know how this looks, old stick. When I rushed out into the car park that night I was as surprised as anybody. But
after
that night, what was a girl to do? I knew if Simon’s blackmail came out, everyone would assume I did it, so I just kept trying to cover things up, trying to get Smurf to calm down and not take his DNA test. Yes, I briefly flirted with Dame Homicide once more; I inspected his Styrax with half a mind to tampering with it. I had a little look at the gas cylinders, and even opened the nozzle on one, but it was all smelly and made me feel sick, and there was no way he wouldn’t notice the odour when he got inside, so I resealed it and left…’
‘And the next thing you know, Smurf and his Styrax have been scattered over half the hotel.’
‘Precisely.’
‘Do you have any idea how fantastically mad that sounds?’
‘My darling boy, I wouldn’t even be telling you if you weren’t confronting me here and now. They’d lock me away in the rest home for deranged and homicidal producers—if they still had room for one more.’
‘So you seriously deny everything? What about John the Stalker?’
Nicholas shrugged. ‘You mean the chap with the bit of remaining Styrax? The one with the T-shirt with the improbable lady on it?’
Mervyn nodded. ‘That’s him.’
‘Well I did go to his room and asked to buy the piece back, and of course he wouldn’t sell, and I did get a bit cross and pushed him a little—to my own horror, I might add… I touched him! He was so smelly! Anyway, he wasn’t impressed with my macho stance, and I retired defeated. Why, has he made a complaint?’
Mervyn was stunned. ‘He’s dead.’
‘He’s what?’
‘You killed him.’
‘Who says? I only pushed him dear heart, a girly slap.’
‘You caved his head in!’
‘Look at me old love! I couldn’t knock the head off a daffodil! I’ll repeat myself, once more, for a take: I didn’t kill anybody! I quickly decided I was not cut out to be a mass murderer! I have no technical ability, I swoon at the sight of blood oranges, let alone blood; I can’t even forge a decent suicide note…’
Mervyn suddenly realised something. His blood went cold. Suddenly he remembered he’d forgotten something important. He realised he’d been wrong all the time. He realised who the murderer
really
was.
He edged towards the door of the hotel room.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Shhh!’
He quietly fished out the suicide note from his jacket. He’d completely forgotten about it.
‘The suicide note you put in the Styrax?’ he hissed. ‘Was it this one?’
Nicholas took it. He looked at it with astonishment. ‘Yes… I found it in Simon’s room on a pile of photos and thought it would do. I thought they’d make quite good last words. Why have you got it?’
‘It was on the floor of the Styrax.’
‘What? Then what did you give to the police?’
Nicholas was speaking far too loud. Mervyn held a finger to his lips. He slowly turned the handle of the door.
‘The
other
suicide note. The one on the dashboard.’
‘What other one?’
‘I didn’t tell anyone that there were two… The one I gave to the police was the one on the dashboard. It was perfectly written, brilliantly forged and looked great. Yours, on the other hand…’
‘Was crap.’ Nicholas sighed. ‘I know, dear heart. My murder attempts were just, how can I put it delicately? They were rubbish, lame…’
The wardrobe door creaked open.
‘They were ropey,’ said Stuart.
Nicholas looked, astonished, at the young man who emerged.
‘Ropey. Just pathetic,’ said Stuart. ‘Your murders were rushed. There was no planning, no thought put into any of them. Is it any wonder I had to improve them?’
‘Nevertheless,’ continued Roddy. ‘This is a time of war. And me having a couple of shooting irons under my bed is very fortuitous. And I am sure the local constabulary will forgive my firearm licences being AWOL, in the circumstances…’
Morris gave a mystified look to Roddy, to the audience, and back to Roddy again. ‘We have no idea what you’re talking about, Major. Shall we just give you the Last Salute and let you dismiss the troops?’
‘How can we dismiss the troops when we’re at war, Corporal?’
thundered Roddy, his sudden bark distorting the microphone.
‘Um… We can’t?’
‘No we bally well can’t! Not until I lead the charge against the robots!’
*
‘You,’ said Mervyn. His voice had imploded and it was now a dry squeak.
Stuart didn’t respond to the accusation. ‘The murders were rubbish! The business with the hose? All it took was an old rag and it completely stayed in place! Just a bit of thought, that’s all!’ He sighed wearily, like a parent explaining for the millionth time what a potty was for. ‘It’s just like “Assassins of Destiny—Part two” all over again. You can’t be fussed to do a proper job, and it’s up to fans like me to come along and do it properly!’
‘You killed them? Why?’
Stuart looked at Mervyn with deep exasperation. He pointed at Nicholas. ‘Watching him wrestle with the gas cylinder was just painful. All it took was a well-aimed bullet and he was sitting on a home-made bomb! Much more effective than gassing him!’
‘But…why? Why do it?’
At last Stuart answered Mervyn’s question. ‘I wanted to do it properly, Mr St—Mervyn,’ he said simply. ‘And I wanted to give you something to do that you were good at; give you a bit of self-respect back. Just like when I paid you to write for me in Peterborough. I knew you were disappointed we weren’t Hollywood big-time boys, but when you wrote our little fan play… I could see it in your eyes… I mean, I knew. I knew you felt more… Alive.’
Mervyn didn’t feel very alive at the moment. He felt like he’d died and gone to heaven, only to discover it was just like a science fiction convention, with endless queues of shuffling people waiting for God’s autograph. Would the madness never stop?
Nicholas spluttered. ‘You knew… All the time, about me?’