Murder Dancing (15 page)

‘Why should he?' asked Libby, surprised. ‘He wrote it.'

‘But he hasn't played it for ages, has he? It's all been the recorded version.'

‘Surely he wouldn't have forgotten it in just these few days. He's got the music scored, hasn't he?'

‘I bloody well hope so,' said Sebastian, looking like a worried chipmunk, twitching whiskers and all.

‘To be honest, Lib,' said Ian, emerging from the auditorium, ‘I shall be glad to have them all out of the way for a bit. Good idea of yours.'

‘Flo's actually,' said Libby. ‘And they'll still be within easy reach of your handcuffs.'

Ian gave her a wry grin. ‘As a matter of fact, I was tempted to get them out after I'd been through their rooms last night.'

‘Goodness! What horrors did you find?'

‘A fair amount of material that used to be described in the old days as being “within the meaning of the Act”. Considered harmless now, of course.'

Ian's fastidious nostrils flared slightly. Libby was amused.

‘Come on, now, Ian! You're a thoroughly modern, tolerant copper.'

‘Oh, I know. And I fought along with the best of them for equal rights and against homophobia in the force. Some things still bother me, though.'

‘Well, I shall keep all the little terrors out of your way unless you want them,' said Libby. ‘Now I must go and let Sebastian into his new domain.'

It was a mild, damp, grey day, and as Libby and Sebastian trudged across the high street towards Maltby Close it began to rain.

‘Now they'll all complain,' sighed Sebastian.

‘Why? Because they'll get wet?'

Sebastian shrugged, as far as he could under his load of props. ‘Oh, yes. They'll complain about anything.'

‘They seem quite a nice bunch to me,' said Libby.

‘Oh, they're all right, I suppose. Stan couldn't –' He broke off.

Libby looked at him. ‘Couldn't what?'

What she could see of his face had gone pink. ‘Nothing.'

‘Couldn't stand them, were you going to say?'

‘N-no, not exactly.'

Libby struggled to unlock the door of Carpenter's Hall without dropping her bundle. ‘Here we are,' she said. ‘Let's drop this lot on the stage and you'd better see what you need to do to get set up.'

Sebastian seemed to be relieved to be let off the hook, and scurried away to the other end of the hall. ‘Couldn't stand them'? wondered Libby. Really? Not because some of them were gay, surely? Stan was gay himself. Then why? And not because they were what her mother used to call ‘theatricals' – he was one, too.

The door banged shut behind her.

‘Morning!' called Damian, sounding cheerful.

‘Morning!' Libby called back. ‘Piano's up here.'

‘Oh, don't need that!' Damian came up beside her and took some of her pile of drapes. ‘Where are these going?'

‘On the stage, I think. Why don't you need the piano?'

‘There's a sound system. I was a bit worried, to tell you the truth. I haven't got the whole score down here with me, as I've got the master recording, but your Ben asked someone or other if there was a sound system here, and there is. So all I've got to do is find it.' He grinned at her happily.

‘I expect that was Amy,' said Libby. ‘Shall I go and ask her where it is?'

‘Oh, yes, that would be great. Is Seb here? I'll see if I can do anything to help.'

He seems extraordinarily chirpy, thought Libby, as she made her way along Maltby Close to Amy's house at the end. Considering there's been a murder.

Amy, a large, jolly person wearing a wonderful, old-fashioned crossover apron, said she would come along and point things out.

‘There's the kitchen, m'duck,' she said. ‘Kettle, urn and so on. Flo says you was to have whatever you wanted.'

She showed Damian where the sound system was and Sebastian where the limited range of lighting was.

‘Not that you'll need that for your practising,' she said. ‘But best to know where 'tis. All right now, Miss Libby? I'll be getting along then.' And she disappeared through the double doors.

‘Is she for real?' asked Damian, wide-eyed.

‘I thought they only existed in films,' said Sebastian, and they exchanged looks of youthful disbelief.

‘Yeah – black and white Sunday afternoon ones,' said Damian, and they both dissolved into helpless giggles. It was Sebastian who caught sight of Libby's face, nudged Damian and disappeared smartly behind the curtains on the small stage. Damian retreated to the sound system with a weak smile and Libby sighed. Sometimes she didn't understand the younger generation.

One by one the dancers strolled in and pulled chairs from the stacks round the walls. They collapsed on them in their usual boneless way and muttered to one another. Sebastian returned from behind the curtains.

‘The stage is far too small. It's just for a couple of musicians, not a pack of dancers.'

‘Max didn't intend you to use the stage,' said Libby. ‘This is a sprung dance floor.'

‘Oh.' Sebastian looked doubtfully at the polished floor. ‘I suppose it's no worse than our rehearsal rooms.'

‘That is
not
very gracious, Sebastian.' Libby glared at him.

He went pink. ‘Sorry. I don't think I'm reacting to anything normally.'

‘Shock, I expect,' said Libby. ‘I mean, even if you didn't like him, he was a big part of your life.'

Sebastian looked surprised. ‘I didn't say I didn't like him.'

‘Yes, you did.' Libby sat down on the edge of the stage. ‘Has DCI Connell spoken to you about how Stan rescued you?'

‘Rescued … Oh. Yes. Did you tell him about that?'

‘I mentioned it. But I didn't know what it was all about, did I? So I couldn't tell him much.'

Sebastian shrugged. ‘There wasn't much to tell.'

‘But you said – implied – that he more or less had you in thrall. You were living with him.'

Sebastian was going pink again. ‘Yes, well…'

‘Seb, why are you embarrassed about it? Particularly in this world.'

Sebastian let out a long breath. ‘Because you –
everyone
– assumes I'm gay. And I'm not. Stan was, but he hated it.'

Libby was wide-eyed. ‘That's what you were going to say earlier. He couldn't stand them – the dancers. Weren't you?'

‘Oh, hell.' Sebastian sank down beside her. ‘Yes. He was weird, you know. He could be kind, but on his terms. When I was at college he was one of the guest lecturers. Just at that time I'd got myself into trouble because – well, it was drugs. And I couldn't pay. I was suspended from college and Stan found out. I still don't know how he did it, but the next thing I knew was the dealers had stopped chasing me and I moved into Stan's flat. For protection, he said. It's a lovely flat. I suppose I'll have to move now.'

‘I suppose you will,' said Libby, amused. ‘Are you clean now?'

‘Oh, yes. I was never really hooked – I just got out of my depth. And thanks to Stan I got into theatre even without having my degree, so he did me an awful lot of good.'

‘So you stayed because you were grateful? And he never made a pass at you.'

‘Well – he did, but in a sort of agonised way, if you know what I mean. As far as I can tell he was brought up in an aggressively masculine household, and his male relatives were all as homophobic as anything. I think he was very ashamed of his sexuality.'

‘Did he ever talk about his family? Did you meet any of them?'

Sebastian shook his head. ‘Only mentioned them in passing. As far as I could tell he didn't see them.'

Libby thought about this. ‘Did you know his father appears to have been a well-known criminal?'

‘A what?' Sebastian's mouth dropped open.

‘We think so. Chap called Wally Willis.'

‘Bloody hell.' Sebastian passed a hand across his face.

‘It fits, you know,' said Libby. ‘He would have been intimidated by his father and his father's friends, so wouldn't dare come out.' Which was rather a leap, as none of them knew Stan and Wally Willis's relationship for sure.

Sebastian nodded. ‘That needs some thinking about.' He slid off the stage, then turned back to Libby. ‘Do you think that's how he stopped the dealers coming after me?'

‘Could be,' said Libby, annoyed with herself for not spotting that. Sebastian nodded and walked off to greet Max, who had just arrived with Jonathan and Tom.

Max called them all to order and proposed warm-up in five minutes. They all unblushingly stripped off, and Libby, used to communal dressing rooms, found herself unable to keep her eyes off the splendid physiques displayed around her. She made her way round the edge of the room to Max's side.

‘Anything in particular you want me to do?'

‘If you could stay by Seb here and carry any message to Damian. If we need to stop or go back, it'll be easier if you nip round there than having to shout across the boys.'

‘OK.' Libby sat down next to Sebastian, who looked at her sideways but didn't speak. Max ran a ten minute warm up, then called for beginners. Just like the real theatre, thought Libby, and immediately castigated herself.

She was only required to take messages to Damian three times, when Max stopped the dance and she had to tell Damian where to go back to. There was no more opportunity for conversation. After an hour, Max called a break and, remembering what Amy had said, Libby hurried into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. As it was, few of the dancers wanted tea or coffee as most had brought the ubiquitous bottle of water. One of those who did, however, was Dan Washburn, the blond giant dancing Roger Nowell.

‘This is very kind of you,' he said, accepting a thick white mug. ‘Must be a pretty grim time for you.'

Libby nearly said, ‘We're used to it', but stopped herself just in time.

‘Worse for you all, though. Looks as if Max is going ahead.'

‘Yes.' Dan looked uncomfortable. ‘Some of us think we shouldn't. We ought to pack it in and go home.'

‘Do you? Oh, of course, you have a new baby, don't you?'

‘Yes, but it's not that. It seems disrespectful, somehow. I mean, I didn't always get on with Stan – not many of us did – but he's dead, isn't he? And it seems it's something to do with the production, so how can we carry on?'

‘I see what you mean,' said Libby, who honestly did. ‘It just seems a shame to waste all the hard work.'

‘Oh, well, we'd be dancing something even if it wasn't this,' said Dan. ‘Even if it was only everyday practice.'

‘Hard on Damian, though.'

‘Why?' Dan looked surprised. ‘He could re-name the work, couldn't he? In fact, we could turn the whole thing into something else. Something that wasn't to do with witches.'

‘Do you think that's what the problem is, then?' asked Libby. ‘Witches? Someone objects to the portrayal of witches?'

‘After all that stuff in London …' Dan trailed off. ‘My wife's a Wiccan, you see.'

‘Oh!' Now it was Libby's turn to be surprised. ‘Does she object?'

‘She doesn't like it much. Thinks it glorifies Black Magic.'

‘But –' Libby, about to say it was all hooey and always had been, stopped.

‘Yes, I know,' said Dan with a rather sad smile. ‘Silly, isn't it. But dead cockerels are pretty horrible, not silly. And murder is even worse.'

Chapter Sixteen

After washing up the few mugs used by the company, Libby decided she'd done her bit and went home, texting Ben to tell him where she'd gone. Once home, she made herself a proper cup of tea, as she told Sidney, and phoned Fran.

‘So there we are,' she concluded. ‘Do you think I should report any of this to Ian, or will he accuse me of interfering?'

‘He'll try,' said Fran, sounding amused, ‘but you haven't been, have you? You've merely been playing your part as a sort of hostess and talking to the guests. In any case, I should tell Ian, especially about Dan's wife being a Wiccan.'

‘Why especially that? She's hardly likely to have popped down here, parked the newborn infant and pushed Stan off a tower.'

‘No, but it adds a new dimension to the story, doesn't it? And who knows that Dan doesn't agree with her?'

‘Oh, I don't see that at all,' said Libby. ‘He's the one who didn't want to come down here in the first place.'

‘But that could be interpreted as trying to get the production stopped,' reasoned Fran. ‘He might have thought the cockerel was the end of it, and when Max said they were coming down here to carry on, he tried to stop it by refusing to come.'

‘But he didn't refuse, he came. And he's such a gentle giant.'

‘“Murderers I have known,”' said Fran. ‘Think about it.'

‘I haven't liked most of them,' protested Libby.

‘Just because you like Dan doesn't preclude him from being a murderer.'

Libby sighed. ‘No, I know. So I tell Ian everything. I wish he had an email address. It would be much easier to send him an email than tell him, especially if I have to leave a voicemail.'

‘You could text him.'

‘It would take hours! I haven't got lightning thumbs like the kids have.'

‘You could always go up to the theatre and tell him. He seems to have established a sort of incident room up there.'

‘Has he?'

‘He rang me from there a little while ago.'

‘He what? Why didn't you tell me?' said Libby indignantly.

‘I'm telling you now.' Fran was now definitely amused. ‘He wanted, rather diffidently, to know if I'd had any what he called “thoughts” about Stan's death.'

‘Oh. I bet he hated asking.'

‘I think he did. But I told him I didn't know Stan or anyone else well enough.'